<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000</id><updated>2012-02-16T01:36:18.254-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Resa's Ramblings</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>740</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4082131449233565371</id><published>2012-02-14T10:39:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-14T10:50:39.247-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Valentine's Day</title><content type='html'>I can't be outdone with all these Valentine's Day posts on Facebook and blogs. But I don't really have anything Valentines-y to share. :) Not a stitch of pink anywhere in my vicinity :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really, Valentine's Day has never been my favorite holiday. And not because I'm single. I just have never really cared one way or the other. I have a coworker whose birthday is today, and she says she hates it. She never gets to go out to eat for her birthday because restaurants are always crazy. Even when I was dating, I just kind of wanted to skip over the holiday. Really, if you want to show me you love me, why not two weeks before Valentine's Day when flowers are a lot cheaper and not everyone else is doing the same thing? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I just happen to be wearing a red shirt :). Not planned, it's just one of my comfy shirts. Oh, and don't underestimate the power of a red eye! :) Very festive on this day. Random thought, but my shirt has paint splatters from Guatemala on it, from my mission trip a few years ago. Now that is love. Caring for orphans when they have no one else to care for them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I think of love, there are a lot of Scriptures that come to mind:&lt;br /&gt;1. My favorite verse, 1 John 3:1: How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God. And that is what we are!"&lt;br /&gt;2. I'm memorizing 1 John right now, and one of my most recent verses is in chapter 2: "If anyone obeys his word, God's love is made complete in him."&lt;br /&gt;3. "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a few thoughts on my mind this morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4082131449233565371?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4082131449233565371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4082131449233565371' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4082131449233565371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4082131449233565371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/02/happy-valentines-day.html' title='Happy Valentine&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7261860206002502794</id><published>2012-02-13T15:17:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-13T15:42:57.593-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The good news</title><content type='html'>1. I'm not dying. (well, we have to start somewhere!)&lt;br /&gt;2. Already having a really good eye doctor who could fit me in on short notice.&lt;br /&gt;3. I may not have to work until Thursday. And not only do I not have to work, but I missed doing IPI file stuff that we have been doing for the last month, COA's visit to our building, an internal file review (although I'll have to do my files later), and a mandatory Medicaid meeting at team on Wednesday (although Faye wasn't sure if I was going to have to make that up or not).&lt;br /&gt;4. I may get to finish the three Hunger Games books without losing a whole lot of sleep.&lt;br /&gt;5. Daynah is here for 3 months.&lt;br /&gt;6. The swelling has gone down.&lt;br /&gt;7. I let the eye doctor twist my arm into buying glasses 3 years ago. (I can't even imagine the bigger mess this would have been if I hadn't had glasses to wear the last two days!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now back to our regularly scheduled programming (meaning, me moaning and groaning). I'm not even looking for sympathy. This is more my "woe is me" rant, which I must say, has taken a lot longer to hit then I thought it would. Because if you know me, you know I like to go straight to "woe is me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First off, did I mention that Dad, Amy, and Daynah came into town Saturday night. Sunday was really the only day I was going to see Dad and Amy (Daynah is here for three months) and I spent most of it focusing on my eye, 3 hours of it at Prompt Care and the pharmacy, and more of it kind of focused on my eye. Tonight I was supposed to meet them for dinner after work before they have to go to the airport for their 8:00 flight. Now, the doctor says I should be out in public as little as possible (and I'm pretty sure the two pharmacies I went to counted for my public quota for the day). So, I think the current plan is for them to bring dinner over here, but I'm not sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next on the woe is me list would be that Daynah is supposed to stay with me this week. I talked to Amy and told her they might want to find another option for Daynah, but we'll see, she might still end up staying here. But I'm not very good company and I really hate the idea of exposing her to all of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not to mention poor Emily, who has been here pre-Lysol wipes galore. I was bored a few minutes ago and lysolled EVERY doorknob, faucet, and light switch. Probably a little too late, but hopefully she won't get this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did make it into the eye doctor today. Viral conjunctivitis. Fancy words for a really gross eye infection. Plus I forgot the term she used to describe a bruise on my eye that is making some of my already beet red eye look even redder and hurt. She prescribed me an anti-inflammatory which is already working wonders. And she prescribed me a numbing medicine and a betadine solution that I have to swab my eye with. Unfortunately, they are not very common, so none of the pharmacies had them and I can't get them until tomorrow. Which prolongs my stay at home for at least one more day than I had anticipated. The doctor also told me some horror stories of when she had this same problem and she had a membrane grow from her eye to her eyelid that had to be surgically removed. But she's going to keep a really good eye on things so that doesn't happen, or so she says! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The so-so news. I am not a good sleeper. Which means I am operating off of about four hours of sleep from last night (I finally crashed at 3:15 and woke up at 7:00). My eye feels the best with a wet wash cloth on it, which means that I can't have my glasses on, which means that I can't watch TV or read my book. I have been reading some, because my eye doesn't feel good whether it is closed or open, so I'll read for a little while and then lay mindlessly for a little while. Maybe I could hire someone to come read to me for a while! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and last but not least, a sarcastic addition to my "good" news list. I can pretty much count on this spreading to my other eye, but not to the same degree as the left eye. Good, something to look forward to. Thank you Dr. Wilson!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7261860206002502794?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7261860206002502794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7261860206002502794' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7261860206002502794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7261860206002502794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/02/good-news.html' title='The good news'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4047247951275463636</id><published>2012-02-13T09:24:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-13T09:31:32.906-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sympathy anyone?</title><content type='html'>I'll admit. This post is mostly to garner sympathy. Because that is the kind of person I am. :)&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5CtDf_dxcEw/Tzkrdbm-jGI/AAAAAAAACHg/7o5cZPxUNUc/s1600/P1280017.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708641787296255074" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5CtDf_dxcEw/Tzkrdbm-jGI/AAAAAAAACHg/7o5cZPxUNUc/s400/P1280017.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Notice anything different between my two eyes? No? Me either. They feel the same. I can see the same out of both of them. Peachy. Yesterday I woke up with some discharge coming from my eye. No big deal. I've had a cold so I thought it was just another way for my body to get rid of the gunk. By this morning, this is what I look like. I went to Prompt Care and got an eye drop and antibiotic which hasn't done a whole lot the two times I've been able to use it. I'm posting this and then heading to the eye doctor. Hopefully she will be able to give me some relief. I just wish I knew how to do things half-way! No simple eye infection for me, just an eye the size of a golf ball and as red as an apple! So, feel free to leave your sympathetic comments here! :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4047247951275463636?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4047247951275463636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4047247951275463636' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4047247951275463636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4047247951275463636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/02/sympathy-anyone.html' title='Sympathy anyone?'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5CtDf_dxcEw/Tzkrdbm-jGI/AAAAAAAACHg/7o5cZPxUNUc/s72-c/P1280017.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3656089728744351546</id><published>2012-02-08T21:03:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-08T21:47:00.476-06:00</updated><title type='text'>For your laughing pleasure?  AKA Emily to the rescue!</title><content type='html'>I really have no earthly idea what to title this blog. Or why I am even writing it. Or how to even tell the story. The best way to tell a story is to start at the beginning. WAAAAYYYY at the beginning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a coat. That I really like. I haven't had this coat for very long, just a couple of years. Well, at the end of last season, the zipper started to get stuck a little bit. No big deal, it always comes unstuck. I've made jokes about the day that I would actually get stuck in this coat. Well, folks, today was that day. I was innocently talking to Danell on the phone (it might be interesting to get her version of this story) when I got home and walked into the apartment where I immediately went to take off my coat because I was hot. Only my zipper was stuck. No big deal though, because normally I just zip it up a little more and tug a little harder and it comes undone. Ummm...not so much. So I told Danell I think I might be stuck in my coat and asked her to hold on while I set the phone down to concentrate on tugging a little harder. No such luck. So I picked up the phone to tell her my lack of progress. Was she concerned? I'm not sure because she was laughing an awful lot. I told her to hold on again, I was going to try to pull the coat off over my head because at this point I was getting VERY HOT (which is what I always thought I would do on the day that I actually got stuck in the coat--pull it over my head, that is. I never really anticipated how hot I would get.). Ummm...again no such luck. But at this point I also could not get the coat back on the way it is supposed to go, you know, with my arms in the arm holes. After discussing how this would definitely make a good blog, I told her I should probably go so I could concentrate a little better without hearing her laugh at me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xXRjTfP6Y7U/TzM5QWzBiRI/AAAAAAAACHQ/f2PAbkax7R4/s1600/P1240008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706968105968830738" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xXRjTfP6Y7U/TzM5QWzBiRI/AAAAAAAACHQ/f2PAbkax7R4/s400/P1240008.