tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46431515482281058762024-03-14T04:38:54.160-07:00PAIR-RANTINGWe're Doing it WrongAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.comBlogger350125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-90872529609450629312017-03-01T12:03:00.000-08:002017-06-20T14:38:41.166-07:00The Long GoodbyeHi, I'm Amanda. Some of you may not know me because you became a Pair-Ranting fan within the last thirteen months, during which time I've contributed approximately J-A-C-K to the blog. I won't go into the details of who I am or why I'm suddenly appearing, and writing in your favorite Michael Bairdsmith blog no less, because frankly it really doesn't matter. I'm here. Just buckle up for a quick sec while I catch those who vaguely remember me up on my life. Because they care.<br />
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First of all, yes, I am a terribly assholey slacker. I think about this from time to time - every time Mike posts something and it reminds me that 'we' have a blog that I haven't written anything for in a long-ass time - and I don't have any one good reason as to what has kept me away. So, I'll write you a list of all of the reasons, because if I remember correctly, you LOVE lists!<br />
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<b>1. My kids:</b> these two are the main reasons for the blog. When we began Pair-Ranting the two things I primarily wrote about were my kids and my sluttiness. Back then my offspring were still young and sweet and adorable, and while they still are all of these things, they now understand things like 'the internet'. They know how to Google things. Their school encourages this shit - I mean...my son has a goddam YouTube channel and motherfracking Twitter account, you guys!! He asked me to follow him on Twitter, and when he asked if he could follow me back I said "OHMYGOD NO NEVER!" At that time, my most recent tweet looked like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0ABPYty38_Nm7qXHXV1YF7w6bXUf3BvpOk-nQi4qsyKbyXj0tNUsdwIIIgAHa3ZH2WTA21GQZ9zBT9cjiJFEBzDTzPR_uCrE-EIzOXzCNR2FH9ErWoqsgr6F0qjFfg5OlDUY0ZJe9uY/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252828%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0ABPYty38_Nm7qXHXV1YF7w6bXUf3BvpOk-nQi4qsyKbyXj0tNUsdwIIIgAHa3ZH2WTA21GQZ9zBT9cjiJFEBzDTzPR_uCrE-EIzOXzCNR2FH9ErWoqsgr6F0qjFfg5OlDUY0ZJe9uY/s320/FullSizeRender+%252828%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>2. My sluttiness:</b> this topic is super boring and non-existent lately. Ever since I met my incredibly sexy tall drink o' Mai Tai man over 5 years ago, it's been all Paulie, all the time. Which is hot, don't get me wrong. But I don't think stories about hiding from your date because you get cold sores are as funny when your date is actually your boyfriend who you live with and is technically supposed to still like you even when you have mouth herpes covering half of your face. <i>Technically</i>. It just doesn't make for humorously sexy blogging, I guess.<br />
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The sexiest thing to happen to me within the last day was accidentally hitting play on Of Montreal's "Famine Affair" as opposed to my standard "Bad Habits" by <a href="https://youvebeenservedblog.wordpress.com/2016/12/09/the-oracle-arena/" target="_blank">Maxwell</a> for my solo sexytime soundtrack. Sometimes variety is hot, you know? But the only reason it was solo is because I'm on my period and we just don't climb up the Big Rock Bloody Mountain very often because Laundry. Why am I even telling you this?<br />
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Oh, right, sluttiness. Well, I try.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFFF4Zyr72oHKKy85Egv4JFr282UViEZFBzrf3qNZch89Hk4tYfOirGNBmexJc2sfxmhyTGtsYw-oEoMw0SD6CgasLeRvoPP56Kr1RNSj7WjCFRJ91zWqCe2nLnKH-akOa6T67Lc0sr4/s1600/math.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFFF4Zyr72oHKKy85Egv4JFr282UViEZFBzrf3qNZch89Hk4tYfOirGNBmexJc2sfxmhyTGtsYw-oEoMw0SD6CgasLeRvoPP56Kr1RNSj7WjCFRJ91zWqCe2nLnKH-akOa6T67Lc0sr4/s320/math.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>3. Math.</b> Fuck math. Rather than get all riled up about math, you can read about it <a href="https://janikwriting.com/2016/02/03/my-life-in-maths/" target="_blank">HERE</a>. I can't even go into it again. I am <i>now</i> taking a statistics class because my nail-studded self-flagellator belt went missing. I miss it.<br />
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<b>4. Work:</b> Since closing my store, I've not only returned to school because I love a good humbling, I have also had to do some work for a paycheck. Most of this work involves writing and editing. So these days I'm either studying, writing, or editing which makes a very valid reason for not having any time or interest left over to blog about the funny things my kids constantly say, right? Right. Especially since they'll probably find it online and be all "dude, mom! What the heck, you're telling the whole damn world that I treated you to a Rick Astley song-and-dance show in the kitchen last night?! THAT WAS JUST FOR YOU!!!" and then doors will slam and bribery will be necessary. Oof.<br />
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Better to just go incommunicado.<br />
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So, it is with these and a pocketful of other reasons in mind that I have decided it's time to cease my contribution to the ranting. It's been super fun and I honestly don't know how I would have gotten through my scratchy divorce, all of the awkward dating, my kids' goofy antics, or that stage of my life in general, without this blog.<br />
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So thank you all, <i>immensely</i>, for reading and following along. And thank you especially to Mikey for deciding one day during a long spell of boredom that we should start a blog together. Love you buddy.<br />
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Farewell*, friends!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZaY1mRqhcfri3dnCKO1goSl-02QyYTraVBenrHNROdneSQYKo9WlTjK3OB9LjwFqtJbPeEr5RSwupU6d0iJeD_kqK3qiMKuNDQnG7ac7vzUlPKl7Alv_6mIXC7E4O8qs1HjxyWCvJyDA/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252832%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZaY1mRqhcfri3dnCKO1goSl-02QyYTraVBenrHNROdneSQYKo9WlTjK3OB9LjwFqtJbPeEr5RSwupU6d0iJeD_kqK3qiMKuNDQnG7ac7vzUlPKl7Alv_6mIXC7E4O8qs1HjxyWCvJyDA/s320/FullSizeRender+%252832%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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*(Until I become a grandparent, of course...at which point all respect for my kids' privacy, needless to say, goes out the window).<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-59057083222659514422017-01-17T12:56:00.001-08:002017-01-17T14:58:41.498-08:00Shotgun Finn Saves the World<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinJ3dNIIQ6r1AN3y6bHJnGmgFA6Pt60MYqTvte7tYJDp01v-Jdz5dpFVhJ2NLm3PCNdd1uihZF5nOdxhCdZtRNouqQQxmC8ZyzgZ0JkpGMXwVKQvqDglphnyrFA2U4TBYfYdEjw2kINRJI/s1600/IMG_2278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinJ3dNIIQ6r1AN3y6bHJnGmgFA6Pt60MYqTvte7tYJDp01v-Jdz5dpFVhJ2NLm3PCNdd1uihZF5nOdxhCdZtRNouqQQxmC8ZyzgZ0JkpGMXwVKQvqDglphnyrFA2U4TBYfYdEjw2kINRJI/s320/IMG_2278.JPG" width="320" /></a>It is done. He did it.<br />
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On these dark days leading up to the inauguration of a feral Cheeto as our next commander-in-chief, my little Finn reminded me to never lose hope. There is still so much good in the world.<br />
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Last night, Finley Michael Bairdsmith pooped in the potty...for the second day in a row.<br />
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Yes, he's five-years-old. Here's a quick recap:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx9CD_Hsf0jPSiwLFQlHdNlPLwOX4pqlr9WeQNPWZGg3Un44EmNf0tsjtNGWM7Y6QWDXyVcrdFcIFJx56_BZbUpeFhddDjVDC26sLFn1Fv00CjpeFIursELEPdfCSmuebMZXKl8GskrhT/s1600/potty.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx9CD_Hsf0jPSiwLFQlHdNlPLwOX4pqlr9WeQNPWZGg3Un44EmNf0tsjtNGWM7Y6QWDXyVcrdFcIFJx56_BZbUpeFhddDjVDC26sLFn1Fv00CjpeFIursELEPdfCSmuebMZXKl8GskrhT/s320/potty.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 4, 2015</td></tr>
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It started out promising. Jodee and I had just moved in together the summer of 2014 and the boys had
settled in quickly. Just after Finn's third birthday in October, he was waking up most mornings with a dry diaper. It seemed like, despite the big changes in his life, the new year might be a great time for a milestone, so we got him the setup and made a modest goal: Potty-Trained by Age Four.<br />
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We weren't <i>aggressive </i>with toilet training, of course. The signs of his readiness were there, so we gently encouraged. There were a few accidental successes over the course of the year, but as the fourth birthday approached without much progress, we streamlined Finley's daily "to-do list", downloaded some potty-only apps, and employed the help of his encouraging brother. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpDOZmpR1Mijww_6F5FgFhi99LZ93qQ05MQr9WskRrwdK-JIik98C8LzOQWmz4cODoxvnCvQva7fQ3YtDRGrVf9lcMvB7zk7YYAnvpG54nhVxLGGlRmaIP8m0-FBq5-q_LxykP7Lv2VPX/s1600/IMG_9270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpDOZmpR1Mijww_6F5FgFhi99LZ93qQ05MQr9WskRrwdK-JIik98C8LzOQWmz4cODoxvnCvQva7fQ3YtDRGrVf9lcMvB7zk7YYAnvpG54nhVxLGGlRmaIP8m0-FBq5-q_LxykP7Lv2VPX/s320/IMG_9270.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3EwAbjScYEYFXH0d5WWknYN_ObayG6Hn1OF2vsLEzuKNAI4KjgqaV7Zu7hq1cCr_d3X6mKsQq366Jug21-kUhD4Kwg3MVpPk5xVr9rLfa9SRQHIR-g1xamLtl3hk_eU3s1ZQTQQVqvxCQ/s1600/IMG_7024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3EwAbjScYEYFXH0d5WWknYN_ObayG6Hn1OF2vsLEzuKNAI4KjgqaV7Zu7hq1cCr_d3X6mKsQq366Jug21-kUhD4Kwg3MVpPk5xVr9rLfa9SRQHIR-g1xamLtl3hk_eU3s1ZQTQQVqvxCQ/s320/IMG_7024.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">October 13, 2015</td></tr>
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His fourth birthday came and went. He had no trouble peeing, but pooping was out of the question. We decided to kick training up a notch. No more diapers, period.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvJfxkZFVNBXv1BljaTK71nXWDhyTiYEh11whO45kDTaaTex8ve__f5u7Fz7udv1MAN3hlE30xyk-mimVKbpK2ThxzG8TfgRGgtPNNRd48M9RIUq2Fb9wU8ivwT84z9ws_n9BIRJJeKteW/s320/IMG_9784.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 7, 2016, after stealing a swim diaper and hiding</td></tr>
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This led to me learning a new medical term: Encopresis. When your child ends up in the hospital after refusing to poo for the better part of a week, you've lost the battle. So for the past year (that's right, YEAR!) Finn has been having his regular movements, every afternoon, in a diaper. He was practically changing himself.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjL7fQs-n9W0nE1HbbPOYZEQE231G-nDGRTQPS_JDI32iBVS6D3zmsdrahLcRV-cl9Ebs9K-Ii88ttOKWr47koI0TH61kozFvRCwU_Lk33gqQ9PSbXN05VhDQB9C07uBnxg-x0JwYarEF/s1600/photo+%252818%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjL7fQs-n9W0nE1HbbPOYZEQE231G-nDGRTQPS_JDI32iBVS6D3zmsdrahLcRV-cl9Ebs9K-Ii88ttOKWr47koI0TH61kozFvRCwU_Lk33gqQ9PSbXN05VhDQB9C07uBnxg-x0JwYarEF/s1600/photo+%252818%2529.JPG" /></a>But then, just a couple of days ago, Liam made an unexpected request. He has every Pixar and Dreamworks film at his disposal but he wanted to watch his old potty training video "Potty Power" featuring the criminally underrated song
stylings of Ms. Jessica Cannon, who has allowed me to follow her on
Instagram these past three years <strike>despite my twisted obsession with her</strike> because I'm such an appreciative fan. It's a really good video. </div>
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Liam's message was not lost on Finn because later that night Jodee discovered a little present left behind in the potty. We had a guest over, so it took just a few minutes of awkward interviewing to determine, with absolutely certainty, that Finn was the culprit. The fact that it happened again then next day meant it was official. My seven-year run of handling poopy diapers has come to an end. The next time I desperately want something from Finn, I'll have to remember which man of the house he actually looks up to.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-14004566691852307652016-10-11T12:30:00.000-07:002016-10-11T13:47:41.525-07:00Shotgun Finn Turns FiveFall is the beginning of harvest, the beginning of school, and in our house this year it was the beginning of Applied Behavioral Analysis.<br />
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If you're unfamiliar, harvest is the time of year that I orphan my children so that I might provide the world with delicious booze. The beginning of school is the time of year that, like fine wine, has become something very precious and sweet with time. Applied Behavioral Analysis is something that sounds complicated, but it's just like dog training for kids.<br />
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The specialists in the field of autism have long encouraged us to get the boys going with ABA. "It can help them turn the corner" they said. My boys turn corners like they're on rails, so I don't see the point.<br />
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To be fair, the boys have some pretty classic autistic-y behaviors, like lining up cars.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVIboCy0JQaGp9f9Usa2Z60k27fWodYeq1hUUDuo5yzUKWm49G8D0OOxKA3JgLLWh2YV0zL5f7QTHmwtDZ-DhqJfhp2ziqxYp3YyaPsil0wfTLPhYMV15dvGdu5pX6vBz7GRvoBCsCQPET/s1600/IMG_1652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVIboCy0JQaGp9f9Usa2Z60k27fWodYeq1hUUDuo5yzUKWm49G8D0OOxKA3JgLLWh2YV0zL5f7QTHmwtDZ-DhqJfhp2ziqxYp3YyaPsil0wfTLPhYMV15dvGdu5pX6vBz7GRvoBCsCQPET/s320/IMG_1652.JPG" width="320" /></a>Oh man, lining up cars. Lookout!! It's question number three on every autism test: Does your child line up cars? I can see Sally Struthers' voiceover now, "WE CAN'T ALLOW THIS TO HAPPEN!"<br />
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Finn is the line-up car master. He can take the most inaccessible of flat surfaces and turn them into parking lots. So, naturally, we have two Behavioral Interventionists coming into our home for four hours a day, four days a week. They're great. No, they really are.<br />
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But because he's so great at lining up cars, <i>and </i>it's his FIFTH BIRTHDAY, we decided to encourage Finn's interests with one of these<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTit5H2aVXnv8jBA3AbfbhsfIgoV9FtyRShZPlrwBK4M5yYlZIYstvJBDiRNJR2SE1o6_bB9UuLtQmWS88LjGOGo9cP8NBbpyO7p29Ic9Im5U0GDDyCgR-LFgaB2NivRbpqHqN70GJNL_I/s1600/14520547_10208856825871419_2932568965292187032_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTit5H2aVXnv8jBA3AbfbhsfIgoV9FtyRShZPlrwBK4M5yYlZIYstvJBDiRNJR2SE1o6_bB9UuLtQmWS88LjGOGo9cP8NBbpyO7p29Ic9Im5U0GDDyCgR-LFgaB2NivRbpqHqN70GJNL_I/s320/14520547_10208856825871419_2932568965292187032_n.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jodee built this while they slept</td></tr>
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Which is better, watching your child unwrap a birthday present or seeing their reaction to a present first thing on a Saturday morning?<br />
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Answer: It depends how many parts it has.<br />
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I think we made the right choice:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What...is <i>that</i>?"</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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French toast almost wasn't enough to peel him away. <i>So many</i> spaces for cars to line-up.<br />
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After breakfast we headed to Nana and Papa's house for some next level spoilage. My sister Maggie's baby boy Cedar was is celebrating his first birthday and fortunately Finn is okay with sharing the limelight. We partied til the break of dusk.<br />
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The next morning we did more presents. These had fewer parts and therefore came wrapped. Luckily Liam was there to help since Finn was too busy gasping.<br />
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If it looks like we spent the entire weekend in our jammies with bed hair, it's because we totally did. Happy Birthday Finney my boy. If you're reading this after many more birthdays I hope you're still an all-singing, all-dancing, wacky, goofball, jackass, sweetheart. I love you more than words can say. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-83502272380158533832016-08-23T09:22:00.002-07:002016-08-23T09:24:37.483-07:00Best Second Day EverFinley was just fine yesterday. Hurling to a 4-year-old is what sneezing is to an adult; an efficient way to expel something irritating.<br />
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It's like their bodies are small countries with really xenophobic policies regarding immigration. If anything mildly exotic enters them it's immediately extradited. "You say you're a 'snow pea' eh? Nope. Don't like the sound of that. Out you go! No, not that way, back the way you came!"<br />
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So today was the second day of school, but Finley's first. He started "Transitional Kindergarten" today, which is reserved for kids born in the Fall who are a little too young for Kindergarten and a little too old for Preschool. Like Liam, Finley has been in special education up until now, and today marks his first day of mainstream education. Also like Liam, Finn has an aide, and as luck would have it, it's Liam's old teacher's aide Lupe. Liam pronounces it "Loopy". Loopy and Liam were total besties. I couldn't happier.<br />
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Finn was a little nervous at the drop off. As soon as he got out of the car his hood went up and his eyes went shifty.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7eCd3XDQjJUOF3eD368Qh60foLjp_f6222lpB-WywsRBZSEiZmnpbMcmUAGCtHbCcrx_-7ukWBNEpn8q8bXU6oosVpEX15heHdr1k56vg-_-_GmIaJyzT0BPLub14a-34_BVNvqeGBd1o/s1600/IMG_1409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7eCd3XDQjJUOF3eD368Qh60foLjp_f6222lpB-WywsRBZSEiZmnpbMcmUAGCtHbCcrx_-7ukWBNEpn8q8bXU6oosVpEX15heHdr1k56vg-_-_GmIaJyzT0BPLub14a-34_BVNvqeGBd1o/s320/IMG_1409.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What is this place?"</td></tr>
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This happened on his first day of summer camp and ended with him screaming pitiably while I fled the scene. When we got to his room I tried to be the comforting daddy, willing to stick around for a bit if the transition wasn't going well. I went in for a hug and he basically told me to beat it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Bye"</td></tr>
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So I left. I wanted it to go easy, but not <i>that </i>easy. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-86876359877231550742016-08-22T10:21:00.001-07:002016-08-22T10:37:12.148-07:00Best First Day Ever"Finn just puked."<br />
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I was sitting on the front porch, sipping coffee, anxiously awaiting the boys' arrival. I would never miss a first day. Earlier that morning I reflected back to the beginning of the summer. I mentioned to Jodee, "it seems like just yesterday I was blubbering after dropping the boys off at summer camp." Without exception, I've cried like a baby on every first day, whether it was the first day of school, day care, summer camp, what have you. I told Jodee today's mantra was "Keep it Together". She rolled her eyes. She figured I was doomed.<br />
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When my phone rang and I saw it was Erin, I incorrectly guessed she was just running late and wanted to meet me at the school rather than at my house. I only live a couple of blocks from Healdsburg Elementary, and I wanted to walk the boys to school their first day so that I could really let it all sink in. Jodee was right, I was doomed.<br />
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The news that Finn had just had, what the world of competitive eating politely refers to as "a reversal of fortune", was hardly surprising for some reason. Of course Finn puked on his first day of school, because Finn.<br />
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I downed the rest of my coffee and jumped in the car. Erin was going to stay home with Finn so I had 20 minutes to make the 40 minute round trip drive to retrieve Liam. When I got there Finn was surprisingly chipper and happy, until he realized Liam and I were going to school without him. Hopefully that means it was a one-and-done episode.<br />
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Liam looked great:<br />
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The first day outfit is critical. You want to look cool, but you don't want it to look like you're trying really hard to look cool. Mom nailed it.<br />
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Showing up to the first day of school 20 minutes late is actually kind of ideal, as long as you have a rock solid excuse to deflect the judgemental vibes you're going to get from the admin office. Rather than tossing Liam headlong into the fury, we got to take is slow. It was nice and quiet, and I didn't have to shout over the turmoil when explaining to Liam where we were going and what he could expect. He strode through the place excited and confident and when we got to his classroom his face got a little scrunchy, but he didn't do his usual pill bug impersonation.<br />
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The moment we cross the threshold into a new classroom is usually the moment I need to be talked down off the ledge. Liam has been attending special education classes his whole academic life, and please forgive me if this offends anyone, but the first day in a special ed class can look more like an asylum than a classroom. Leaving your child in a room like that can sometimes require a person to ignore every parental instinct in your body. In my limited experience, it's pretty heart-wrenching.<br />
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But this year Liam is going full mainstream first grade. Last year we'd had it, and while it's a long story, in a nutshell we had to convince the school that Liam's poor performance had more to do with his being bored than anything else, and it was time to challenge him. It took a handful of lawyers to get the point across, but they tested it out by putting him in a regular class with an aide for a couple of months at the end of the school year, and he thrived. Trust your instincts parents. No one knows your kids better than you do.<br />
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Walking into Liam's new classroom, this time, was like crossing over into paradise. I swear the room glowed. Everything was sunshine, rainbows, and lollipops. About twenty or so fidgety kids were sitting in their assigned seats, looking deceptively angelic. My entrance elicited the usual gasp I get every time I enter a room full of children, but a few of the kids whispered "Liam!" My heart swelled. He put his backpack in the appropriate place and his new aide, whose name I committed to memory for a full eight seconds, showed him to his seat. I stole a quick smooch (from Liam), made my exit, and did not cry a single tear until about five minutes into typing this blog. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-20218642859042616062016-07-08T15:08:00.000-07:002016-07-08T15:12:30.777-07:00Gotta Catch 'Em All!I take pride in the fact that, despite my advancing years, I still have my finger on the rapid, thready pulse of nerd society. I hosted a Dr. Who trivia night prior to a viewing of the 50th anniversary special, I'm the one my friends turn to when they need the post-credit eater egg following the Marvel Cinematic Universe films explained, and yesterday I was one of the first to download Pokemon GO.<br />
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Here's a bit about it on <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/monkeysee/2016/07/08/485078495/gotta-catch-em-all-or-at-least-a-few-a-pokemon-neophyte-tries-pokemon-go?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&utm_content=20160708" target="_blank">NPR</a><br />
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Did you not follow that link? Of course you didn't. In a nutshell, the Pokemon people are using the GPS and camera on your phone to create an "Augmented Reality" game. AR is going to be the way of the future. Within a decade kids will be running through the park wearing goofy goggles and fighting dragons, making Pokemon GO seem pathetic, but for now it's AWESOME. The object is to walk around in the real world and capture little creatures <i>in real places</i> like the park across the street or the fountain downtown. You train these creatures to evolve from cute little cuddlies into ferocious killers and then you pit them against other players' creatures at cock-fight style arenas called "gyms" that are, again, in <i>actual places. </i>The reality of this world can only be seen through your phone (for now) and it looks like this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaFFkUfcv4EYX7TYWnx68seu8LMZtgiBBux9q2Su0FVvzGSVEX9jOAZpqGKIqtv80xtdI15seqlgtp-zsxsJC39Imjmh7fNtCMSByqFi_d9LJgjyKehKWO_Xyo7s-Ur1V_NUPPQxfFUVK/s1600/IMG_1068.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaFFkUfcv4EYX7TYWnx68seu8LMZtgiBBux9q2Su0FVvzGSVEX9jOAZpqGKIqtv80xtdI15seqlgtp-zsxsJC39Imjmh7fNtCMSByqFi_d9LJgjyKehKWO_Xyo7s-Ur1V_NUPPQxfFUVK/s320/IMG_1068.PNG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's us at home on the porch. The purple ring is "incense" to attract Pokemon</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYMXSpttTxo0SuQp8SNw2_X6f473AXMq0ovhRX1r8wgE-QgFyqXmAwklUQmtQTfjDvGjcJqIHqV5TBkV2CvFlH9_J9bimHeE4v7PB-Rus_K6UbyNH5E0d49LDXZDyFXJ7LM7rRNB3NS0G/s1600/IMG_1070.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYMXSpttTxo0SuQp8SNw2_X6f473AXMq0ovhRX1r8wgE-QgFyqXmAwklUQmtQTfjDvGjcJqIHqV5TBkV2CvFlH9_J9bimHeE4v7PB-Rus_K6UbyNH5E0d49LDXZDyFXJ7LM7rRNB3NS0G/s320/IMG_1070.PNG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The park down the street has 8 Pokestops and a Gym where we can do battle once we reach Level 5</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7DvD69WxAf7w-Pgwpq1UpHSbk93dmiYg_g4tyKHlhp2ivAbd30U_eyz7i7OLPDUJG8dRy6Fll8_plVkV3QaH611OKMaETV59wXWgBlUWOpWGQOpKPUGtVzUSzcoGvCkowpeWfxZ8_wAj/s1600/IMG_1071.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7DvD69WxAf7w-Pgwpq1UpHSbk93dmiYg_g4tyKHlhp2ivAbd30U_eyz7i7OLPDUJG8dRy6Fll8_plVkV3QaH611OKMaETV59wXWgBlUWOpWGQOpKPUGtVzUSzcoGvCkowpeWfxZ8_wAj/s320/IMG_1071.PNG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was an "oddish" in our walkway! Liam is pretty good at throwing Pokeballs to catch them</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9fuYZtQCtzgSwSMMMeuu2AigSOeXg2HI3O2Jt_cwtZjaSAOhxRCXymHYqKel_awYeY0smCNxskoniulE2iUj902vESAQQRqjSu3dBk97Y7KTEFmfUY1kAf38UgE7pYWLirXbbaLXOjAE/s1600/IMG_1074.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9fuYZtQCtzgSwSMMMeuu2AigSOeXg2HI3O2Jt_cwtZjaSAOhxRCXymHYqKel_awYeY0smCNxskoniulE2iUj902vESAQQRqjSu3dBk97Y7KTEFmfUY1kAf38UgE7pYWLirXbbaLXOjAE/s320/IMG_1074.PNG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This pig statue in our park is a Pokestop</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4btcVrlaODTldP1IEBT6UNmmGKLEdq1p7M9OXkLW7-BqRr67vH4Waghk2ys9issVGeW5ELEInaPwnTIDh7qdeovuSrunMFytVcqWfaoeMOGYK_4DqgDElIUBbo8P3QLHM9h0DVb31cxR/s1600/IMG_1076.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4btcVrlaODTldP1IEBT6UNmmGKLEdq1p7M9OXkLW7-BqRr67vH4Waghk2ys9issVGeW5ELEInaPwnTIDh7qdeovuSrunMFytVcqWfaoeMOGYK_4DqgDElIUBbo8P3QLHM9h0DVb31cxR/s320/IMG_1076.PNG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So is the canoe in front of Liam's Boys and Girls Club. They give you Pokeballs and other cool stuff.</td></tr>