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Here I am stuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nvm14x77bvU/TzM5QLX3pNI/AAAAAAAACHE/UbZvZFGpvHM/s1600/P1240009.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706968102902146258" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nvm14x77bvU/TzM5QLX3pNI/AAAAAAAACHE/UbZvZFGpvHM/s400/P1240009.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And here's a close up. At this point I'm still thinking this is pretty funny.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I googled how to get a zipper unstuck. Did you know lead (graphite pencil) acts as a lubricant? Now you know. Only it didn't work on my zipper. Neither did chapstick. At this point, I'm starting to panic a little bit and feel a little bit claustrophobic. See picture below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0WolkA2ZZyE/TzM5PyHfKEI/AAAAAAAACG4/yBIqNo0215o/s1600/P1240011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706968096122546242" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0WolkA2ZZyE/TzM5PyHfKEI/AAAAAAAACG4/yBIqNo0215o/s400/P1240011.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And I was actually feeling even more claustrophobic because I had tried the zip-it-up-higher method and managed to get the zipper stuck at it's highest point. I had also tried to call my roommate to see when she was coming home. She didn't answer. And I was formulating a diplomatic way to explain to her that she needed to come home because I was stuck in my coat. Good luck with that one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, then I got my arms back in the coat and immediately started getting hot again, but still couldn't tug the darn thing down. So I decided to see if I could pull it loose from the top. Here is the result:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EojxjMfDKQU/TzM5PZupexI/AAAAAAAACGs/IinO3SvApX0/s1600/P1240014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706968089575914258" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EojxjMfDKQU/TzM5PZupexI/AAAAAAAACGs/IinO3SvApX0/s400/P1240014.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Nice cape, I know. But still very much stuck. And still a little claustrophobic around my neck. But much cooler everywhere else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UbVWkyaUOVc/TzM5PMqmCrI/AAAAAAAACGg/FdOTUcZ8UHg/s1600/P1240015.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706968086069250738" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UbVWkyaUOVc/TzM5PMqmCrI/AAAAAAAACGg/FdOTUcZ8UHg/s400/P1240015.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Here's a close-up. Are you feeling sorry for me yet? Did I mention I have a miserable cold and really just wanted to crawl into bed when I got home? Just thought I'd throw that in. So, I again tried to call my roommate. No answer. So I decided to text her, but how do you word that text? Here is what I said: "I really could use your help at home if you could get home soon. Not quite an emergency. Okay I'll just say it. I'm stuck in my coat." The funniest part about that might be that if I hadn't edited it, the text would have said "I'm stuck in my boat." I was just about to hit send when she called me back. So I told her that I needed some help at home. She was just leaving the church parking lot. As soon as she walked in the door I said, "Emily. I'm stuck in my coat." She laughed. A lot. So much that I couldn't tell her the story about how I got stuck in my coat. After I let her laugh it out, she saved me. She got the coat unstuck. And I was FREE! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, now that you're done laughing at me...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh, you're not done yet? In that case, I'll just leave you with your laughter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3656089728744351546?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3656089728744351546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3656089728744351546' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3656089728744351546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3656089728744351546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/02/for-your-laughing-pleasure-aka-emily-to.html' title='For your laughing pleasure?  AKA Emily to the rescue!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xXRjTfP6Y7U/TzM5QWzBiRI/AAAAAAAACHQ/f2PAbkax7R4/s72-c/P1240008.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2300137789893945133</id><published>2012-02-04T17:44:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-04T17:50:25.604-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Smell Association</title><content type='html'>I'm going to let you in on a little secret :)...I'm quirky. And I don't mean I just have one quirk. Let's face it, you're all making a list in your head right now of my quirks. Here's a new quirk for the list...I have a body wash in my shower that I really only use after I exercise and have to take a shower (which is most of the time when I exercise). I don't really know why. I did not buy it intentionally for this purpose. I think it actually came about because I bought the body wash and then did not really like the smell, but I didn't want to throw it away. So, since I exercise at night, if I use it, I don't have to smell it all day. Granted, it's not a bad smell. Just not my favorite. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now for my story. It's 5:45 and I just got around to showering for the day. I've just been home reading and putzing around so I didn't feel a need for a shower, but then all of a sudden I couldn't stand it anymore. So, while in the shower, I used my "exercise body wash." Only I hadn't exercised. But after using it, I kind of feel like I exercised. So, the question is, do you think the body wash seeping into my pores can also convince my body that I exercised. Because I would use this body wash ALL THE TIME if it produced the same results as exercise!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heehee...just a bit of randomness to brighten your weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2300137789893945133?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2300137789893945133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2300137789893945133' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2300137789893945133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2300137789893945133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/02/smell-association.html' title='Smell Association'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6908659450328594034</id><published>2012-02-02T20:58:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-02T21:09:07.681-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Comparison</title><content type='html'>Ann and baby Michael went home today. Oh, I guess if you aren't friends with me on Facebook, I should say, I'M AN AUNT AGAIN! :) Michael James was born Tuesday morning. The few pictures I've been able to see, with no bias, are of an adorable cutie! I've been texting back and forth with my brother and he said that they think that Michael looks a lot like John. Here are some pictures for everyone else to decide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l-F2lUKMn_Y/TytPTcQQ5wI/AAAAAAAACGM/6puSIAZSdIg/s1600/423687_322593984452547_100001058450364_975820_1630822822_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 191px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704740548415383298" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l-F2lUKMn_Y/TytPTcQQ5wI/AAAAAAAACGM/6puSIAZSdIg/s400/423687_322593984452547_100001058450364_975820_1630822822_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Michael&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-df-Hetf34JU/TytPTd4eXjI/AAAAAAAACGE/AEFSeACrQ00/s1600/DSC00689%255B1%255D.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704740548852473394" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-df-Hetf34JU/TytPTd4eXjI/AAAAAAAACGE/AEFSeACrQ00/s400/DSC00689%255B1%255D.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; John&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rbxFeAcPUVo/TytPTHbLc9I/AAAAAAAACF8/T_gqeDxWeuk/s1600/422404_3226022769978_1248788172_33488906_1837193115_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704740542824018898" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rbxFeAcPUVo/TytPTHbLc9I/AAAAAAAACF8/T_gqeDxWeuk/s400/422404_3226022769978_1248788172_33488906_1837193115_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And the two of them together :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6908659450328594034?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6908659450328594034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6908659450328594034' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6908659450328594034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6908659450328594034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/02/comparison.html' title='Comparison'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l-F2lUKMn_Y/TytPTcQQ5wI/AAAAAAAACGM/6puSIAZSdIg/s72-c/423687_322593984452547_100001058450364_975820_1630822822_n%255B1%255D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6352627243722193406</id><published>2012-02-02T20:51:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-02T20:57:49.536-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What a difference a year makes!</title><content type='html'>Last year we were in the midst of the "Blizzard of 2011."  I was going to say we were enjoying the blizzard, but I realized that some people didn't enjoy the blizzard :).  I, however, enjoyed it!  This year, different story.  This week, I have been sleeping with my window open, wearing short sleeves, and not wearing a coat.  And sometimes driving with my windows down.  One night when I went to bed around 11:00, the thermometer said it was still 50 degrees outside.  CRAZY!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6352627243722193406?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6352627243722193406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6352627243722193406' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6352627243722193406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6352627243722193406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/02/what-difference-year-makes.html' title='What a difference a year makes!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3597733550311125433</id><published>2012-01-30T18:26:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-30T18:31:00.311-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Last Day</title><content type='html'>Today is my last day to be an aunt of one nephew! :) Tomorrow morning sometime, I will become an aunt for the second time. I am so excited to meet this little one and find out his name! I'm excited to discover all the firsts that come with a second baby (if that makes sense). I'm excited to see John become a big brother. I'm excited to see Chris and Ann become parents to a newborn again...and see if they do anything different this time around. I am excited to get pictures. I won't get to see this baby as early as I got to see John, but I can't wait for the first time I get to hold him and cuddle with him and experience life with him. Look for many pictures to come as I "steal" them from Facebook!