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This game forces you to walk all around town, get exercise, enjoy nature, battle animated creatures. I'm into it. Liam is BONKERS over it. I can't wait until I get him back home on Wednesday. I should have leveled up by then and I caught this today in the parking lot at work.<br />
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I've named him "Liam-ra the Mighty" and he's destined to be the defending gladiator champion of the Giorgi Park gym, MARK MY WORDS! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ293M7k0MehN4853iAQnUZPp89ei-FCdpIjuw7GjhI_rIHBrENpDT4langu4spghdR5mpmAPd6hk2MIbopcN7pSNzS4mpIBrgPurdyKf_0E171qWPatBdmbPVBgzeYokcYMqz8_gfx7pN/s1600/IMG_1081.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ293M7k0MehN4853iAQnUZPp89ei-FCdpIjuw7GjhI_rIHBrENpDT4langu4spghdR5mpmAPd6hk2MIbopcN7pSNzS4mpIBrgPurdyKf_0E171qWPatBdmbPVBgzeYokcYMqz8_gfx7pN/s320/IMG_1081.PNG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All, for the kids...of course.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-81872082675040691812016-06-17T11:20:00.000-07:002016-06-28T08:32:47.767-07:00Summer 2016I may have tried to intimidate a room full of grade school kids. Just now.<br />
<br />
This was the first week of <i>summer vacation</i>. As a kid, the first week of summer was the single greatest week of the year. As a parent, it is the opposite.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QGK5he5L-ul6Lid2HzdMfcsEjP0mIUjGiVUHsuyglWGpzYT-hgL6gaf1_FWobYMuFwNh6HINAcQZhouzpF1BrAwjCFpc2demF3SR90NrGPzlOc9ga4qaSMqziqDsFm09Vg8adDduy9Yz/s1600/IMG_0937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QGK5he5L-ul6Lid2HzdMfcsEjP0mIUjGiVUHsuyglWGpzYT-hgL6gaf1_FWobYMuFwNh6HINAcQZhouzpF1BrAwjCFpc2demF3SR90NrGPzlOc9ga4qaSMqziqDsFm09Vg8adDduy9Yz/s320/IMG_0937.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All kinds of cool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This summer we decided to send Finn to the very posh Fitch Mountain Day Camp, while Liam is attending the good ole' Boys and Girls Club. A lot of factors went into making this decision, but ultimately I think we figured Finn was going to need the fancy camp with it's daily swimming, water slides, bouncy houses, carnivals, endless games, and high ratio of adult supervisors to campers, while Liam needs to see a little more of the real world. With his 7th birthday looming, he's practically a man, and we don't want him to lose his edge. The Boys and Girls Club is kind of like that low-rent gym Apollo takes Rocky to in Rocky III. Eye of the tiger, baby.<br />
<br />
If you're thinking, "Way to toughen up and send that boy out of the nest, come what may," it's because you didn't see me on the first day. Finn cried out pitiably as I left him behind at his new Kinderspa. I knew he'd be okay, but it was enough to spark the waterworks. Liam and I walked into the Boys and Girls Club and he was mesmerized by the sight of it. There were about forty kids there already, a few teenagers lurking in the corners, and maybe three or four young adults trying to manage the chaos. I walked him around a bit, showed him where the bathroom is, panicked a little because <i>I </i>was just allowed unsupervised in the bathroom with a child and no one really knew who I was so who the hell is going to prevent some pervert from....(breathe, breathe), checked in with the club's manager, and said my goodbyes. He said, "goodbye Daddy", and, with nervous determination, plunged right into the mix. I managed to keep it together halfway across the parking lot before the image of him, getting bullied for not being able to speak properly and ending up playing all alone in a dingy side room with some busted old Legos, came flooding into my mind's eye. I couldn't go back to work for an hour afterward.<br />
<br />
I insisted on being there later that day for the 1pm pickup time for both boys. Finn was fine, of course. No surprise there. I readied myself to go pick up Liam, certain I'd find him in a state of abject misery, which was of course the opposite of what I found. His group was in the art room doing some cool clay sculptures and when I said I was there to take him home, he had a little meltdown. I let him stay for another hour and went away to berate myself for freaking out <i>every time</i>. <br />
<br />
The entire week just got better and better, with the exception of two small hiccups. On Tuesday my phone buzzed and it was the number from the Boys and Girls Club. This image from around this time last year immediately came to mind:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyL34ovWcCzOaxtwdzdcvL7SqgAZ7nVfWypKmiNpjmFejqRv1XWnXYfS_kDe6zTBi1VX6F5pXJOB2F5U1i_-NFuymxPOy4JT0aPqmpogVf44TjsPvHiEPjh6qRLG_VGsCKqpmNBQ4EzqwV/s1600/10559802_10153398205052350_7785398841795492709_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyL34ovWcCzOaxtwdzdcvL7SqgAZ7nVfWypKmiNpjmFejqRv1XWnXYfS_kDe6zTBi1VX6F5pXJOB2F5U1i_-NFuymxPOy4JT0aPqmpogVf44TjsPvHiEPjh6qRLG_VGsCKqpmNBQ4EzqwV/s320/10559802_10153398205052350_7785398841795492709_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer 2015. Boo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I answered in a panic and the club director said "LIAM IS FINE, but he had a <i>little accident</i>". Two days later I got an identical call from Finn's club. Both boys are in strange new places with more independence than they're used to, so I wasn't too surprised. I figure Finn's resort has everyone in swimsuits all the time, so I'm sure 95% of the kids, and 30% of the adults, are peeing their pants most days anyway. Liam had me worried though. Grade school feels like it wasn't all that long ago. I remember how we were. We reveled in our abuse of the kids who embarrassed themselves. We were merciless and cruel. We would search for any ammunition we could, and would use it indefinitely.<br />
<br />
So at this morning's drop of I found myself standing a little taller and doing my best to look sinister. I didn't really plan to put on a show, but I hadn't dropped Liam off since his first day, and some animal instinct kicked in. I thought <i>why not</i>? I'm 6'8", 230lbs, and my angel son isn't well-equipped to defend himself. I walked him to his cubby, making sure to make eye contact with any kids looking my way. There were quite a few, ha HA! I knelt down and gave him a manly hug before walking out, making sure to duck slightly under the doorway as I left. Yes, I'm a little ashamed. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-54759390884261134412016-04-15T09:22:00.001-07:002016-04-15T09:38:35.063-07:00Yin and YangLiam is, as of last week, out of special education and in mainstream Kindergarten.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZa5NgOOjZoc4iCxWKwULDxsR5moHX_fhVXLZLsU-6l-gM3NLlbwNg5N5AAnWOs6jrOvQdAP4hJlNorVhSWUv-gMMEUhF8WKNfauZYV9svKHABhZVlUi4GMPJO2IHaGYxhIzW_15HYSeJP/s1600/7609_10154060919872350_2872252465522366971_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZa5NgOOjZoc4iCxWKwULDxsR5moHX_fhVXLZLsU-6l-gM3NLlbwNg5N5AAnWOs6jrOvQdAP4hJlNorVhSWUv-gMMEUhF8WKNfauZYV9svKHABhZVlUi4GMPJO2IHaGYxhIzW_15HYSeJP/s320/7609_10154060919872350_2872252465522366971_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My hero.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Words. <br />
<br />
Fail.<br />
<br />
I could go on for days about what it's been like leading up to this, how much sleep was lost, battles fought, hopes wavered, hearts broken, tears shed, and so on, but BAH!! How about we just talk about ice cream.<br />
<br />
So CLEARLY, with this achievement, Liam has earned himself ice cream forever. He, Finn, and I headed out Sunday night after dinner. I'd devised a route from our house to <a href="http://thenoblefolk.com/" target="_blank">Nobel Folk Ice Cream & Pie Bar</a>
that takes us along the longest blocks because they afford me a little
extra time to sprint and catch up to Finn before he can launch himself
into traffic. While Liam has made all of my hopes and dreams come true, Finn is still a bit of an asshole. <br />
<br />
To Finn, there is no greater form of comedy than forcing others to save him from mortal peril. My shouts of "FINN STOP!!!" in my burliest dad voice are
always answered with belly laughs. Once we get downtown, the blocks aren't as long, so I can't let him loose for a second. Instead, he gets the death-grip hand hold which makes his knees stop working.<br />
<br />
I knew it was going to get pretty ugly. It always does. Lately any errand I run with the boys ends up looking like a kidnapping, but it wasn't like I was going to bump into some rock-star I'd idolized when I was a teenager or anything.<br />
<br />
We managed well enough until we were only two blocks away from Noble Folk. Then, Finn started in on a sort of "suicidal contortionist" performance piece that pushed me to my wit's end and I shouted "FINE! If you won't hold my hand when we cross the street then we'll just have to go HOME!!"<br />
<br />
Finn's bullshit detector is keen, so he called my bluff and started back for home. I doubled down and pretended I wasn't going to follow him.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedbDclAFncrCQ1Lq8n08PJvp0q1Mo16kHl8tB5QdwtLjd6zS6HAt2jQ-kBEFb8hdGSXiU3MgIcDeswyvUqIw1JiLrkhTddiUPHjlSNfNrKhWrThMttv9Sby0Ck8UW-QIKp0GLHmrS69Pf/s1600/IMG_0375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedbDclAFncrCQ1Lq8n08PJvp0q1Mo16kHl8tB5QdwtLjd6zS6HAt2jQ-kBEFb8hdGSXiU3MgIcDeswyvUqIw1JiLrkhTddiUPHjlSNfNrKhWrThMttv9Sby0Ck8UW-QIKp0GLHmrS69Pf/s320/IMG_0375.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jerk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I eventually caught up to him in the bulk food isle of our local grocery store.<br />
<br />
Liam was on my tail and quick to remind me that ice cream was the other direction, so Finn got to ride the rest of the way over daddy's shoulder, which was fine with him since he was exhausted from laughing maniacally.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDoIyXr08XHn5lx_iPdI0oo2flCN9hFuAPojRMacEyD6heJxstj7CJwzqIKjc2rU5lVkFm2Pi18xTBm9PnP9SpTihQa82CZDgSnmgUNMJBTnTmSBophF4lq0F-EAj_yq868ZUZm7U3dgEB/s1600/IMG_0377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDoIyXr08XHn5lx_iPdI0oo2flCN9hFuAPojRMacEyD6heJxstj7CJwzqIKjc2rU5lVkFm2Pi18xTBm9PnP9SpTihQa82CZDgSnmgUNMJBTnTmSBophF4lq0F-EAj_yq868ZUZm7U3dgEB/s320/IMG_0377.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just had the "water" I'd brought along with me.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'd love to say it was smooth sailing after that, but Finn felt the best nightcap was a visit to the toy store, so he staged a sit-in.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizi2V3s1KWo2Rw6ZY7C8TmuXJ3PMhbLY_r98Wq1GG1xPzEOY8-SKDZuammbdWYhQU7rV-c5i-Xt5BPm-ykhyWFEHD3v-KkFJl_iydKf4-NgviMfRSWGqzg_giODBOg4YqZG7iXXsI3hKET/s1600/IMG_0380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizi2V3s1KWo2Rw6ZY7C8TmuXJ3PMhbLY_r98Wq1GG1xPzEOY8-SKDZuammbdWYhQU7rV-c5i-Xt5BPm-ykhyWFEHD3v-KkFJl_iydKf4-NgviMfRSWGqzg_giODBOg4YqZG7iXXsI3hKET/s320/IMG_0380.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
My argument that it was closed wasn't cutting it, so we crossed the street and I let him wail on the locked door. Fortunately it didn't set off any alarms. Unfortunately, Finn's renewed rage meant it was time to sprint to the very busy street down the block. Liam and I managed to pin him down at the corner, in full view of the weekend dining crowd that wasn't sure whether or not to call the police.<br />
<br />
I glanced up with my best "Ha! Everything is okay. No really," and there was Les Claypool of Primus, the lead singer of a band I went to see five times between 1992 and 1993.<br />
<br />
"He doesn't seem too happy," Les Claypool said.<br />
<br />
"No, he does not," I replied. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-54277760563450695252016-02-29T10:28:00.001-08:002016-03-01T07:05:53.698-08:00The Hardest Working Man in the HouseThis kid.<br />
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<br />
We're really going for it with Liam. No more show and tell or coloring inside the lines for this guy. He's on the fast track to academic GLORY!<br />
<br />
We've been challenging him for most of his young life to catch up to his peers and he's made great progress, but his 7th birthday is looming and he's not quite where he should be. So with the new year came this new regimen. His school schedule is jam-packed and he has homework every night. On weekends Erin is doing some supplemental reading work and I'm in charge of math. In a month we're going through another full evaluation at the Autism Spectrum Disorder Center in San Francisco which will likely grant us more speech therapy and applied behavior analysis. We've amassed an impressive team of doctors and lawyers on our side, all with the focus on getting Liam more aid and resources. Mainstream education or BUST!<br />