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3597733550311125433?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3597733550311125433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3597733550311125433' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3597733550311125433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3597733550311125433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/last-day.html' title='Last Day'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-5443444536158443822</id><published>2012-01-29T13:27:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-29T13:48:27.109-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Scripture Sunday</title><content type='html'>I haven't done a Scripture Saturday or Scripture Sunday post in a while, so I thought today would be a good opportunity to let you know what I learned in church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today we had Sanctity of Life Sunday at church. It is a Sunday each year where we take time to celebrate life. It is in January because the Roe vs Wade decision which legalized abortion happened in January. It is a Sunday I always enjoy. There are some sad aspects to it, like the statistics that Pastor Ritch shared. 50 million abortions have taken place since that decision. That amounts to about 3,000 abortions a day. It makes my heart grieve to think about it. But Pastor Ritch also gave me great encouragement today. He preached out of 1 Samuel. For those of you who don't know the story, Hannah is barren. She goes year after year (which means this is not a problem that was going away for her) to Shiloh to worship the Lord with her husband. Pastor Ritch talked about how this trip went from anguish to adoration for her and how we can also go from anguish to adoration in our own situations. There were several truths that he pointed out from the passage that really struck me in my own circumstances. Throughout the sermon, I found myself focusing on anguish I have experienced, since barrenness is not something I have gone through. But singleness is a struggle for me and there have been times that I have felt anguish because the Lord has not granted me this one request. 1 Samuel 1:5-6 says that Hannah's barrenness was from the Lord. Pastor Ritch expounded on this, saying that her barrenness was not a curse of punishment. That when God designs anguish for us, it is always in view of a future joy. ALWAYS. What a great word! Although, I must realize that the future joy may come in heaven, there is always a future joy that will far outweigh the present circumstance! The second point that Pastor Ritch made had to do with Hannah's actions and resulting peace. Hannah went to Shiloh and prayed to the Lord. She poured out her grieving heart to God. She expressed that if He gave her a child she would dedicate that child to the Lord. Before Hannah prayed, verse 7 says she was weeping and would not eat. After Hannah prayed, verse 18 says she went on her way and ate something and her face was no longer downcast. Hannah found peace in the midst of her grief. She found peace BEFORE she conceived a child. I do not have to wait to be married to have peace. Pastor Ritch's statement "Peace changes our hope, not our circumstances" was a huge blessing. Prayer refocuses our attention onto the Almighty, not on ourselves. The circumstance is no longer what drives us and motivates us and our feelings, but the hope we have in His future joy is what motivates us and our feelings. I praise God that He is my focus and not the earthly circumstances I face every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS.  For those of you who don't know the story, the Lord did open Hannah's womb and she conceived and gave birth to a son.  And when she had weaned him, she dedicated him to the Lord at Shiloh and he lived there and became a priest.  Hannah waited all those years for a son, and yet she was faithful to give him to the Lord just as she told God she would.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-5443444536158443822?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/5443444536158443822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=5443444536158443822' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5443444536158443822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5443444536158443822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/scripture-sunday.html' title='Scripture Sunday'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6143857437727517920</id><published>2012-01-28T18:50:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-28T18:57:54.227-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It's the small things in life...</title><content type='html'>...that sometimes make me laugh the most.  Mayhem.  Not a word you hear very often these days.  So, when I sat down to watch G.I. Joe and the credits started to roll, I was surprised to see that it was rated PG-13 for "strong sequences of action violence and mayhem throughout."  I wasn't surprised that it was rated PG-13, but that there would be mayhem throughout.  It made me giggle.  Doesn't make you giggle.  Sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kind of like when I get on weather.com and it says something about intermittent rain.  Or billowy wind.  Sometimes I think they are bored and sit there with a thesaurus to figure out how they can word the same thing differently today then they did yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said, sometimes it's the small things that make me laugh!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6143857437727517920?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6143857437727517920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6143857437727517920' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6143857437727517920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6143857437727517920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/its-small-things-in-life.html' title='It&apos;s the small things in life...'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6709999156561536166</id><published>2012-01-28T08:58:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-28T09:03:59.367-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Tangential Brain Syndrome</title><content type='html'>Those of you who know me well know that I like to tell stories and my stories often contain several tangents. I think my brain has a little bit of ADHD. But sometimes this comes out in my dreams and it can be quite amusing. I was in the middle of a dream, which was already pretty weird. I don't remember most of it, but I was sitting outside on the driveway at my grandma's house waiting for someone to get home. And by sitting outside, I mean in a camping chair, waiting. All of a sudden, at the side of the house, I saw an owl walking. So I scramble for the camera that I apparently had with me (except it was my mom's because I was thinking that I was going to have to get her to send the picture to me so that I could put it on my blog--yep, I even think of my blog when I sleep). But as I was trying to get a picture of the owl, sometimes it would look like a cat instead, so I never got a good picture of it before it went away. And then I went back to the semi-weirdness of the rest of my dream. Sometimes I wish I had a dream interpreter on speed dial! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6709999156561536166?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6709999156561536166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6709999156561536166' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6709999156561536166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6709999156561536166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/tangential-brain-syndrome.html' title='Tangential Brain Syndrome'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6620759744722239355</id><published>2012-01-26T17:22:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T17:31:34.992-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Tooting my own horn</title><content type='html'>I know it's probably not the most selfless thing to do. But I just wanted to share a story. I've talked about the 14 year old client I see several times now. I'm not supposed to have favorites, but she is one of my favorite clients...and I don't say that about very many teenage girls! God uses her to constantly challenge what I think about myself and how I let my view of myself be tainted by what I think other people see. I was pretty nervous about my session with her today because I had accidentally shared something with her mom last week that I didn't know she hadn't told her mom. And the information did not make her mom very happy. So, I was nervous today because I thought my client might be mad at me. But she wasn't. Phew! We played a Jenga type game that has questions to answer for each block you take. I had to answer a question that was something like, "What is one day you wish you could erase or take back?" So, I answered the question and then she answered the question too (something she did not have to do). It was an insightful answer that allowed us to tangent from the game (the ultimate purpose of the game is to hopefully spark conversation) for quite a while. She talked about poor choices she has made and how she would go back to the moment where she made the first poor choice and not do it. After we had talked about that for a few moments and really talked through some of the choices she has made since then, she asked me if I am ever shocked by something a client has said to me. The way she worded the question was a little confusing to me, so she clarified for me by saying that she can tell me things that she can't tell anyone else because I don't get upset with her or appear shocked by what she says. It made me feel really good to know that this is how she feels, because it's kind of the purpose of my job but I haven't had a lot of clients say they felt that way. So, apparently I'm doing something right! And that allowed us to tangent even further from the game to talk about how she feels when she tells her mom some of these things and ways she wishes her mom would respond differently. Altogether, a very good session and one that I will have a very easy time writing the note tomorrow. Oh, and I didn't tell her that sometimes the things she tells me does shock me, I just keep my shock to myself! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6620759744722239355?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6620759744722239355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6620759744722239355' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6620759744722239355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6620759744722239355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/tooting-my-own-horn.html' title='Tooting my own horn'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4108896207712279618</id><published>2012-01-24T18:57:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-24T19:04:32.733-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Just ate myself out of house and home</title><content type='html'>I was driving between clients' houses today around 5 (Tuesday is one of my late nights) and was excited that I was still not hungry. Sometimes my late nights are a struggle because I like to eat dinner early. So, I was still feeling good at 6 when I was driving home. Yay for not getting super hungry. But literally five minutes from my house I got the shakes and started to feel light-headed. I hate when it comes on that quickly. Sometimes I get a headache, but tonight, definitely the shakes. I was planning to come home and eat something semi-healthy. But in my famished, I-need-food-right-now-or-else state, I panicked. I ate two handfuls of chocolate covered pretzels. And then I had a couple handfuls of chips. While I cooked tator tots and a hamburger. And by-passed the fruit. Normally I would eat an apple with my hamburger, but I didn't think yielding a knife with the shakes was a good idea. And it would have interfered with my stuffing of the face method of hunger control. Yikes! But I don't feel hungry anymore. And the shakes are gone. And I am no longer light-headed. :) But I probably gained 2 pounds in the process.