<br />
Am I feeling like super-dad or what?! No. Exactly the opposite. I feel like a tyrant and the destroyer of happiness. <br />
<br />
For the first few years you just have to keep your kids fed and out of harm's way. As they get older you kind of hold your breath and hope they develop just as they're supposed to. If they don't, then what? You educate yourself and learn ways to help them, but how much help do they need? Is more always better?<br />
<br />
Your child only gets one childhood. On one hand you don't want to raise a spoiled rotten sociopath who can't function outside of your home. On the other hand you don't want a child to be robbed of this precious time when life should be fun and easy. It's a tricky balancing act that every parent needs to negotiate and it's different for every child.<br />
<br />
With Liam you can sense that everything he needs to be doing in order to succeed is right there below the surface. I'm really hoping all the extra work is going to crack that thin shell that's holding him back. We're considering every recommendation the experts are giving us. Well, maybe not everything. Drugs are not an option for Liam as far as I'm concerned.<br />
<br />
Finn is another story. When your 4-year-old ends up at the doctor's office because he doesn't want to poop on the potty, you've lost the battle. Bring on the drugs! "Encopresis" is not a term I'd ever hoped to become familiar with. It's earned Finn back his pull-ups and regular doses of Miralax until we can figure something else out. The war isn't over yet. <br />
<br />
I haven't been blogging much. I like to keep it light-hearted and funny, but, as you can see, the stories lately have been tough ones to spin. So, on a lighter note, here are the boys running around on the grass, picking flowers, and hug tackling one another.<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-70806461839854087562016-01-22T13:34:00.000-08:002016-01-22T13:34:08.630-08:00A Girl and Her SnailEvie turned nine on Wednesday, and her birthday wish was simple:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64lWJyJe-5G9FEFxUSdV8CnqzPYhRUCYalJfmyjqC8XswaKWdyHo9U0NYCeCnzaBvu8v2EVtWPRyAg2UAOy1F3YkZOnbWmglU9mu64x9ZwctBbX6jpWHFhlIVOwhRvW5-0nWXZcx28eg/s1600/snail2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64lWJyJe-5G9FEFxUSdV8CnqzPYhRUCYalJfmyjqC8XswaKWdyHo9U0NYCeCnzaBvu8v2EVtWPRyAg2UAOy1F3YkZOnbWmglU9mu64x9ZwctBbX6jpWHFhlIVOwhRvW5-0nWXZcx28eg/s320/snail2.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Yep, she wanted a snail. No big deal, right? WRONG! As it turns out, there aren't a ton of snails in my nearby radius during a rainstorm in January. I upturned every chunk of cement, abandoned 2x4 and water-filled flower pot in our backyard, all to no snavail. (Get it? Snail + avail! Hahahahaha!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0vKmfbW3nGkGVj08DHdVwymIOF2hBhAUYF5humTWkAdHlntKkHVwiDyO43woHAXn5BG_sQIfpBPD4n8-Nx6NEzo9ZUSXjKUAUDWLa0-6ZUs0Vyrq42p02kMDi4abARZC8mlrdPYGAA8/s1600/snail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0vKmfbW3nGkGVj08DHdVwymIOF2hBhAUYF5humTWkAdHlntKkHVwiDyO43woHAXn5BG_sQIfpBPD4n8-Nx6NEzo9ZUSXjKUAUDWLa0-6ZUs0Vyrq42p02kMDi4abARZC8mlrdPYGAA8/s320/snail.JPG" width="240" /></a>I did some attempted out-sourcing, calling pet stores (nope) and, in a desperately silly moment of mental washout, I called a nursery. Nurseries, as we know, don't really <i>like</i> snails, so I'm not sure why I thought they'd have one. But I called, and they didn't. I texted friends, posted on gardeners' message boards, and hit up Facebook. I optimistically erased the request and drew a picture in it's place, hoping that if I couldn't find a real-live snail, a chalk drawing of one might suffice. </div>
<br />
Luckily, Facebook came through, <i>like it always does</i>.<br />
<br />
Meet Evie's pet snail:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5Na2he-Nz7zUFJlWOKJ_qNaDiZmr-7OnKuzu7go7SaUxqGz0ckjhtvXXVQe7ExwZEX8TbehG83r0kwEJbvJ-zOSckOxAiuCi9VWy_V-qunZlGpgIQy6pCL-RWg0zEebF6Lgf8bPbExs/s1600/IMG_0160+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5Na2he-Nz7zUFJlWOKJ_qNaDiZmr-7OnKuzu7go7SaUxqGz0ckjhtvXXVQe7ExwZEX8TbehG83r0kwEJbvJ-zOSckOxAiuCi9VWy_V-qunZlGpgIQy6pCL-RWg0zEebF6Lgf8bPbExs/s320/IMG_0160+%25281%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temporary name: Lenny</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I got him (or her...I think they're one and the same) all set up in it's comfy new home full of water and leafy greens and a little cup to hide in, which it promptly scooshed past in order to crawl up the side of it's terrarium wall to the uppermost corner, where it stayed until it met Evie. </div>
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I figured since it wasn't being cute anyway, I'd just go ahead and wrap it up: </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqnS0zN21S6WBWG9j1h4yfbfytLZc3nuxMAw8Rlpo8pcbZG-wS2WJfyg5D75YfDTmzCo2uFbB6vKiSnTtylxZpa7iqJK4chA7TU12imWT40j-tboI0gyv4lTe3XXeIcfkerHEn46bcyqw/s1600/IMG_0165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqnS0zN21S6WBWG9j1h4yfbfytLZc3nuxMAw8Rlpo8pcbZG-wS2WJfyg5D75YfDTmzCo2uFbB6vKiSnTtylxZpa7iqJK4chA7TU12imWT40j-tboI0gyv4lTe3XXeIcfkerHEn46bcyqw/s320/IMG_0165.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She'll have no idea what's in the big box!</td></tr>
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Upon picking her up from school, Evie asked no less than six thousand times if I could just give her a <i>tiny little</i> hint about whether or not she'd be getting a snail when we got home. I was like, "no way dude, forget it!" And I made her open her boring book presents first, just for the extra torture. When she got to the big box, she was amazingly surprised! Like I <i>wouldn't</i> get her a snail for her birthday?! Psh, who does she think she's dealing with here, a total amateur??<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPYysnX3pwL59R5LzjcXvX36TU1y5JgaO_kM01FRqTEWpR1HWhhY7TyrnSaAlxY16slMObKU_AcibybbcK90BCJSzDwcHFj9X5mpK08CoX_0daHlc5OCIec5Nd3UmQtjQy9iDVphQ39e8/s1600/IMG_0169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPYysnX3pwL59R5LzjcXvX36TU1y5JgaO_kM01FRqTEWpR1HWhhY7TyrnSaAlxY16slMObKU_AcibybbcK90BCJSzDwcHFj9X5mpK08CoX_0daHlc5OCIec5Nd3UmQtjQy9iDVphQ39e8/s320/IMG_0169.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh my gosh mama, is it a snail?!"</td></tr>
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Since he/she was still hiding, she had to work a little to find her new BFF.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwwzABo_zyAEQjd9YVANwRqoidRcbRUKt8yHf3CMDrPjeqYzvptdaeZpGP-s1APZsdjgUV7jLw32D9V2hVBU4_lRXxQa7CIYTjDp3t7FdNb3PVx-tCJv6ZjIrTSb_wde0DaSexAzpzSo/s1600/IMG_0170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwwzABo_zyAEQjd9YVANwRqoidRcbRUKt8yHf3CMDrPjeqYzvptdaeZpGP-s1APZsdjgUV7jLw32D9V2hVBU4_lRXxQa7CIYTjDp3t7FdNb3PVx-tCJv6ZjIrTSb_wde0DaSexAzpzSo/s320/IMG_0170.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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But once she did, they were inseparable. I mean, literally - those things are super sticky.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlQ6hIiv4zSB9UqOGWzyU4ta3f9PNoiJ2FMXTxP50m6vGrwdkUiZhzJsfAqTnUnWrFiE7kY9D6A27Ns2zappEXqA41Bjbq3ZrKG7p-Hjhgf9DiYQksdU7YcA9jYAckpFgWGz3tewHA6Q/s1600/IMG_0173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlQ6hIiv4zSB9UqOGWzyU4ta3f9PNoiJ2FMXTxP50m6vGrwdkUiZhzJsfAqTnUnWrFiE7kY9D6A27Ns2zappEXqA41Bjbq3ZrKG7p-Hjhgf9DiYQksdU7YcA9jYAckpFgWGz3tewHA6Q/s320/IMG_0173.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Here is a heavily-cut video of Evie's snail - Flash - crawling. Because it's cute. Happy Birthday Evie!!</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx0JijIgbaBgzjV1Yn_BbJSbH35b4VO4WF3JasrS-jITgywlziZdKW4A0VTc_E2Bbne6omW8mHJzMBLM16IpA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-12862602849977631182016-01-07T07:23:00.003-08:002016-01-07T07:23:30.873-08:00Number Two<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaR6KwrcBf5ZCmFeB1KOC71F1v4v4-FNS7w0MNnCCcz-G3EHkMwUsUvrMdwO6B4qNv2RawjFJkgg5e_Eny4T_uMnnbTaKzN5GAMgTI38qswvHv6dk6bUze8yXu2P1LW5YK3_9QpIDS4Lk-/s1600/potty.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaR6KwrcBf5ZCmFeB1KOC71F1v4v4-FNS7w0MNnCCcz-G3EHkMwUsUvrMdwO6B4qNv2RawjFJkgg5e_Eny4T_uMnnbTaKzN5GAMgTI38qswvHv6dk6bUze8yXu2P1LW5YK3_9QpIDS4Lk-/s320/potty.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">January 4, 2015</td></tr>
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Looking back at the blog I see that we got Finn his potty chair a YEAR ago. Since then, the main thing it's collected in its froggy head has been dust. He was <i>okay </i>with the peeing starting last November and there have been a couple of celebrated (though I suspect accidental) turds dropped here and there, but it wasn't until this holiday break that he finally embraced what is universally accepted as truth: pissing your pants is not cool.<br />
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Consequently we've recently declared step number one officially reached. In fact, he's so good at going number one, he'll often just sit and squeeze out a teaspoon so he can say "gummy bear", which I'm obliged to award him.<br />
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Such prowess with number one should mean that number two will be quick to follow, but this is Finn we're talking about.<br />
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Once again, the issue isn't that he doesn't know how to go, or when to go. He's in complete control of his bodily functions, he's just the kung fu master of stubborn. He will hold it from morning til nighttime diaper. I not sure how he does it, but then again his poops are 90% gummy bear these days.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgObfiNy7NzcMIJ-DltqD64dFhn1GnlZ4FQ8VtZOXqR_UiZ3ezVf9msEpcCg7ft28EkGmtK7YDUNjo8czNB3FFfCovu4wMT-biqTl9fpnfLzTVJ8wQhvzEfd6IW0J2YXOeBnHTyHfQDVmu0/s1600/IMG_9784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgObfiNy7NzcMIJ-DltqD64dFhn1GnlZ4FQ8VtZOXqR_UiZ3ezVf9msEpcCg7ft28EkGmtK7YDUNjo8czNB3FFfCovu4wMT-biqTl9fpnfLzTVJ8wQhvzEfd6IW0J2YXOeBnHTyHfQDVmu0/s320/IMG_9784.JPG" width="320" /></a>During the daylight hours he's in underpants, with rare exceptions. On long road trips, or visits to locations too sacred to risk an accident, he'll get a midday diaper<i> </i>which he soils the instant the double grip strips lock in place. When he finds himself truly desperate to go during the day he'll tell me "diaper?", which is my cue to sweep him into the bathroom so we can both sit for ten minutes while he doesn't poop.<br />
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Last Saturday, right after a hearty lunch, he said "diaper?" and I put him on the potty with inexplicable confidence. He hopped up, went to back to his room, climbed the bookshelf, retrieved a swim diaper left there from last summer, put it on, went into the closet, pointed his little finger out of the darkness toward the hallway and told me "go". I would have intervened but I was completely transfixed.<br />
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Jodee thinks we should try respecting his need for privacy by placing him on the potty and leaving him alone. I'm all for it, though my version might look a little more like solitary confinement than she had in mind. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-55848449658833679612016-01-04T14:43:00.001-08:002016-01-04T14:43:26.141-08:00Christmas 2015I have a Clark Griswold complex. I go into the holidays with the same wide-eyed naivety every year and end up disappointed. At least this year the boys reminded me to lower the bar early.<br />
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To kick off the holiday I thought I'd take the boys to the mall for, what was destined to be, "the best picture with Santa...EVER!"<br />
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They'd watched the Rankin/Bass "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" at least 80 times and were Santa-crazy. Every decoration that appeared at all Santa-esque was dubbed "SAN KWAZ!" by Finley. I figured actually meeting the <i>real </i>Santa this year was going yield the most adorable moment ever captured on film. Here's what we got:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA40RfLO2dQ50bXGkPWyEB4atBpoZgSj-JB_nGqRUvHLCzQ1Y8OxDTe-eMles3a4p9oo4cFPCSvSvtfsRO3sNknD1B654cSi3yVpbHEP1z1fm3Ksf8oWXQ6N62lsqm3nxS4e_NHLWcXfZJ/s1600/IMG_9721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA40RfLO2dQ50bXGkPWyEB4atBpoZgSj-JB_nGqRUvHLCzQ1Y8OxDTe-eMles3a4p9oo4cFPCSvSvtfsRO3sNknD1B654cSi3yVpbHEP1z1fm3Ksf8oWXQ6N62lsqm3nxS4e_NHLWcXfZJ/s320/IMG_9721.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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This was the BEST of EIGHT, just by virtue of the fact that all three of their heads are in frame. The first four shots looked like the boys were exploding out of Santa. After some blue lollipops that I'm sure were laced with sedatives (I have no problem with that) and the patented white-gloved death grip seen above (also, absolutely no problem with that) Santa managed to get this moment captured on pricey, high-glossed film. The cheapest package was $29.99.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-90718230635471015842015-12-14T10:55:00.000-08:002015-12-14T11:14:09.730-08:00Finn is a ButtFinn would be getting a lump of coal in his stocking this year but I know he'll just draw on the living room wall with it, flush it down the toilet, and then pee on the bathroom rug.<br />