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4108896207712279618?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4108896207712279618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4108896207712279618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4108896207712279618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4108896207712279618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/just-ate-myself-out-of-house-and-home.html' title='Just ate myself out of house and home'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1503166704625351788</id><published>2012-01-22T17:37:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-22T18:28:07.037-06:00</updated><title type='text'>14 years</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was my 14 year spiritual birthday. 14 years being an heir of Christ. I have been finishing up memorizing a couple verses in Galatians 4:3-7, "So also, when we were children, we were in slavery under the basic principles of the world. But when the time had fully come, God sent His Son, born of a woman, born under law, to redeem those under law, that we might receive the full rights of sons. Because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, "Abba, Father!" So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, God has made you also an heir." There is another verse (reference escaping me right now) that says we are co-heirs with Christ. As an heir, I have received the full rights of a daughter of God--eternal life, a place within the family of God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am thankful that I was able to spend my spiritual birthday at the Women's Conference at church. Often on this day, I spend a little time reflecting over the years since I accepted Christ as my Savior, but it was good to spend that time surrounded by my family of believers, worshipping Him and learning more about what it means to walk with Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My prayer for the coming year is that I would grow more and more in knowledge of Him, focusing on what it means practically to walk with Him. I always cringe at New Years' resolution time, but here are a few spiritual goals that I have been praying through for the coming year:&lt;br /&gt;1. What is Scripture Memory going to look like this year? Last year I did a plan through Beth Moore's ministry where I memorized two passages a month. I wasn't sure if I wanted to do this again or focus on memorizing a book of the Bible. Through prayer and some words of wisdom from others, I have decided to memorize the book of 1 John. I started this week and have memorized 2 verses!&lt;br /&gt;2. Prayer. Prayer has always been something I have struggled with as a believer. I am not very consistent and I feel like I say the same prayer all the time. I want this to be a focus of something I want to grow in.&lt;br /&gt;3. Church. I visited a new Sunday School class for the first time today and am praying about whether to make this a permanent change. I am in the singles class right now and sometimes feel OLD. People coming into the class are sometimes 10 years younger.  Also, will ministry look different for me this year?  Should I look into new ministry or should I continue in the ministries I am currently involved in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, those are just a few things I am looking at for this year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1503166704625351788?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1503166704625351788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1503166704625351788' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1503166704625351788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1503166704625351788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/14-years.html' title='14 years'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6354096185224504695</id><published>2012-01-20T22:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T22:21:19.524-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Women's Conference</title><content type='html'>We are in the midst of a two day women's conference at church. (And by "in the midst" I mean we were at the church for a couple of hours tonight and then we go back tomorrow. I am sitting on my couch at home as I type this). I love getting together with a bunch of women. It makes sense to dress up (even though if guys were there, I would not have thought this through as much (maybe that's why I'm still single!)). Tangent...do you like how I just used double parentheses! Reminds me of algebra. End tangent...I love getting to see lots of women worship God together. I love seeing the women's bathroom sign on the men's bathroom door (heehee). But, in true me fashion, I've been reminiscing some more. Sitting there tonight reminded me of another women's conference I attended at my church in Georgia about 14 years ago. It was the year after college. I took a year off before grad school and was attending a Beth Moore Bible study that the pastor's wife was leading. It was the first study I've done with all age groups and I LOVED it! My college roommate also did the study with me which made it even more special. Anyhoo, we had a women's conference that year and Holly went with me (she didn't actually attend my church but attended these two things with me). I can remember sitting in the sanctuary and two older women (of retirement age) were sitting in front of us. They also attended our Bible study. They were the best of friends and had been friends for a long time. Holly leaned over to me and said, "That's going to be us at that age." I remember a tear coming to my eye (because it's so hard to make me cry!) and still today it makes me think what a sweet moment that was. So, tonight at the women's conference as I was sitting with new friends, I was missing some old friends too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(PS. Sorry about all of the parentheticals. I think I got a little carried away!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6354096185224504695?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6354096185224504695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6354096185224504695' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6354096185224504695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6354096185224504695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/womens-conference.html' title='Women&apos;s Conference'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-5046690262547533613</id><published>2012-01-20T13:55:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T14:11:02.509-06:00</updated><title type='text'>You have to start somewhere</title><content type='html'>Dr. Pepper. I love it. I hate it. But mostly I love it. I have cut way back on how much I am drinking. I really am facing the fact that I have gained a lot of weight in the last year and that if I continue what I'm doing (or not doing), I am just going to keep gaining. Everyone says you'd be amazed at how much weight you lose when you give up soda. So, in the last two weeks I have had two Dr. Peppers and one root beer. I've never been a big &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;caffeine&lt;/span&gt; drinker. I don't like coffee and I can't drink caffeine after 3:00pm, so most of the time I only have one can of Dr. Pepper a day and not every day. So I have continued to say that I don't think this is going to make much of a difference, but I have to make changes somewhere, so it's a start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I've added a little bit of exercise in. There is definitely nothing about exercise that I love, but I try and pretend to listen when people tell me all the wonderful benefits. The problem with exercise to lose weight is I don't have the time. I am not one of those people who can fit it in in the 45 minutes between A and B. I never will be. So, there are some weeks that I only have 1 day I can devote to it. I know this is never going to accomplish weight loss. So, my thought is, why bother at all. I'd rather be doing something else on that one day! :) But I'm trying, I honestly am. It's a work in progress. Enough said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, the original reason I was going to post something was to say this: I always think that when I go for a long time without a Dr. Pepper, it will be the best thing EVER when I finally have another one. But it usually is a little disappointing when I do have it. Just another Dr. Pepper. About 4 or 5 years ago I gave up Dr. Pepper for as part of a Bible study (and I think every other soda, too, but I can't remember). I think it was for a whole summer, about 3 months. That first Dr. Pepper I had was a poor, pathetic excuse for a Dr. Pepper. I was so disappointed. Maybe I don't even like the stuff anyway and I just drink it for the sake of drinking it! :) There are definitely days that I crave it. Mostly when I have something specific to eat that I ALWAYS have soda with, then I think the world is ending because I am trying to be disciplined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my goodness, have I ever rambled! Sorry about that. At this point, just for the sake of being honest, I'm avoiding buckling down to do paperwork. I have already missed my 2:00 deadline by 5 minutes...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-5046690262547533613?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/5046690262547533613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=5046690262547533613' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5046690262547533613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5046690262547533613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/you-have-to-start-somewhere.html' title='You have to start somewhere'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2453346841284854124</id><published>2012-01-18T21:53:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-18T22:07:02.272-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It sucks my time!</title><content type='html'>Last night Emily and I were talking (I know...surprise!). We were discussing a guy I dated in high school and I couldn't remember if he was in the same grade as me but older or my age but a year behind me. So, I pulled out my senior yearbook to find the answer. I was on the yearbook staff for 3 years in high school. So, unfortunately, when I pull out the yearbook, it can never be a quick thing. It turns into flipping and reminiscing. And, of course, it is normally late at night and for over an hour. I didn't get to bed until much later than I had planned last night :). One thing I learned (or was reminded of) is that yearbooks sold for $45-$60 my senior year depending on when you bought them. Can you believe that? This spring will be my 15 year reunion. So, I started thinking, I wonder how much a yearbook would cost this year?! Holy smokes! I bet kids have to take out a loan. But, considering I can still enjoy the memories 15 years later, maybe that loan would be worth it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2453346841284854124?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2453346841284854124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2453346841284854124' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2453346841284854124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2453346841284854124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/it-sucks-my-time.html' title='It sucks my time!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1871072307085698021</id><published>2012-01-16T18:22:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-19T17:12:16.913-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A New Refrigerator! and other miscellaneousness</title><content type='html'>No, we didn't actually get a new &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;refrigerator&lt;/span&gt;, but we got a newly 2012 decorated &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;refrigerator&lt;/span&gt;! Last year I cut up all of our pictures from Christmas cards and put them on the fridge for us to enjoy throughout the year. But it's like getting a new &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;refrigerator&lt;/span&gt;! And for all those who know how I can be a little detail oriented, last year, the pictures started out by just going up with magnets. But that didn't last long because I couldn't stand it when the pictures were crooked. So now...lots of taped down pictures. Equal distance apart. If you're going to have chaos in your kitchen (which, let's face it, a bunch of pictures on a fridge will always look chaotic), you have to organize the chaos a little bit! Emily and I decided we have some good looking friends and family! :)&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F76zPtkgOTM/TxS_4Eh0nOI/AAAAAAAACFA/etwXbTOyZMc/s1600/P1010006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698390398539701474" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F76zPtkgOTM/TxS_4Eh0nOI/AAAAAAAACFA/etwXbTOyZMc/s400/P1010006.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And then I found this series of pictures on my camera. When I got home from Georgia, I was amazed by the sunset while driving home from the airport. I tried to take a good picture but never did the sunset justice because 1. my camera is not that fancy, and 2. I was driving so I kept missing the mark! The irony is that these are the only pictures on my camera from my trip to Georgia because I never got my camera out while actually in Georgia :).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698390420220204130" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sbgTw-vnLOc/TxS_5VS21GI/AAAAAAAACFw/j5hXbinBOOs/s400/PC130005.JPG" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O5xx0YhmF7I/TxS_5D_5dtI/AAAAAAAACFg/BxxXYycOieM/s1600/PC130004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698390415577282258" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O5xx0YhmF7I/TxS_5D_5dtI/AAAAAAAACFg/BxxXYycOieM/s400/PC130004.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OZn9j_tcaS0/TxS_4XCzjYI/AAAAAAAACFY/9T4nGE50jJY/s1600/PC130003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698390403509882242" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OZn9j_tcaS0/TxS_4XCzjYI/AAAAAAAACFY/9T4nGE50jJY/s400/PC130003.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GjzsyukpgUA/TxS_4aUUEjI/AAAAAAAACFI/oJuqCGll5eE/s1600/PC130001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698390404388622898" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GjzsyukpgUA/TxS_4aUUEjI/AAAAAAAACFI/oJuqCGll5eE/s400/PC130001.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1871072307085698021?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1871072307085698021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1871072307085698021' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1871072307085698021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1871072307085698021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/new-refridgerator-and-other.html' title='A New Refrigerator! and other miscellaneousness'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F76zPtkgOTM/TxS_4Eh0nOI/AAAAAAAACFA/etwXbTOyZMc/s72-c/P1010006.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2813507737673979881</id><published>2012-01-13T22:24:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-14T13:46:27.088-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It must run in the family</title><content type='html'>Remember a few posts back when I told the story about the 14 year old asking about whether I had kids, a husband, a boyfriend? Well, today I met with her younger sister. Who is a sweetie. She is the one who bought me the ring for Christmas that is also displayed a few posts back. As we were working on some art stuff, this is the conversation we had:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Client: Do you have any kids?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No.&lt;br /&gt;Client: Do you have a husband?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No.&lt;br /&gt;Client: Do you have a boyfriend?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No.&lt;br /&gt;Client: You must be lonely!&lt;br /&gt;Me: (Trying not to laugh but failing miserably) I'm not lonely.&lt;br /&gt;Client: Do you have a cat?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No.&lt;br /&gt;Client: Do you have a dog?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No. But I have a roommate.&lt;br /&gt;Client: Oh, then you're not lonely!  Do you have Facebook?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;Client:  Maybe you can get a boyfriend on Facebook!&lt;br /&gt;Me: Ummm, I don't think that's how I want to go about it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, about 20 minutes later, she is digging all kinds of things out of her pockets in her coat. And she pulls out a pretty big stack of "I've been Krogering" stickers. She begins to tell me the story about why she has so many. Then she says, "Do you only have one roommate?" And I answer yes. And she proceeds to give me two stickers, one for me and one for my roommate! Isn't she so sweet! :) I called Emily on the way home to let her know that she had a Kroger sticker from one of my clients! Emily had trouble containing her excitement :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I got home. I won't go into the details about my frustration with how the apartment complex chooses to not plow parking spaces and move on to the next big event :) But, you're smart, I'm sure you can read between the lines to get the gist of how I feel! You have to walk down a half flight of stairs to the door of my apartment. And there is a door to the right of mine. Well, I get to the top of the stairs and there is a dog in front of my door that starts barking at me. I tried to shoo it away but when I unlocked the door, it kept trying to bolt inside. So, as I was trying to figure out what to do, my new neighbors above me (mom, you'll be so proud...I learned her name!) were leaving to walk their two dogs and I mentioned that the dog was outside my door when I got home. She saw that the dog had a tag, so I looked and found a phone number. I called, but was at a loss as to what to say. So, I said, "Do you live in these apartments?" The guy said, "Who is this?" I said that I lived in the apartments and found a dog with his number on the tag. He stated which apartment he lived in, which was the next hallway down from mine. He said, "My stupid mom!" He wasn't home but said his mom was. So, I walked the dog over. Poor dog had just gotten confused and was one doorway down from where she was supposed to be. Luckily she let me pick her up and she was shivering because it was so cold. Who knows how long she had been there. The mom was very apologetic and a little frantic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quite the eventful day! And that was before sitting in my car for an hour and a half in freezing temperatures because I had pulled up to a house and didn't want to go in until I was finished with my phone call! Now it's off to bed!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2813507737673979881?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2813507737673979881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2813507737673979881' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2813507737673979881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2813507737673979881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/it-must-run-in-family.html' title='It must run in the family'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2079214984196390585</id><published>2012-01-08T13:14:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-08T13:18:52.363-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Leftovers</title><content type='html'>I am kind of finnicky about the type of leftovers I will eat. There are a lot of things that will just get thrown away if they are not eaten. But even with the things that I enjoy, I always hate the last of the leftovers. You really have no desire to eat them, but you feel a grave responsibility to be resourceful and responsible. That is what I'm doing now. Leftover tortellini. The worst part is that, as a single person, when you commit to leftovers, you commit to A LOT of leftovers. And this week did not go according to plan, so the leftovers were abandoned for a few days, making today's meal even more "special" because many more days of sitting in the fridge and it would no longer have been prudent to eat them. That being said, I feel better finishing it off and now for dinner tonight, I can move on to other things! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2079214984196390585?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2079214984196390585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2079214984196390585' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2079214984196390585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2079214984196390585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/leftovers.html' title='Leftovers'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4536361890020855912</id><published>2012-01-05T19:28:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-05T19:32:05.631-06:00</updated><title type='text'>FYI...</title><content type='html'>It's my half-birthday.  And for my half-birthday I'm requesting no gifts, just in case you were thinking of getting me something.  And just in case you were planning to stop by and surprise me...I'm in my pj's and really need to go to bed early. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of gifts, I guess now that Christmas is over, I can start a birthday list. I don't really have anything I want to put on the list, but it's always good to have the list ready.  I think I might use another post-it thingy on my computer.  Very handy.  And I won't forget where I put it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4536361890020855912?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4536361890020855912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4536361890020855912' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4536361890020855912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4536361890020855912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/fyi.html' title='FYI...'