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I haven't blogged about the boys in a long time because every time I sit down and think to myself "what are they up to these days that's worth mentioning?" I get an instant stabbing sensation behind my left eye.<br />
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Of course we have our fun, and I love my boys more than ever, but if I had to sum up this chapter of our lives I'd say that Finn is continuing to aggressively "test boundaries" and Liam is making progress, but is still struggling with language. I just felt a hair turn grey. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDB8M0AIbtZK5B3xv7pYV0Rlz8o7fY7rW46URdE3gMnvdbZ435J1B0uYSbVmkFQYeGcV023pzUJZ-rBco1ynkhj_DLYoZDL21mb6Lb34-ZuObzRTC4O8mu8xjwcnL3EeuCy57eZr6y_W6s/s1600/IMG_9658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDB8M0AIbtZK5B3xv7pYV0Rlz8o7fY7rW46URdE3gMnvdbZ435J1B0uYSbVmkFQYeGcV023pzUJZ-rBco1ynkhj_DLYoZDL21mb6Lb34-ZuObzRTC4O8mu8xjwcnL3EeuCy57eZr6y_W6s/s320/IMG_9658.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Angel</td></tr>
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I don't have a single gripe about Liam. He's as sweet and funny as ever, and he's made more progress in the last month or two with his language issues than I've seen him make in the past two years. It brings me to happy tears. Jodee wrote beautifully about it on her blog <a href="http://jodeeanello.com/2015/12/03/strides/" target="_blank">HERE</a>. The hard part is we're not sure now what path his education should take. Erin and I have been observing classes and meeting with teachers to try and figure out what's the next best move. They think he's in the right program, but Erin and I think he's ready to advance. As anyone who has tried to fight for their child's educational needs can tell you, it's an epic battle.<br />
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Finn, on the other hand, is mega-gripeworthy. His potty-training went out the window for about a month. As soon as he discovered how pleased we were to see him use the toilet, he added that skill to the list of things he will absolutely never do again. He now holds it until he's in agony, or until he's in the bath and we're not watching so that he can hop out, take a piss on the bathroom rug, and hop back in the tub. We've tricked him a number of times into using the potty, but he's peed on the rug as many times as not. Pooping he saves for the moment we're forced to put him in a diaper. Typically it'll be his nighttime diaper or any occasion when we have to leave the house for an extended period of time. Once he's in it, he runs off to hide so he can unleash in privacy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIw1i4iEHDcmk8eqV4IIWl6qbDJchXDxUpo3oVxi9rBJSnTrBdhKcW7AD6nSRk9UYXQFHqZ74HXUzTr61NxFR4LfXiFUmPf_jHYfItU6pZNQqT8jOfmKjPnkrsX4cLDlVHVBAAeUK0wbhA/s1600/IMG_9583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIw1i4iEHDcmk8eqV4IIWl6qbDJchXDxUpo3oVxi9rBJSnTrBdhKcW7AD6nSRk9UYXQFHqZ74HXUzTr61NxFR4LfXiFUmPf_jHYfItU6pZNQqT8jOfmKjPnkrsX4cLDlVHVBAAeUK0wbhA/s320/IMG_9583.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finn taking a dump</td></tr>
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His other major power move is the "limp noodle". It's brilliant. You know the move: it's the one where the slightest disinclination to do something results in instantaneous full-body immobility.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1dDi2nUZvPM0T_z2bPFHgv2uC2_ZJEuZXrYsiX7541t1hw_E93jkNeYhzlD4nGlOtWVn0oD7CkkybREol_nmjwFPeWyqnQ4u9WZ3hPxp5PI6VqIgL2j9rSoVdIDsEpNxDKzeLqMHDDX7/s1600/IMG_9598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1dDi2nUZvPM0T_z2bPFHgv2uC2_ZJEuZXrYsiX7541t1hw_E93jkNeYhzlD4nGlOtWVn0oD7CkkybREol_nmjwFPeWyqnQ4u9WZ3hPxp5PI6VqIgL2j9rSoVdIDsEpNxDKzeLqMHDDX7/s320/IMG_9598.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Finn, can you put your shoes on?"</td></tr>
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I used to be able to call his bluff by simply walking away, but Liam has ruined that. Liam gets very upset when I appear to be leaving his only brother and best friend behind. Consequently, on the days Finn doesn't feel like going to school, he gets carried the whole way.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-84033131147025797062015-11-17T12:00:00.000-08:002015-11-17T12:00:09.431-08:00The Beauty of Big KidsAs my kids get older, I am often reminded of my pre-child days when I<br />
a) thought I'd never have kids, and<br />
b) said that if I ever did, I wanted them to pop out and immediately inflate to around 7 years old. I guess I've been so caught up in the whole 'raising babies/toddlers/preschoolers/etc' thing for the last 12 years that I forgot that dream. Now that my lastborn is hovering toward the last quarter of age 8 however, I totally remembered those silly fantasies, and I still absolutely agree with my pre-kid self.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHmnMSb0JQP78oDsHarJwmhqEum7fceUNkKEKZQX22czmrd_7g5ONZhldxF-7LNwM9u_NFXM26RCICdZYjyXAe671cSve9WipRrlL3c8uFtTR8bLTVxRD7uKJ7jWtC1zzcnfTeUNeMak/s1600/IMG_9171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHmnMSb0JQP78oDsHarJwmhqEum7fceUNkKEKZQX22czmrd_7g5ONZhldxF-7LNwM9u_NFXM26RCICdZYjyXAe671cSve9WipRrlL3c8uFtTR8bLTVxRD7uKJ7jWtC1zzcnfTeUNeMak/s320/IMG_9171.JPG" width="320" /></a>Don't get me wrong - those early years are magical and sweet and glorious and all of that bullshit, but <i>man</i> is it ever nice to have a conversation with a kid.<br />
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Laying with Evie at bedtime and discussing the day, her dreams, other kids at school, geography, all sorts of other things... it's my favorite time of the day with her because that time is about she and I only - no brothers for her to nag, no pets for her to dress up. It's where I get the scoop on which girls in her class are casting the friendship net, how something she said was misinterpreted and how she resolved it, who didn't want to play but later did...can I just pause here for a moment and wonder at the amount of D R A M A in girls' lives? I mean, this kid is 8 and already her social life gives me a headache. I'd like to say things have changed from the time I was a kid, but there's a certain sparkly pencil incident I've never quite gotten over, so, I guess it's just an unavoidable childhood negotiation process.<br />
<br />
Anyway, Evie is brilliant at articulating her thoughts and feelings...at bedtime. During the day she gets a bit more, erm, easily frustrated. So it's really lovely to have that time to just lay down, sing songs, snuggle, and dish.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile Jonah has begun Middle School and seems to be grasping the most important basics. For example, the other day I quietly observed while he asked a girl out on behalf of his friend who was watching from behind a tree. It was magical. He also joined a Music Club where he can play his ukulele, and is considering joining the Salsa Club. As in, <i>they eat salsa</i>. If you know me at all you know that this is one of my all-time favorite foods, which Jonah is finally starting to get into. So yeah, we've got plenty of salsa-eating and discussing ahead of us, which has been a long time coming. You can't exactly give a baby a jalapeno and a knife and expect the proper results. Trust me on that one. Please.<br />
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There's more! For the first time in his whole life Jonah and I have a TV show we're both interested in at the same time! (Sorry Little Einstein. And My Little Pony. And that YouTube Minecraft guy).<br />
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We recently started watching <i>Once Upon a Time</i> together and, jeez! Who knew trying to solve fairy-tale related mysteries with your tweenaged son would be so damn fun! I watch very little TV so I generally miss out on the "I'm so obsessed with this show" crazes out there. I kind of <i>get it</i> now. Although if Jonah weren't my watching companion, I don't know if I'd take the time to sit down and watch it on my own, but that's what makes it so sweet. Me, my boy, our show. I'm totally digging it.*<br />
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It turns out pre-child Amanda was pretty smart.<br />
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Here is a somewhat random video of Jonah trying to sell some stuff. Sorry, that stuff is no longer available, but I think this video perfectly captures the...<strike>awkwardness</strike> awesomeness of having a Middle Schooler.<br />
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In short: big kids are the best!<br />
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*We're only on Season One so please, as much as I want to know who the stranger on the motorcycle is, NO SPOILERS!!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-29133686826857743612015-11-02T09:18:00.000-08:002015-11-02T09:40:59.944-08:00Halloween 2015Last year I had the BEST idea. I wanted to re-purpose my old-timey sailor costume into a group costume with Liam and Finn. I was going to be "Jack" from the Cracker Jack box, Liam was going to be his dog "Bingo", Finn was going to be an adorable toy prize, and the three of us were going to win hearts and contests the world over. I took Liam to the costume store to get a doggy outfit but he spotted a "Woody" costume and that was the end of my dream.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQSG4N9CYwjktNMrYiGU1eIWzeXvFa9xndLCUgbGUBCjXgwV9b-JeChGB7TzETKZsSgCW7L0vAAVGN09jPcUqSVdJeXmaTFJpQ-3AfLfXpP4r-oSvnLPhh9eQDwbG5YwwKp4lJN6cA4mG/s1600/photo-22.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQSG4N9CYwjktNMrYiGU1eIWzeXvFa9xndLCUgbGUBCjXgwV9b-JeChGB7TzETKZsSgCW7L0vAAVGN09jPcUqSVdJeXmaTFJpQ-3AfLfXpP4r-oSvnLPhh9eQDwbG5YwwKp4lJN6cA4mG/s320/photo-22.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2014</td></tr>
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So this year we just went to the costume store and I let the boys pick whatever costume they wanted. I guess it <i>is </i>kind of supposed to be about them.<br />
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We went down to Railroad Square to check out 'Disguise the Limit' and upon entering Liam immediately covered his eyes and leaped into my arms. Costumes are fucking scary this year. I blame <i>The Walking Dead</i>.<br />
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I held him tight and looked for the least gory, kid-friendliest isle. Liam glanced at a few things between his fingers but was ready to get the hell out of there in under three minutes. Meanwhile, I'd lost Finn as soon as we crossed the store's threshold, but figured he'd be fine (second kid syndrome). I found him in a decidedly adult section where he had found a Jessica Rabbit dress-wearing-mannequin and was getting to third base with it. I'm worried about him.<br />
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We gave up on costumes and got a cookie instead. While we were headed back to the car Liam said "bee please". Apparently he HAD chosen a costume, so we went back to the store, grabbed one of the three honey-bee costume packs that looked like it had been opened the fewest number of times and was therefore likely to still have all of it's parts (it didn't), let Finn cop a quick feel, and made our purchase.<br />
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It needed a few accessories but the end result was pretty damn cute:<br />
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As for Finn, he was indifferent so we let him rummage through some hand-me-down costumes we keep on hand. He chose 'Thomas the Tank Engine': cute, timeless, and consisting of only a hat and a poncho thingy so it was easy to put on and take off. I have no pictures of him wearing it because about an hour before our big Halloween party, Finn took a header into a laundry basket. This left him with a bloodied fat lip and NO TOLERANCE for any sort of dress-up shenanigans. He immediately tore off his Thomas poncho which left him in his ill-fitting, but comfy underclothes. I considered telling people he was dressed up as an 'abused orphan' but thought better of it.</div>
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(Don't worry. He still had fun)<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-25649689843857315832015-10-21T10:46:00.000-07:002015-10-21T10:46:29.555-07:00The Repo ManAs you probably know from reading Mike's posts, Harvest is in full swing. Or, it was when I started writing this. I've since lost track of when that was, so just bear with me here and pretend this is still a current event. <br />
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For us, harvest doesn't mean too much. By 'us' I of course mean <a href="http://www.repored.com/" target="_blank">Repo Red</a>, the wine Paulie makes in the driveway so we have 'free' table wine all year long. By 'doesn't mean much' I am of course referring to the constant scrambling to try to find grapes, then traveling all over god's green earth to get them. Then crush them. But first bottle last year's wine because the wine basement only has so much space, which is basically...very little. So yeah, we've been doing a lot of tasting, blending, bottling, harvesting, crushing and barreling lately. Luckily we have lots of enthusiastic friends willing to help.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqx4Z-wlnMGSfbiC1JSFd3ifUGxV14TrrV-IcK2Sw9tozIX5l1hmtqqHRHP7OZRnUUZEx74uZNgf6zSOVkTM0sUK8H5c_27u-pd9l8PV9Qt8Ry8xBkyABpq-epJqhIAlgO4YtgS5Hfd80/s1600/repo+bottling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqx4Z-wlnMGSfbiC1JSFd3ifUGxV14TrrV-IcK2Sw9tozIX5l1hmtqqHRHP7OZRnUUZEx74uZNgf6zSOVkTM0sUK8H5c_27u-pd9l8PV9Qt8Ry8xBkyABpq-epJqhIAlgO4YtgS5Hfd80/s320/repo+bottling.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Eventually those friends get tired or have to move on into the work of dealing with their own projects, so this is when Paulie and I find ourselves hauling ass. I am not much for 'ass-hauling' and so I tend to get a bit grumpy during these times. It doesn't help that I have little to no free time lately, and so on those rare unicorn occasions that I do, Paulie always somehow wrangles me into giving up my precious time off from work in order to...work. For him. Doing physical labor. This is most often presented in a last-minute scenario, too, so that by this time in the season I am fearful of even sitting down at the computer to do any curating of Mortified pieces, or writing for myself, or working from the kitchen table of any sort because every time I do Paulie's spidey sense tells him I've just begun to relax and he immediately texts me to ask if I can drive to Dry Creek Valley to help him pick Syrah <i>right now</i>. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, these desperate pleas for help never come when I'm doing the dishes, or the laundry, or sweeping the stairs or cleaning the toilets. Only when I've juuuuust settled down to focus my mind on something other than chores and work.<br />
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Dammit!<br />
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Anyway. We did the afore-mentioned picking in Dry Creek Valley on a Friday, then after I got out of work on Sunday we hopped in the truck and drove to Amador County, where we got what appeared to be the last half ton of Syrah in the whole county. Seriously. Then we crushed it, pressed it, yadda yadda. I guess what I'm trying to say here is my back is really sore. That's pretty much what this rant is about.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean, there's so much leaning involved!</td></tr>
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P.S. As I mentioned at the top, this post is a bit outdated. I'm happy to report that our Harvest is over, has been for a while, and now I've got plenty of time to finish the dishes. Balance in the universe has been restored.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-29784453857776328812015-10-13T13:56:00.001-07:002015-10-14T08:00:55.731-07:00This is How We Rock the PottyWho loves to potty on the toilet?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy!!</td></tr>
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Someone call Merriam-Webster. I've got their picture for the word "smug".<br />
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I kind of wanted to tell Finn, "Don't think your shit doesn't stink pal! The evidence of that hasn't left the room yet," but instead I did the big-boy happy dance and lavished him with praise. He didn't <i>exactly </i>make this breakthrough on his own. The grown-up meeting all the adults had on his fourth birthday, to nail down our toilet training plan, was like something out of <i>Ocean's Eleven</i>. <br />
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Erin and I agreed on the child seat toilet insert with foot stool, box o' distractions, and matching frog potty back-ups at both locations.<br />
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We both bookmarked Finn's favorite music video on our iPhones (Fall Out Boy - Immortals).</div>
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And after some debate settled on "The Treat".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNxSRuav4t3aF_tDP6KDzj_aUwjO8kcpMTxQluTm_nryzPv2PX09d7qD4HRVMF_77ndNF7kf8AXmOvD9dgX493igDxPa4OKt-yjPVLYOLMyDowIq1cjyQNlZAEesRDLDsJxE4L0i0_Qpjf/s1600/IMG_9211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNxSRuav4t3aF_tDP6KDzj_aUwjO8kcpMTxQluTm_nryzPv2PX09d7qD4HRVMF_77ndNF7kf8AXmOvD9dgX493igDxPa4OKt-yjPVLYOLMyDowIq1cjyQNlZAEesRDLDsJxE4L0i0_Qpjf/s320/IMG_9211.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haribo® Brand Gummi-Bears</td></tr>
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The "Potty-Only Toy Box o' Distractions" was more of a mixed bag, but both Erin's and mine featured objects designed to occupy his attention and, more importantly, his hands. Finn is a bit of a "fiddler".<br />
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One real bit of magic that Teacher Emily equipped us all with was state-of-the-art identical laminated Velcro visual schedule strips.<br />
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It doesn't look like much but it is the goddamn Jedi-mind-trick! Finn's problem isn't that he doesn't know <i>when</i> he needs to go to the bathroom or doesn't know <i>how </i>to go, it's that he digs his heels in and just flat out refuses. The fact that he, like his brother, is way behind in language skills means negotiating doesn't really work. For some reason this little trick does. All we do is pull the little card with his name off of the Velcro strip and hand it to him. He takes it and places it above the pictogram, takes the pictogram off the strip, and does whatever it describes. In addition to "toilet" there's "dinner", "bed", "brush teeth", "tidy up", and a bunch of others. Every one of them works! He just goes about doing what we've been desperate for him to do, without protest. I may make one for Jodee.<br />
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Finally, I can't forget to mention the efforts of a certain somebody who understood best what Finn was going through and gave him the moral support none of us grown-ups could.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-14297642427332189622015-10-06T08:47:00.000-07:002015-10-06T08:47:00.098-07:00"What Will You Do Next?"I have no idea.<br />
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This is why the <a href="http://dev.sproutchildrensclothing.com/?p=215" target="_blank">decision to close my store</a>, Sprout, has been such a hard one. Because I don't exactly have the answer to that question, which, of course, everyone and their mother and grandmother and favorite auntie is asking me. Each time I am reminded that I'm not exactly in a financial position to <i>not</i> have an answer to that question. *Gulp*<br />
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Okay, so there are other - many other - reasons the decision was hard. Being a business owner, especially the Owner of Sprout, has been part of my life and identity for the past 8 years. That's mind-boggling to wrap my head around and when I think about the ups and downs and fun and struggles and absolute pride and joy that role has brought me, I get a little verklempt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLAFR8-YbL9Gq9rF12a06m7FwhGCx-ypyR-S29RsuLt4mELlyURnhrjldw7EGN_cQub-MYZD5X0P1xb1tg4zIi9QbXRv5KbcSmRv81KolPMI6Aade5P5ToLy_2hy45b5LLnm_xN5Cpl50/s1600/kids+at+sprout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLAFR8-YbL9Gq9rF12a06m7FwhGCx-ypyR-S29RsuLt4mELlyURnhrjldw7EGN_cQub-MYZD5X0P1xb1tg4zIi9QbXRv5KbcSmRv81KolPMI6Aade5P5ToLy_2hy45b5LLnm_xN5Cpl50/s320/kids+at+sprout.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good times were had by all. Like...ALL. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
With that, Sprout has also been a part of my kids' lives for the past 8 years. My daughter is 8 years old, so you do the math. For her the store is like her third arm, which I will soon be chopping off...wish me luck with that one. For my son, the store is like his second little sister- a fun new thing that came into his life shortly after his actual, real-life sister was born. He got to play there and Sprout gave him presents and clothes and playmates. He has spent hours entertaining the small children of my customers with peek-a-boo, Lincoln Log engineering and general affectionate cooing over their adorableness. He has spent many an afternoon cuddling on the couch with our fat old lazy lovable store cat, Macy.<br />
<br />
Oh, shit. Macy.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzlAaauzqqVvAUQpbZaZ1Guc5Vnfa8Tvyw_lMqbFar3BYy0Mtqv9bpS3FwTrX-4fe5fPxjMuiN1BVceBzch76Rsmf1ggJhEpRncDGA8eiWPSozGY4MBPO76OiUIWfB7-ya2N04-5G4p0/s1600/macy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzlAaauzqqVvAUQpbZaZ1Guc5Vnfa8Tvyw_lMqbFar3BYy0Mtqv9bpS3FwTrX-4fe5fPxjMuiN1BVceBzch76Rsmf1ggJhEpRncDGA8eiWPSozGY4MBPO76OiUIWfB7-ya2N04-5G4p0/s320/macy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"please keep the little humans away, merrrrr"</td></tr>
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Before I'd made the decision to close, I'd noticed Macy becoming less tolerant of being chased by enthusiastic toddlers around the shop, and I mentioned to the kids that maybe it was time to let someone adopt her so she could have a more peaceful retirement. This, to say the least, did NOT go over well. Evie protested strongly that this was a bad idea, whereas Jonah just...burst into tears. So she remained at the shop and now, well, now - dammit now I have a double-whammy of devastation for them: Sorry kids, no more extra arm/sibling AND no more snuggles with Macy.<br />
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Okay, so I don't yet know exactly what I'm going to do in terms of 'When There is No More Sprout.' Yet. But I <i>do</i> know what I'm going to do to help ease the disgruntlement of breaking the news to my kids...<br />
<br />
Ice Cream, anyone?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjA1pQZV__MIIdDaH_KwX1iKFx2IHkdd1KQQCpHDOKe-ZDf-qSKtKg0VTrwdn7GvPenU8t3EBmmhuGmbb_962I88yjGsaj3o4ycB7Gpg2ViUjaXMb7EEyTOYA8ZGyJibn0muHWfBq8cQo/s1600/ice+cream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjA1pQZV__MIIdDaH_KwX1iKFx2IHkdd1KQQCpHDOKe-ZDf-qSKtKg0VTrwdn7GvPenU8t3EBmmhuGmbb_962I88yjGsaj3o4ycB7Gpg2ViUjaXMb7EEyTOYA8ZGyJibn0muHWfBq8cQo/s320/ice+cream.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It worked before, it can work again!</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-91828535070921475262015-10-02T14:16:00.003-07:002015-10-02T14:44:37.742-07:00Shotgun Finn Turns FourThat cupcake (no doubt along with a couple more) will enter Finn's tummy, turn into something horrible, and return to this world in his pants.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJe24AzH1v8rSotNSd-rqoIMen3mxNlfUk-CEYCBo9s_O-uAFvIwuAuQY2E6eQlYYWKPMVbosHA98TcaJiGaQaIemOOJZtE-QtpnVfwO51yusyotukU4FV1O7yE28aIfvU365pkmYJwmO/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJe24AzH1v8rSotNSd-rqoIMen3mxNlfUk-CEYCBo9s_O-uAFvIwuAuQY2E6eQlYYWKPMVbosHA98TcaJiGaQaIemOOJZtE-QtpnVfwO51yusyotukU4FV1O7yE28aIfvU365pkmYJwmO/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
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We'll have plenty of advanced notice moments prior to its return. 24 hours from now Finn will stop whatever he's doing and stare unfocused at some knee-level spot on the wall, like he's regarding an insect or a curious dust bunny. Then he'll make a bee-line for his bedroom, glancing at me over his shoulder to make certain I'm <i>not </i>noticing him. I'll call his name in my most patient and tolerant voice and he'll respond "NOOOOOOoooooooo!!!!" in his typical dramatic fashion. If I bother to follow him into his room he'll try aggressively fighting me off while simultaneously bearing down with all of his might to ensure maximum dumpage.<br />
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My greatest wish was that, on this day, Finley Bairdsmith would become a diaper-free four-year-old. I guess you could say my wish was granted. I should have specified "<i>potty-trained </i>diaper-free four-year-old" because this kid goes through a lot of underpants. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8gRWp-S2bLy0jIoWsC9XKWUwAIXGHtXgsgweSv22C8qEks8PUv9XUVvXZhWtW3UNY6m0WZ624r0AA1UTv5ere5p9bATCJt6LvQdSPg0qvmiztFiFsli0nuYCA8tTX_HGeZ7_wXtR8kpV/s1600/photo+%252818%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8gRWp-S2bLy0jIoWsC9XKWUwAIXGHtXgsgweSv22C8qEks8PUv9XUVvXZhWtW3UNY6m0WZ624r0AA1UTv5ere5p9bATCJt6LvQdSPg0qvmiztFiFsli0nuYCA8tTX_HGeZ7_wXtR8kpV/s1600/photo+%252818%2529.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know, from the "Potty Power" video</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We've always been very gingerly with the potty training. We don't force it and we don't make the boys feel bad when accidents happen. This worked well for Liam. This is not working for Finn. So to celebrate this happy day, all of the key adults in Finn's life (Mom, Dad, Jodee, and Grandma Alix) are meeting with Finn's Kindergarten teacher to come up with a game plan. Personally, I think the smartest move is to hire my favorite pixie chanteuse Jessica Cannon to come live with us like Tangina the Clairvoyant in Poltergeist, but we'll probably just decide on some incentive like M&Ms or gold stars.<br />
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When I think back to this day four years ago, I realize that this sweet little goofball has been ruining my upholstery since the moment of his birth. I can't say I'll miss it.<br />
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Happy Birthday Finley Bairdsmith! I love you with all of my heart.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-14355875091875791182015-09-22T12:02:00.000-07:002015-09-22T12:02:14.078-07:00The Guilt-Tripped Re-Cap, Part 2In a continued attempt to redeem myself after a long, long absence from writing about the things going on in my life, which I know you've been sorely missing, I'm continuing my re-cap for you. You are SO WELCOME!<br />