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1837764413821423533</id><published>2012-01-05T18:55:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-05T19:12:59.838-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not weird</title><content type='html'>I have a client who is 14. I actually really enjoy meeting with her. Usually the teenage girls are not my favorite clients. I have this incessant need to feel "cool" with them. Like I am in high school with them and have to prove myself or something. I act differently around them and actually sometimes consider what I am wearing the day that I see them. Crazy, I know. I wasn't even "cool" in high school, so I don't know why I strive to be cool now! Anyway, I've had some funny conversations with this particular client over the last few months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About a month ago, out of the blue, she told me that in a session one day she should do my makeup. I immediately got all depressed inside because my first thought was, "She thinks I'm ugly!!!" However, I remained the cool as a cucumber counselor on the outside. I did ask her why she thought we should do that. She said that she likes to do people's makeup and it's what she wants to do after she graduates, so it would be fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then today, we were talking about one of her aunts who does not have children. Here is how the conversation went:&lt;br /&gt;Client: Why don't you have any kids? (She's asked me this before, but I think she has trouble wrapping her mind around it)&lt;br /&gt;Me: Because I'm not married.&lt;br /&gt;Client: But you don't even have a boyfriend! Why don't you have a boyfriend?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Because no one has asked me out.&lt;br /&gt;Client: But I don't get it. It's not like you're weird or unfriendly. (I'm paraphrasing because I can't really remember exactly the words she said, but that was the gist.)&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well, maybe you should tell the guys I know that! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then we went on to talk about some things that were more therapeutic for her!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1837764413821423533?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1837764413821423533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1837764413821423533' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1837764413821423533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1837764413821423533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/im-not-weird.html' title='I&apos;m not weird'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6044315172669587633</id><published>2012-01-03T19:08:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-03T19:26:12.667-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas pictures in no particular order</title><content type='html'>Much of my Christmas break was spent in Georgia. It was a very relaxing week. And by relaxing, I mean we went out to dinner Thursday night and then I didn't leave the house until Tuesday afternoon. Lots of playing (with our imagination and with a whole lot of technology). Lots of cooking and eating. Lots of family time. Lots of loving each other.&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bMavib7-AIc/TwOnPdYoD-I/AAAAAAAACEw/wBrqSr2j6w4/s1600/407827_2460389909333_1239731742_32150696_893781582_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693578237954232290" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bMavib7-AIc/TwOnPdYoD-I/AAAAAAAACEw/wBrqSr2j6w4/s400/407827_2460389909333_1239731742_32150696_893781582_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ZuZu makes a great back rest when you're watching a movie on the portable DVD player! At one point in time, John even spread his arms out across her back. It didn't faze her at all. Best dog ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iPn_-12TUyk/TwOnPU44hJI/AAAAAAAACEo/gbqcvRSeRgY/s1600/408333_2460374428946_1239731742_32150664_86168582_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693578235673609362" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iPn_-12TUyk/TwOnPU44hJI/AAAAAAAACEo/gbqcvRSeRgY/s400/408333_2460374428946_1239731742_32150664_86168582_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; One of the great things about John's age is that you can reason with him a little bit more. He kept wanting to eat the jelly while we were plopping it on the cookies, so I told him that he could lick it off my finger. This is actually a pose of that, because Mom didn't get the picture fast enough. So, I said, "John, pretend you're doing it again." And he did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VGFNTiFt_OY/TwOnOvuJNJI/AAAAAAAACEg/ZBCmvig5Mdg/s1600/402326_2460390949359_1239731742_32150700_2072394463_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693578225696453778" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VGFNTiFt_OY/TwOnOvuJNJI/AAAAAAAACEg/ZBCmvig5Mdg/s400/402326_2460390949359_1239731742_32150700_2072394463_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; It rained A LOT while we were in Georgia. Mom and John played in the mud puddles. John got new rain boots for Christmas. He's a tad nervous when it comes to doing certain things, so he kept telling my mom, "It's okay to get dirty."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-igEKitthMJw/TwOnOWqDYXI/AAAAAAAACEM/A5S2iUTTFgQ/s1600/398467_2460371748879_1239731742_32150654_162320949_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693578218968408434" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-igEKitthMJw/TwOnOWqDYXI/AAAAAAAACEM/A5S2iUTTFgQ/s400/398467_2460371748879_1239731742_32150654_162320949_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I bought John blank puzzles and we drew pictures and colored them and then did the puzzles. This craft entertained him for most of the afternoon. I kept trying to convince him that I was the Puzzle Master and he was the Puzzle Apprentice. But he would say, "No, I'm the Puzzle Master!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p2GewteGlVk/TwOnOVoLWzI/AAAAAAAACEE/OuYv0_Q5Rnc/s1600/396940_2460392869407_1239731742_32150707_346779004_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693578218692107058" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p2GewteGlVk/TwOnOVoLWzI/AAAAAAAACEE/OuYv0_Q5Rnc/s400/396940_2460392869407_1239731742_32150707_346779004_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Mom asked John to take a picture of me, her, and Chris but he wouldn't do it. I am getting particularly good at the self-portraits if I do say so myself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yKRUERVl2jY/TwOnAnTrsAI/AAAAAAAACDo/lJe4ymaMXXc/s1600/397674_2460370708853_1239731742_32150651_1470459479_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693577982919815170" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yKRUERVl2jY/TwOnAnTrsAI/AAAAAAAACDo/lJe4ymaMXXc/s400/397674_2460370708853_1239731742_32150651_1470459479_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Mom taught John how to play "I'm thinking of an ornament." It's kind of like I Spy. Honestly, when Mom was teaching him how to play, I didn't expect him to actually get it, but I was wrong. He did a really good job. In the top picture he is picking an ornament for Mom to guess. And in the bottom picture he is guessing which ornament Mom had picked. I like the sunglasses on his head too! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2dzXCinerPA/TwOnAqLyzCI/AAAAAAAACDg/HmdKXUdEETU/s1600/392367_2460370988860_1239731742_32150652_1076291805_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693577983692033058" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2dzXCinerPA/TwOnAqLyzCI/AAAAAAAACDg/HmdKXUdEETU/s400/392367_2460370988860_1239731742_32150652_1076291805_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--fapcBP84wI/TwOm72EQ3xI/AAAAAAAACDY/fAuI3ZUmUvs/s1600/390703_2460384069187_1239731742_32150675_1446412509_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693577900982329106" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--fapcBP84wI/TwOm72EQ3xI/AAAAAAAACDY/fAuI3ZUmUvs/s400/390703_2460384069187_1239731742_32150675_1446412509_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; John helped Chris put a new bookshelf together. I think this might actually have been another posed picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fOWqhUYuQcQ/TwOm7wSvptI/AAAAAAAACDM/Ahp3YwYdOyY/s1600/388501_2460385949234_1239731742_32150680_1065601779_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693577899432453842" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fOWqhUYuQcQ/TwOm7wSvptI/AAAAAAAACDM/Ahp3YwYdOyY/s400/388501_2460385949234_1239731742_32150680_1065601779_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; We match! :) And look at the cute baby bump representing baby boy #2. I tried to convince John that he should name the baby "Green jello". He laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rBbHBVXLfFQ/TwOm7q-tcGI/AAAAAAAACDE/-Qj4_x4R7l8/s1600/387947_2455136177993_1239731742_32145387_45744896_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693577898006245474" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rBbHBVXLfFQ/TwOm7q-tcGI/AAAAAAAACDE/-Qj4_x4R7l8/s400/387947_2455136177993_1239731742_32145387_45744896_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Just before we left for the airport, Mom asked John to pose in a picture with me. He didn't want to. So Chris bribed him with a few minutes of video games. He jumped into my lap! :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There you are, my trip in a nutshell!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6044315172669587633?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6044315172669587633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6044315172669587633' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6044315172669587633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6044315172669587633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/christmas-pictures-in-no-particular.html' title='Christmas pictures in no particular order'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bMavib7-AIc/TwOnPdYoD-I/AAAAAAAACEw/wBrqSr2j6w4/s72-c/407827_2460389909333_1239731742_32150696_893781582_n%255B1%255D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-5037707663775510243</id><published>2012-01-01T13:27:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-01T13:47:34.643-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Year of Anothers</title><content type='html'>Last year I sent out a Christmas card for the first time in many years. In it I pasted a list of new things that had happened to me in 2010. And there were a lot. Some little things, like joining Facebook :). And some big things like my family moving to Arizona. And some in between things like entering into a new phase of ministry with AWANA. When I was tossing around the idea of sending out cards this year, I tried to make a similar list. But there just wasn't anything to go on it. It felt like a ho-hum kind of year. Not a lot of newness. Just a lot of anothers. So I didn't send the card out. I can't bring myself to send a card that just has my name in it. I have to personalize it :). So, for those who were wondering, that's why you didn't get a card this year. But, for the sake of my blog readers, I figured I could still give you the list of "anothers." I have found the blessing in the anothers. Changes and new things are not always what they are cracked up to be. But settling into the anothers can be dangerous too (I'll save that for another day when I've had more time to process some of the swirling thoughts).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Another year at my job. Praise the Lord. In March I will start my 6th year at the Children's Home.&lt;br /&gt;2. Another year in my apartment with Emily. We've talked about moving, but never settle on anything. We've also talked about how we have to meet and marry men at the same time so we don't have to break in new roommates!&lt;br /&gt;3. Another visit to Arizona. I went in October to see Dad, Amy, Daynah, and Josh and spend time with their extended family of 8 boys. With it came a first (see, there were some!)