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Here's some more things which have kept me busy and therefore away from the blog:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJTX48iLouFdj8-LP75jHP3bFZr8epgjALcTF4eR9A6mmICnPIWWlkOvgr9eNmyD1nPffLoa90LcknGwmlfbhKV02Z282CakuGQvjMyS4Aj_jLQWEg72AxSNezp7vx59a2ry0jUuinNg/s1600/get+lit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJTX48iLouFdj8-LP75jHP3bFZr8epgjALcTF4eR9A6mmICnPIWWlkOvgr9eNmyD1nPffLoa90LcknGwmlfbhKV02Z282CakuGQvjMyS4Aj_jLQWEg72AxSNezp7vx59a2ry0jUuinNg/s200/get+lit.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
A few months ago I started guest co-hosting <a href="https://www.facebook.com/getlitreadings?fref=ts" target="_blank">Get Lit!</a> at Corkscrew Wine Bar in Petaluma. This is a really fun literary night featuring authors from all over (I've been honored to be one of these featured readers twice!), and there's an always-great Open Mic afterward. It's the fourth Wednesday of every month; you should come check it out! There's almost always something funny, something sad, something sexy, and something unexpected to hear.<br />
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More time-consuming than that, however, has been finally getting started on curating pieces for the next Mortified Sonoma County show! (Yes, it used to be called <a href="http://pair-ranting.blogspot.com/2015/02/have-you-heard.html" target="_blank">Mortified North Bay</a>, but people in San Francisco and Oakland thought that meant Marin, so we changed it because, you know, we're not Marin. But I digress....)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJufxogiTWZQC6nPaRQVucalDFm1oI8H8mt3VjILx8NbYlof3AF36bAdgwf_c-IYRGDELf2_9GsU1e7lWjkClV6NUqkhifUGReqWrZDKgKMYmGoNUDjR5mn5mCDNxaCwA3ZYsqUYwDO6Y/s1600/IMG_0479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJufxogiTWZQC6nPaRQVucalDFm1oI8H8mt3VjILx8NbYlof3AF36bAdgwf_c-IYRGDELf2_9GsU1e7lWjkClV6NUqkhifUGReqWrZDKgKMYmGoNUDjR5mn5mCDNxaCwA3ZYsqUYwDO6Y/s320/IMG_0479.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first show sold way the heck out!</td></tr>
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Paulie and I have begun meeting with incredibly brave local people willing to share the embarassing artifacts from their angst-ridden youth. We've heard woe-is-me diary entries, super angry song lyrics, sexually-exaggerated notes to friends, and so much more. In short, it has been <i>ah-maaaaa-zing</i>.<br />
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And we're looking for more! If you happened to keep a diary, old letters, archaic video footage of your jazzy Star Search audition tapes...basically anything that seems too humiliatingly awkward to share in front of hundreds of strangers, you might want to hook up with us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOuSyCP_RcMyH_1P-vdBNtIURDJqZwGtTa4fbuoRZEORdkz_iS6s2E95B_w4aLx9cHK_9w-7MWKoRdF_RLnKynTO-b_DAxWqyo1p6t8nSut_g-IBVXutOPkWgEPJwc46iSyTnjyfiMB8/s1600/diary+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOuSyCP_RcMyH_1P-vdBNtIURDJqZwGtTa4fbuoRZEORdkz_iS6s2E95B_w4aLx9cHK_9w-7MWKoRdF_RLnKynTO-b_DAxWqyo1p6t8nSut_g-IBVXutOPkWgEPJwc46iSyTnjyfiMB8/s320/diary+cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a real-life diary, you guys.</td></tr>
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You can do this a couple of ways - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Mortified-Sonoma-County-866596143352697/timeline/" target="_blank">go to our Facebook page and 'like' it</a>, then find a call for submissions and click whatever link you find there...or (and I say this hoping you'll still go like us on Facebook), <a href="http://getmortified.com/participate/" target="_blank">go to the Mortified website</a>, find Sonoma County in the drop-down menu and fill out the info requested of you there. Soon we'll be knocking on your door and digging through your Shoebox of Shame!!<br />
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Okay it doesn't work like that exactly. We're not going to come to your house, man. But the rest is all pretty spot-on. This process has been soooooo much fun and taken soooooo much more time than we thought it would, but we're getting a lot closer to having our next show ready, and we're super excited!<br />
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Okay, that's the end of this latest re-cap. Hopefully I'm one step closer to being forgiven for my six-week hiatus. I haven't even told you about the fair or the winemaking or the...other...stuff......but I will.<br />
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Eventually.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-70282864736585839912015-09-15T11:59:00.002-07:002015-09-15T12:05:00.710-07:00The Guilt-Tripped Re-Cap, Part 1I thought Mike was exaggerating two posts ago when he said I'd disappeared. Then I did some tireless research (aka scrolling down a little bit) and realized that I haven't posted since late July soooo...yeah, it looks as though I've been slacking after all! Despite Mike's patented sneaky guilt-trip, though, I guess the most important question is: did you even notice I was gone?! I mean come on, there are lots of things happening in the world right now. Hearing about my dissatisfaction with my canned food collection surely can't be on the top of your entertainment options right now, <i>can</i> it? (Pun <i>intended - </i>Get it? Get it?!?!)<br />
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Actually it's true, our canned goods supply is seriously lacking. But that's not what has kept me away. How to even re-cap so you'll forgive me? I'll try. When did we leave off again...? Oh right, late July. Okay. So, since then:<br />
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- Jonah started freaking Middle School. I know! MIDDLE SCHOOL! Evie began 3rd grade and all that too, but seriously: Middle School. My mind, it is blown.<br />
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- A few days after the whole 'Middle School' thing, Jonah turned 12. So far he's handling it with grace and is still as awesome as ever, despite strangers' unsolicited and frankly unwelcome warnings that once the hormones really kick in he's going to become a wretched prick. I'm pretty sure this is a made-up thing because so far, so good. (Side note, I have seen firsthand the effect of hormones changing a sweet boy into a moody little punk, but that wasn't MY kid. I'm sure it won't happen to <i>me</i>....)<br />
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Jonah still does his chores without complaint and often on his own initiative, he still hugs and kisses me goodnight, good morning, hello and goodbye, and he still runs his new joke ideas by me, which are always surprisingly hilarious.<br />
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In a nutshell, he continues to be super rad, and surely will forever and ever, and ever. I mean, for his birthday he asked for a Ukulele. For his party he asked for a crepe bar. A CREPE BAR, people! Come on. How cool can you get?!<br />
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As I'm typing this I realize that I do actually have a lot to catch you up on after all! Hm. You know what? I'll leave it at that for now. My firstborn started middle school, turned 12, is learning to play the Ukulele, and loves crepes.<br />
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Thanks for your patience, friends. You're the best, most understanding, beautiful people in town. I mean it. Stay tuned for more updates - I'll be better from now on, I promise. Until I run out of things to update you on...or until Mike reminds me I've been slacking, whichever comes first!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-30522015295756110772015-09-09T10:47:00.001-07:002015-09-09T15:38:25.508-07:00Liam Finds His Calling<span id="goog_4085546"></span>Since the beginning I've fantasized about raising the boys steeped in a rich winemaking tradition.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNR3dA5xz4ZyYngI_bMM3Rj9FM08ujhnuFerEJ8ZvK6ZPWP3ZIlkLuwFFIuRozUr0MKlL8QVPGYRvA2roKUOdzxgfUHPqPeTXjpOeY6_ERmvaAGA8r50kmoidYhZ1kq8pRY2kIpPBbpBf/s1600/40131_454206677349_7899302_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNR3dA5xz4ZyYngI_bMM3Rj9FM08ujhnuFerEJ8ZvK6ZPWP3ZIlkLuwFFIuRozUr0MKlL8QVPGYRvA2roKUOdzxgfUHPqPeTXjpOeY6_ERmvaAGA8r50kmoidYhZ1kq8pRY2kIpPBbpBf/s320/40131_454206677349_7899302_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Like most first-born kids, Liam received the brunt of my overly-idealized parenting dream. It tapered off to a more appropriate level by the time Finn was born. I still involve them in my work, but not for the same reasons I did initially. Before it was more about sharing my passion with my boys and, hopefully, creating a legacy like the Gallos and Mondavis. Now I just show them the cool stuff I do because I like showing off. <br />
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One of the things I get to do is operate the hoist that dumps the two ton bins of grapes into the receiving hopper. It's even cooler than it sounds. With me working every day, Jodee has selflessly offered to look after Liam and Finn on my weekends. I convinced her last Saturday to schlep the boys to work for me so I could dazzle them with my incomprehensibly skillful hoist operation. Unfortunately Jodee and the boys showed up at the winery just a few minutes after we had dumped our last load of grapes and the truck had left. I brought them up to the crushpad anyway and let Liam see the remote that operated the crane. I even showed him how to operate it. We have the fancy kind that not only goes up and down, it also goes north, south, east, and west. I let Liam play with it for a bit.<br />
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After a minute or two I thought, "even though the thing is twenty feet up and moving at two inches a second, this probably isn't an OSHA sanctioned activity for a 6-year-old," so I took the remote away.<br />
<br />
Holy.<br />
<br />
Shit.<br />
<br />
Hell hath no fury like a first-grader denied heavy machinery. It started as just a run of the mill tantrum but quickly plummeted into a death-spiral of white hot fury. By the time I was strapping him into the car he was taking swings at me in between sobs. I just wanted him to think my job was cool but it was like I'd injected him with heroine.<br />
<br />
After I got home that evening he asked me about it every 10 minutes. "Daddy, let's go do the grapes." I feel bad for exposing him to a little taste what's to come and then snatching it away, but, of course, I'm also pretty damn thrilled.<br />
<br />
"We <i>will</i> go do the grapes buddy, I promise."<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-1628471811424306132015-09-01T11:38:00.001-07:002015-09-01T11:56:09.681-07:00Cosecha<span class="" id="result_box" lang="es"><span class="hps">Sí, lo sé.</span> <span class="hps">Más de tres</span> <span class="hps">semanas sin</span> <span class="hps">noticias</span>?! <span class="hps">No</span> <span class="hps">manches</span>! <span class="hps">Que rollo con el</span> <span class="hps">hoyo?</span><br /><br /> <span class="hps">Una mejor</span> <span class="hps">pregunta es</span> <span class="hps">"¿Dónde está</span> <span class="hps">Amanda</span>?" <span class="hps">Es ella </span><span class="hps">trabajando</span> <span class="hps">doce</span> <span class="hps">horas todos los días</span> <span class="hps">como yo?</span> <span class="hps">¡No creo!</span> <span class="hps">Amanda</span> <span class="hps">vamos!</span> <span class="hps">¿Qué estás haciendo guey</span><span class="hps"></span>? <span class="hps">Vales</span> <span class="hps">verga</span>!<br /><br /> <span class="hps">Uy</span><span class="">, lo siento.</span> <span class="hps">A veces</span><span class="">,</span> <span class="hps">durante la cosecha</span>, <span class="hps">me olvido de</span> <span class="hps">cambiar</span> <span class="hps">desde mal </span><span class="hps">Español</span> <span class="hps">al Inglés.</span></span><br />
<br />
Sorry about that. I'm in full-immersion harvest mode and tend to lose myself. Here is the above translated via Google Translate:<br />
<br />
<i><span class="" id="result_box" lang="en"><span class="hps">Yes, I know.</span> <span class="hps">More than three</span> <span class="hps">weeks without</span> news<span class="hps">?!</span> Do not stain<span class="hps"></span>! <span class="hps">I</span> <span class="hps">roll with</span> <span class="hps">the hole</span><span class="">?</span><br /><br /> <span class="hps">A better question is</span> <span class="hps atn">"</span>Where is <span class="hps">Amanda</span>?" <span class="hps">It is</span> <span class="hps">she</span> <span class="hps">working</span> <span class="hps">twelve hours</span> <span class="hps">every day</span> <span class="hps">like me?</span> <span class="hps">I don`t believe!</span> <span class="hps">Amanda</span> <span class="hps">go!</span> <span class="hps"></span><span class="hps">What are you doing castrated bull</span>? <span class="hps">Vouchers</span> <span class="hps">cock</span>!</span></i> <br />
<br />
Anyway, you get the idea. I get uneasy when nearly a month has passed without any updates. I've been crazy busy. I'm sure Amanda has her reasons for neglecting our poor blog as well. It's likely something along the lines of "I'm really unhappy with my current canned food inventory" or "I'm doing all my holiday shopping early this year on Etsy". I'm sure we'll hear about it soon.<br />