--seeing the Grand Canyon. If I sent out a picture card, this is the picture I decided would have gone on that card:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KYIB3c9SzRQ/TwC1xrBKFUI/AAAAAAAACC4/7VmqS2b_Fq8/s1600/PA060119.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692749793962104130" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KYIB3c9SzRQ/TwC1xrBKFUI/AAAAAAAACC4/7VmqS2b_Fq8/s400/PA060119.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Wouldn't that have been funny. No picture of me, just of my feet! :)&lt;br /&gt;4. Another year in my car. I bought it five years ago yesterday. My second new thing: I paid it off in the spring, which left me debt free!&lt;br /&gt;5. Another birthday :). I know that one goes without saying, but it is still one of the anothers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2012 will bring some changes. Many of which I don't even know will happen. The first change will come in January/February with the birth of my new nephew. Today's sermon was about including God in making your plans. So, whether it is a another year of anothers or a year full of changes, I pray that I can honor God in the plans that I make!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-5037707663775510243?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/5037707663775510243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=5037707663775510243' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5037707663775510243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5037707663775510243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2012/01/year-of-anothers.html' title='A Year of Anothers'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KYIB3c9SzRQ/TwC1xrBKFUI/AAAAAAAACC4/7VmqS2b_Fq8/s72-c/PA060119.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4810218622981392543</id><published>2011-12-27T15:29:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-27T15:40:14.067-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Catching up</title><content type='html'>I mostly travel to Georgia during the holidays, so it is hard to find time to meet up with old friends.  I contacted 3 people with the hopes of getting together.  But this year, I think because Christmas fell on a weekend, I was only able to get together with one friend.  Pictures to follow later, because I haven't taken my camera out of my backpack, so I'm relying on everyone else to provide great pictures.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My 10 year college reunion (not that we had one) was this past May.  I was able to spend a couple of hours today with my college roommate.  Holly and I lived together for 3 of our 4 years of school.  We don't talk very often now and we see each other for a few hours every couple of years, but it is great that we can pick up right where we left off every time we get together.  While I was playing with her and her kiddos, I was looking around their bonus room and spotted a picture frame.  It had pictures of her and her bridesmaids.  I almost didn't recognize myself :).  But so much fun!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wish I could have spent time with Alicia, Christy, and Scott.  But maybe next time!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4810218622981392543?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4810218622981392543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4810218622981392543' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4810218622981392543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4810218622981392543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/catching-up.html' title='Catching up'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8125338895630714198</id><published>2011-12-24T16:21:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-24T16:34:30.842-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Puppy Love and Self-Portraits</title><content type='html'>I was trying to get a picture with ZuZu and I.  It took several takes because she gets really happy when she's this close to you.  Here is the first attempt! :)&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HZXph3e9UUk/TvZQ_XKoApI/AAAAAAAACCk/VsHlMszSnNM/s1600/IMG_5784.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HZXph3e9UUk/TvZQ_XKoApI/AAAAAAAACCk/VsHlMszSnNM/s400/IMG_5784.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689824228709761682" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Look at that tongue!  It looks like it is going right into my mouth, but don't worry, it barely touched my mouth.  Then I had John take a picture, but she still wasn't quite cooperating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9YYu7NlmTzo/TvZQ-5nHqyI/AAAAAAAACCY/cdIPLrVOPho/s1600/IMG_5785.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9YYu7NlmTzo/TvZQ-5nHqyI/AAAAAAAACCY/cdIPLrVOPho/s400/IMG_5785.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689824220776213282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-38MKPwJtDQU/TvZQ-VLeQdI/AAAAAAAACCM/pXP8Lji1wpo/s1600/IMG_5786.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-38MKPwJtDQU/TvZQ-VLeQdI/AAAAAAAACCM/pXP8Lji1wpo/s400/IMG_5786.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689824210996576722" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And then I cut my head off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GJgoixQmB3A/TvZQ9gZJeaI/AAAAAAAACCA/4EXXcPTAF4Q/s1600/IMG_5787.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GJgoixQmB3A/TvZQ9gZJeaI/AAAAAAAACCA/4EXXcPTAF4Q/s400/IMG_5787.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689824196826855842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And then she got distracted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E9Mmrmb3Pes/TvZQ9Vetg8I/AAAAAAAACB0/Ywi4D3_yaoY/s1600/IMG_5788.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E9Mmrmb3Pes/TvZQ9Vetg8I/AAAAAAAACB0/Ywi4D3_yaoY/s400/IMG_5788.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689824193897399234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And then we got a fairly good picture :)  What a cute puppy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8125338895630714198?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8125338895630714198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8125338895630714198' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8125338895630714198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8125338895630714198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/puppy-love-and-self-portraits.html' title='Puppy Love and Self-Portraits'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HZXph3e9UUk/TvZQ_XKoApI/AAAAAAAACCk/VsHlMszSnNM/s72-c/IMG_5784.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3012017297543165816</id><published>2011-12-22T19:12:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-22T19:15:56.705-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Trying to age people 15 years</title><content type='html'>When I'm in Georgia and I go out in public, it always feels really weird to me.  I constantly scan the crowds for people I might know.   But those people would be the ones I went to high school with.  I don't keep up with very many people from high school, so it's like looking through a time machine.  You have to imagine what people would look like 15 years later.  It is kind of taxing doing all that scanning and it often gives me a little bit of a headache.  At least I stay at the house with John, Mom, Chris, and Ann most of the time.  They don't usually give me a headache :).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3012017297543165816?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3012017297543165816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3012017297543165816' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3012017297543165816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3012017297543165816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/trying-to-age-people-15-years.html' title='Trying to age people 15 years'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8397727415328307827</id><published>2011-12-20T21:08:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-20T21:18:57.593-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning to spell my name</title><content type='html'>I learned how to spell my name before I was in kindergarten (I think). And I've been signing my name for the better part of 20 years. Here is what my first name typically looks like:&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2jUkXNq08Mk/TvFONBxqEMI/AAAAAAAACBo/ePqsLJbLbHU/s1600/PC050287.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688413790067626178" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2jUkXNq08Mk/TvFONBxqEMI/AAAAAAAACBo/ePqsLJbLbHU/s400/PC050287.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; However, lately when I sign my name to my paperwork, especially when I sign it quickly and repeatedly, it will look like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r0g7rpi0EJw/TvFOMwjH_OI/AAAAAAAACBc/rBrYF6XNgFw/s1600/PC050284.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688413785443269858" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r0g7rpi0EJw/TvFOMwjH_OI/AAAAAAAACBc/rBrYF6XNgFw/s400/PC050284.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Three "e"'s instead of an "r." This is sometimes what happens when I try to concentrate so that I don't make three "e"'s:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mlGiWgE7ND0/TvFOMsR60yI/AAAAAAAACBQ/MjMpjt4vbjA/s1600/PC050285.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688413784297362210" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mlGiWgE7ND0/TvFOMsR60yI/AAAAAAAACBQ/MjMpjt4vbjA/s400/PC050285.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And then it looks like a forgery because who tries to correct there name in the middle of signing it? Me, I guess. But lately, this has been the anomaly that has been happening:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YzDF69qG5uc/TvFOMZfi6TI/AAAAAAAACBE/IVAhBp_H-ZM/s1600/PC050286.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688413779254241586" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YzDF69qG5uc/TvFOMZfi6TI/AAAAAAAACBE/IVAhBp_H-ZM/s400/PC050286.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I don't even know what to do with that! The "r" is back, but I have an extra "e" thrown in! How does adding a letter to my name make it quicker? This has happened more often than not when I am signing my work notes now. Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was taking these pictures, I was amusing myself. My statement: I love having a blog. How else would I be able to share such a mundane thing?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8397727415328307827?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8397727415328307827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8397727415328307827' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8397727415328307827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8397727415328307827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/learning-to-spell-my-name.html' title='Learning to spell my name'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2jUkXNq08Mk/TvFONBxqEMI/AAAAAAAACBo/ePqsLJbLbHU/s72-c/PC050287.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-925082872372097207</id><published>2011-12-18T13:14:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-18T13:27:21.426-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Family Party</title><content type='html'>The Forsberg family party was last night. It was another great event. There were babies EVERYWHERE. As they get older, they sure do get around a lot more :) White elephant, a visit from Santa, a train set under the tree, and food around every corner. Plus family, family, and more family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really did think I was going to get away with not getting my picture taken with Santa this year. I was the lone representative of my branch of the family tree. But Aunt Kathy never forgets! My cousin Chris was nice enough to join my picture.