<br />
Harvest came early to Ridge Winery and right now we're in the thick of it. Everything is a bit of a caffeine and alcohol saturated blur so I have to actually look at the pictures on my phone to see if there have been any milestones. Let's have a look, shall we?<br />
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Ah yes, Liam was sort of okay with getting his hair cut. For those of you that know him, this is HUGE.<br />
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Oh right, school started. That's big. This is Finn on his first day of school. He's going through the same "Roots and Shoots" special ed class that Liam attended, and he's loving it. Liam is now a <i>first-grader</i> and is going to school right here in Healdsburg again. In fact, their classrooms are next door to one another, all just two blocks from my front door. Life is good.<br />
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And this last one demonstrates the best news of all. No, not that Finn has taken the reenactment of his favorite movies to the next level (much to Liam's dismay), it's that Finn is getting potty-trained, boot camp style. As you can see he is out of diapers and in underpants, come what may.<br />
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That's all the news that's fit to blog for now. It's a lot actually. I wish I could delve deeper and polish these moments into bright and shiny new anecdotes, but duty calls. This is the one time of year where my role as "FATHER" is far more traditional than I'm used to. Hopefully it won't last more than a month.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-24715670340271917022015-08-04T14:08:00.001-07:002015-08-04T14:12:51.349-07:00Liam is Six....(and change)Liam's 6th birthday was in early July and I didn't blog about it. When it comes to parenting blogs, that kind of move is inexcusable.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, I've been known to break the unbreakable, drink the undrinkable, and fatigue the indefatigable. Therefore, I've got a butt-load of good excuses (in chronological order):<br />
<br />
I helped organize a 4th of July Block Party<br />
I was a groomsman in a wedding<br />
I started hosting a monthly pub trivia<br />
I became a pedicabbie<br />
Liam had surgery to take his pins out and I was his nursemaid<br />
I was Jodee's soccer mom for her first Half-Ironman Triathlon<br />
I became a Certified Specialist of Wine through the Society of Wine Educators<br />
<br />
THAT WAS MY JULY! So, as you can see, something had to go. Now, I know that I should be ashamed of myself. Liam is 6-years-old and a BIG BOY really needs his daddy to be there for him. He needs his daddy to do all the cool boy stuff
that mommies don't like doing; like going to baseball games and camping
out in the woods.<br />
<br />
Luckily Liam has Erin. His birthday landed on her day this year and she did not disappoint. She's the best daddy-mom ever.<br />
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<br />
I didn't neglect his birthday entirely. I made cookies for his class, got him a
few nice presents, and put together a photo montage of my babies over the past year.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrgsKbPX5JxprwfipiGMhM8tjH1V1RmW0Kve4tRkN80tclqMT2Ut9vXo2ABITj8Zp4LF5IlJIdrlZN6ORFC262zol6KibKwFaCgmQ8ZzbLb6Qgt2ARSgDiMST8bmDUEgL7T0lj_b-kSTH/s1600/IMG_8760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrgsKbPX5JxprwfipiGMhM8tjH1V1RmW0Kve4tRkN80tclqMT2Ut9vXo2ABITj8Zp4LF5IlJIdrlZN6ORFC262zol6KibKwFaCgmQ8ZzbLb6Qgt2ARSgDiMST8bmDUEgL7T0lj_b-kSTH/s320/IMG_8760.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm a proud mommy-dad </td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4643151548228105876.post-59852570278867314212015-07-29T11:47:00.001-07:002015-07-29T11:47:32.968-07:00San Leandro"Live for now" they say. Who says that? Hang on, let me Google it.<br />
... <br />
<br />
Hmm, evidently Pepsi says that. Hang on let me dig deeper.<br />
...<br />
<br />
Buddha said something like that. Anyway, the serenity one gets from living in the moment is talked about a lot by those studying "mindfulness" and "meditation". I'm just not a big fan of sitting on the ground, so my key to achieving this state is spending time with my kids. They really draw your focus to the present. I love it.<br />
<br />
That being said, last week I traveled with my kids into my past, and it was <i>trippy. </i>Very worlds-colliding, spacetime-folding, out-there, ch'i-swirling kinda crap.<br />
<br />
My parents left the town where I grew up when I left for college and I pretty much have never been back. Last week a family friend invited us to a party<i> </i>in the old neighborhood. I had the kids with me so naturally I hauled them down there and made them stand for pictures out in the hot summer sun of San Leandro so I could have an experience.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFh6aSnGRp1y2ORTRlSW4-WiXhp8GnV8or1AQBSromxOnj0MVdURJZEFC9PyQLxgPgBdJ2OiTr-EUqjLDRRxrkCferYZNhefeaZMkP8vRV9RHli2oL05FvTmEQIs2QbSLLJ5iO5IX7w8j/s1600/IMG_8564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFh6aSnGRp1y2ORTRlSW4-WiXhp8GnV8or1AQBSromxOnj0MVdURJZEFC9PyQLxgPgBdJ2OiTr-EUqjLDRRxrkCferYZNhefeaZMkP8vRV9RHli2oL05FvTmEQIs2QbSLLJ5iO5IX7w8j/s320/IMG_8564.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The house I grew up in!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy neighbor's house.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQwWUSsZVhuVYj_BfpBm-eiXxjnwoZ3kL0Tr8MXCNRvE7eF_Prx7SO5ZOaK56is-1dxXECy63cv1Z59xHYfHadw5KYMmEaKhzOc94LaB34SL1y6Wapg4W_kIKWU7VIjZnGXAfA_DwSTY8/s1600/IMG_8573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQwWUSsZVhuVYj_BfpBm-eiXxjnwoZ3kL0Tr8MXCNRvE7eF_Prx7SO5ZOaK56is-1dxXECy63cv1Z59xHYfHadw5KYMmEaKhzOc94LaB34SL1y6Wapg4W_kIKWU7VIjZnGXAfA_DwSTY8/s320/IMG_8573.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy ice cream parlor around the corner.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4Ij2X8M-5FnfCxYpJwIElJTG2Hxp-CjRCdVqy6V4LXoE4CdUCv8gReOs_10ImSTRjbybYqpr1ixkNhxmEPIFslOpu8o78Du6WzWHAGebD40vVP3hrTvKnYor7CnYiuthaOx3mFEXJEbb/s1600/IMG_8577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4Ij2X8M-5FnfCxYpJwIElJTG2Hxp-CjRCdVqy6V4LXoE4CdUCv8gReOs_10ImSTRjbybYqpr1ixkNhxmEPIFslOpu8o78Du6WzWHAGebD40vVP3hrTvKnYor7CnYiuthaOx3mFEXJEbb/s320/IMG_8577.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy service. Crappier ice cream.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpIaxZg2xeNG9shFPs2Ath7pIUv5sE1ndliAxYbalwJChApe7jpsRHvhyphenhyphenMIB_G0k10CoAJsVTdswOba12rcMbdlM6xczf8NTczri0lxcwxPb4c_9thSpE0-e1lrEXz0HZPJE_jQBDh0d5/s1600/IMG_8583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpIaxZg2xeNG9shFPs2Ath7pIUv5sE1ndliAxYbalwJChApe7jpsRHvhyphenhyphenMIB_G0k10CoAJsVTdswOba12rcMbdlM6xczf8NTczri0lxcwxPb4c_9thSpE0-e1lrEXz0HZPJE_jQBDh0d5/s320/IMG_8583.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can I plug in that Ms. Pac-Man?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDj2ciHD2cp71sxvDBrjeeSNSgxlAjbEA2wPVsQes71-ledCZnTwUCPueGb3BvFrbkR5_rZKMPjQJWJFxhF2dJ354N9oLYguG21BNI1o_7G3UBr1hwD1sXLYFu0BfyaVRtUWVkou_10U3b/s1600/IMG_8589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDj2ciHD2cp71sxvDBrjeeSNSgxlAjbEA2wPVsQes71-ledCZnTwUCPueGb3BvFrbkR5_rZKMPjQJWJFxhF2dJ354N9oLYguG21BNI1o_7G3UBr1hwD1sXLYFu0BfyaVRtUWVkou_10U3b/s320/IMG_8589.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It totally works!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVN9nf3nLX98WaeD1ll9OeP89Y0-Ckc3TdvuJhnL49ZnHM1I3HW4R9UtSuMZHtzR2KoFlisv6Uz9Y_vuvyjYeE3BsESmPuI79Cxj3TyaoYGmV4e6QpZLjV00iYTIr6nfXu6JOr6siEfNb/s1600/IMG_8596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVN9nf3nLX98WaeD1ll9OeP89Y0-Ckc3TdvuJhnL49ZnHM1I3HW4R9UtSuMZHtzR2KoFlisv6Uz9Y_vuvyjYeE3BsESmPuI79Cxj3TyaoYGmV4e6QpZLjV00iYTIr6nfXu6JOr6siEfNb/s320/IMG_8596.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unimpressed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rIfMUN5iH81kFE_aYGJCSLvrgHYIvzoH8QHRB5FIInvUItzd2uQik1bFInMCYIpODMb6JM_BtvwExkYW4IfGBghxyQCyQGZDQdFYvDgL2j67qZjzenjfpxWfS7dKmdpRhczjLVgbmqEi/s1600/IMG_8600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rIfMUN5iH81kFE_aYGJCSLvrgHYIvzoH8QHRB5FIInvUItzd2uQik1bFInMCYIpODMb6JM_BtvwExkYW4IfGBghxyQCyQGZDQdFYvDgL2j67qZjzenjfpxWfS7dKmdpRhczjLVgbmqEi/s320/IMG_8600.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mind blown.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxQssL9QY6jqNsdQ8_ly2M_h0OcB5-iKX2q3Ppfb2n4UNiiTxQGd_dGBfnYpjnmvB1hagc2jV5VNkBxpHAhFSa35IOKchdXezKAaunosSQnFMx1Q1kBT08_TN9Qe8kmG3QHccFUy68V37/s1600/IMG_8614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxQssL9QY6jqNsdQ8_ly2M_h0OcB5-iKX2q3Ppfb2n4UNiiTxQGd_dGBfnYpjnmvB1hagc2jV5VNkBxpHAhFSa35IOKchdXezKAaunosSQnFMx1Q1kBT08_TN9Qe8kmG3QHccFUy68V37/s320/IMG_8614.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liam wasn't too bad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6-PXHX2F6kBmBzhNOHGRVDA65A88q8GJMpVCbAVfip0tORxcyn86tJmEcHX-Zwdbl_RyMxR2LAmTAQNpBD8HpPPTwOk1mWI0xtVUA6c9lWaBDOvw8xaC9wEUCtBjdxV5yHngGwTCYAO3/s1600/IMG_8611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6-PXHX2F6kBmBzhNOHGRVDA65A88q8GJMpVCbAVfip0tORxcyn86tJmEcHX-Zwdbl_RyMxR2LAmTAQNpBD8HpPPTwOk1mWI0xtVUA6c9lWaBDOvw8xaC9wEUCtBjdxV5yHngGwTCYAO3/s320/IMG_8611.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was WAY better</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRB_XMKVFLNx_WGGbyOS26r0DaNf6PIht_dplRyUrfKzhwIxLpYNdNbFN_Kqyw9RtigMDAbBKbY5WV6_An_kLIctNa8VqQKaAhPJQJNhfUTh82acuN9AmWSB5jpP52Tiwl8yGtgsqhBJ__/s1600/IMG_8549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRB_XMKVFLNx_WGGbyOS26r0DaNf6PIht_dplRyUrfKzhwIxLpYNdNbFN_Kqyw9RtigMDAbBKbY5WV6_An_kLIctNa8VqQKaAhPJQJNhfUTh82acuN9AmWSB5jpP52Tiwl8yGtgsqhBJ__/s320/IMG_8549.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy liquor store (they had the original Star Wars video game)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjg_3tWUddgX-rvoy_rE-GrHAGIeBgOYISWwaHHQtqDr-1j3m9ak9cKX8t6G8APetipImqdtiExrRB-7BhmC6CB5jw_aZc_s7KUk2Ivxdz9Nh6uDZKAOlNomZTNX4J0t08smKPOi8KEzVU/s1600/IMG_8631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjg_3tWUddgX-rvoy_rE-GrHAGIeBgOYISWwaHHQtqDr-1j3m9ak9cKX8t6G8APetipImqdtiExrRB-7BhmC6CB5jw_aZc_s7KUk2Ivxdz9Nh6uDZKAOlNomZTNX4J0t08smKPOi8KEzVU/s320/IMG_8631.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy local grocery store (they had Dragon's Lair)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rtc5qg1vqzepZPJfre9id41nTMHnNlzDiXAgtsAFDEEf2fdkp3jFDEC8oGkKqgHdrj095Mxpkkt-WJnBlpRZpqUlZvNkOzIVzW4Rmu9eRBuUleBopTf7HZgEvMP7_Je6PruRg0M8Si1e/s1600/IMG_8635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rtc5qg1vqzepZPJfre9id41nTMHnNlzDiXAgtsAFDEEf2fdkp3jFDEC8oGkKqgHdrj095Mxpkkt-WJnBlpRZpqUlZvNkOzIVzW4Rmu9eRBuUleBopTf7HZgEvMP7_Je6PruRg0M8Si1e/s320/IMG_8635.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy Junior High School (getting a crappy paint job)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMNWs-Y_mHtwV0Lj3z-peYVvEgbqpb8X8giO8laPkZoOjKpCfZ_3-ASkjRWlT2adayvkrPDyHRmxIHftHUGnb4vE_ks2OoiKuL-Dcra5PmMRZsPZ7AzQ6kYtxES5l9hWkeMrthylmXl65/s1600/IMG_8638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMNWs-Y_mHtwV0Lj3z-peYVvEgbqpb8X8giO8laPkZoOjKpCfZ_3-ASkjRWlT2adayvkrPDyHRmxIHftHUGnb4vE_ks2OoiKuL-Dcra5PmMRZsPZ7AzQ6kYtxES5l9hWkeMrthylmXl65/s320/IMG_8638.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy High School (my camera refused to focus on it)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gYSkTJpFX_fjB6_xoR1jy9t6hI88vVFfXqR-zTgv01M2_krLAOpLfOG3kmUR49w8w7RqgUgqtjysts-x02XjtdDeC7_DZxh3laqRVCET5V4GPXRp0MceOnqTSKzJAuUbn1tu88hNYyvJ/s1600/IMG_8647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gYSkTJpFX_fjB6_xoR1jy9t6hI88vVFfXqR-zTgv01M2_krLAOpLfOG3kmUR49w8w7RqgUgqtjysts-x02XjtdDeC7_DZxh3laqRVCET5V4GPXRp0MceOnqTSKzJAuUbn1tu88hNYyvJ/s320/IMG_8647.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy first job!! (more ice cream)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0hwdIaSfxU1wl7Ha0xI0pYtEUoSVF6dhpbtXw7tBp4h_Efkjmouzuiu9XL7WIO9vEqAdN1k1y4frxDbBX5UwT3TKYHD0Uewj3UvdF_hR59n6ylaza_X7wR33rKFAkNj2u8Ko6FI7pprV/s1600/IMG_8652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0hwdIaSfxU1wl7Ha0xI0pYtEUoSVF6dhpbtXw7tBp4h_Efkjmouzuiu9XL7WIO9vEqAdN1k1y4frxDbBX5UwT3TKYHD0Uewj3UvdF_hR59n6ylaza_X7wR33rKFAkNj2u8Ko6FI7pprV/s320/IMG_8652.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where I first learned crippling guilt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDP_hyU3Zb5aD9IlFgKm959oZz6l0EYZ_5nfZylsbWrfdltZ7CO_17nV7SJUPfZQdMmHGFszgHFy7cSU0jLGkXtX7tiz27crzPSdhBRg5b6gajdtMy5EhhqmtWGbP8F5EWg2iYhVoLySM6/s1600/IMG_8651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDP_hyU3Zb5aD9IlFgKm959oZz6l0EYZ_5nfZylsbWrfdltZ7CO_17nV7SJUPfZQdMmHGFszgHFy7cSU0jLGkXtX7tiz27crzPSdhBRg5b6gajdtMy5EhhqmtWGbP8F5EWg2iYhVoLySM6/s320/IMG_8651.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church I was forced to endure every Sunday</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Okay, it wasn't exactly God's country, but my home was lovely and my memories of San Leandro are fond, despite it's gritty and <i>surprisingly </i>unchanged facade. Still, I won't be moving the boys there anytime soon.<br />
<br />
P.S. Speaking of traveling to the past, today is our 4-YEAR-BLOGGIVERSARY. On this date 4 years ago my dear sweet Amanda and I started this blog and <i>haven't quit on each other</i>....yet. Thanks for keeping up with us and our disastrous lives. We love you all in completely inappropriate ways. XOXO <br />
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<i> </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17160408169719472737noreply@blogger.com0