&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-54Vk4Xbfl8A/Tu49Kg0jHDI/AAAAAAAACA4/04T5UiDffXc/s1600/408126_2933883192558_1425406739_33193249_1128343831_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 299px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687550630233840690" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-54Vk4Xbfl8A/Tu49Kg0jHDI/AAAAAAAACA4/04T5UiDffXc/s400/408126_2933883192558_1425406739_33193249_1128343831_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And then, of course, there was some baby snuggle time. I had the honor of rocking Gianna to sleep. She slept through Santa handing out presents, but she woke up just before the family pictures started, so she was still able to get her picture taken with Santa. She's the youngest in the family until my nephew is born in a few months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xNpqEN-RqQQ/Tu47vPUSHFI/AAAAAAAACAs/l2HKkWrdbWE/s1600/400608_10150433671109426_665584425_8465754_16471505_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687549062167010386" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xNpqEN-RqQQ/Tu47vPUSHFI/AAAAAAAACAs/l2HKkWrdbWE/s400/400608_10150433671109426_665584425_8465754_16471505_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-925082872372097207?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/925082872372097207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=925082872372097207' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/925082872372097207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/925082872372097207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/family-party.html' title='Family Party'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-54Vk4Xbfl8A/Tu49Kg0jHDI/AAAAAAAACA4/04T5UiDffXc/s72-c/408126_2933883192558_1425406739_33193249_1128343831_n%255B1%255D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7380114351116254074</id><published>2011-12-16T16:27:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-16T16:31:19.432-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Singing in the Shower</title><content type='html'>Most mornings I wake up with a song in my head. It usually stays in my head during my shower but then my brain moves on. It cracks me up though because there is no rhyme or reason to the song. Sometimes it is a song I listened to the day before. Sometimes it is a song that I talked about to someone. Sometimes it is a song that I don't like and changed the station when it came on the radio. The worst is when I only know the two lines that run through my head when I wake up and they run through my head repeatedly for the next half hour or so. I've learned that it does no good to try to put a different song in my head. It doesn't work. But really, the title of this blog is misleading, because rarely do I sing these songs out loud in the shower, only in my head. Even I don't want to hear me singing out loud with no music playing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7380114351116254074?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7380114351116254074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7380114351116254074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7380114351116254074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7380114351116254074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/singing-in-shower.html' title='Singing in the Shower'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-5267402299142626654</id><published>2011-12-15T17:52:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-15T18:00:35.453-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Santa's Workshop</title><content type='html'>This is the present I got from one of my clients today:&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-attzSvr95d8/TuqIuNNwDLI/AAAAAAAACAc/-HGZKpDLqi8/s1600/PB300281.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686507806911368370" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-attzSvr95d8/TuqIuNNwDLI/AAAAAAAACAc/-HGZKpDLqi8/s400/PB300281.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; She got it from the Santa's Workshop at her school. Do you remember Santa's Workshop? I remember it being the best thing ever. You got to make a list of everyone you were buying gifts for and then you went shopping. The worst part was that everything was the greatest and you had a hard time deciding which $1 trinket would be the best and most perfect gift for each person on your list. And you couldn't wait to give them to the person. Man, those were the good ole' days! It made me think of this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z_KL66nfC90/TuqItwlg1cI/AAAAAAAACAU/k6Y0ZTU6QEI/s1600/PB300283.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686507799226406338" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z_KL66nfC90/TuqItwlg1cI/AAAAAAAACAU/k6Y0ZTU6QEI/s400/PB300283.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is a rose ring that my younger brother bought for me several years ago at school. I remember opening it, paying more attention to the look on his face then what the present was. His statement after he watched me put it on? "I saw it and thought it was the perfect thing to get you!" How cute is that! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Two things to mention about these gifts as an adult:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. My fingers are still a little too small for the adjustable rings. yikes!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. Apparently all the rings are lethal. Whenever I wear the rose ring I have to be careful to keep it away from my face because it scratches really bad. The new ring has some sharp edges too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. Don't forget to actually wear them when you see the person who gave them to you. They will notice. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-5267402299142626654?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/5267402299142626654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=5267402299142626654' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5267402299142626654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5267402299142626654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/santas-workshop.html' title='Santa&apos;s Workshop'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-attzSvr95d8/TuqIuNNwDLI/AAAAAAAACAc/-HGZKpDLqi8/s72-c/PB300281.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1149750246066309191</id><published>2011-12-13T19:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-13T19:16:14.595-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting ready for winter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rIf0AkEUaGA/Tuf4IATRm2I/AAAAAAAACAI/SfWUIZ2CBCY/s1600/PB280277.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685785870982028130" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rIf0AkEUaGA/Tuf4IATRm2I/AAAAAAAACAI/SfWUIZ2CBCY/s400/PB280277.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Even though it didn't feel like winter out today, and I am not a winter-only puzzle-doer, I felt the need to buy a few new puzzles to get ready for January. Hometown Collection puzzles are my favorite. From where I sit, I can see at least 20 of these puzzles in various places (mostly the open closet). They have a lot of detail, so you rarely get stuck with the pieces that all look the same, like the sky, that you don't really want to put in, but you did all the fun parts so you don't have any choice. So, if you want to join me for some puzzling fun or want to borrow any of my puzzles, just let me know. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1149750246066309191?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1149750246066309191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1149750246066309191' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1149750246066309191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1149750246066309191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/getting-ready-for-winter.html' title='Getting ready for winter'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rIf0AkEUaGA/Tuf4IATRm2I/AAAAAAAACAI/SfWUIZ2CBCY/s72-c/PB280277.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6213087336943864779</id><published>2011-12-12T22:30:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-12T23:07:44.253-06:00</updated><title type='text'>2nd Annual Cheesy Christmas Movie Night</title><content type='html'>For the second year in a row, Emily and I have had Joanne and Amanda over to watch a cheesy Christmas movie. Becky joined us for the 2nd annual viewing of a cheesy Christmas movie. What is a cheesy Christmas movie, you might ask? Here are two examples:&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JXHFNBZiB7I/Tuba2bIBQaI/AAAAAAAAB_8/OifH_-11m_o/s1600/PB270273.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685472208131015074" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JXHFNBZiB7I/Tuba2bIBQaI/AAAAAAAAB_8/OifH_-11m_o/s400/PB270273.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; "Call Me Mrs. Miracle" and "The Christmas Hope." A cheesy Christmas movie, by definition is not a classic (like Charlie Brown, It's a Wonderful Life, or Miracle On 34th Street). It's not a well known movie (like National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation or A Christmas Story). It is a made for TV movie that probably aired on abcfamily or the Hallmark Channel. It has bad music in the background and over-the-top acting. Last year we watched an abcfamily movie called "Holiday in Handcuffs" starring Mario Lopez (Slater from Saved By the Bell) and Melissa Joan Hart. The movies shown above were our selections this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T7btGlbjGz4/Tuba2bDZwXI/AAAAAAAAB_s/bNhTc-CLbSg/s1600/PB270271.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685472208111649138" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T7btGlbjGz4/Tuba2bDZwXI/AAAAAAAAB_s/bNhTc-CLbSg/s400/PB270271.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Joanne was giving a dramatic reading of the back of one of the movies so we could make an educated vote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fosDkduwG7Y/Tuba2GL286I/AAAAAAAAB_k/tDRPFirNjFU/s1600/PB270272.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685472202509972386" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fosDkduwG7Y/Tuba2GL286I/AAAAAAAAB_k/tDRPFirNjFU/s400/PB270272.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; We decided a secret ballot into the ornament candy dish was the only way to choose which movie to watch! This is serious business here, folks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1fo8JqXor_g/Tuba1E4sFgI/AAAAAAAAB_Y/Fcq9kZ4AO48/s1600/PB270274.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685472184981263874" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1fo8JqXor_g/Tuba1E4sFgI/AAAAAAAAB_Y/Fcq9kZ4AO48/s400/PB270274.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; It was intense, but with unanimous votes, "Call Me Mrs. Miracle" won.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yTlmvVwlMSo/Tuba0wW3joI/AAAAAAAAB_M/m8AJ3a2pm6k/s1600/PB270276.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685472179470700162" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yTlmvVwlMSo/Tuba0wW3joI/AAAAAAAAB_M/m8AJ3a2pm6k/s400/PB270276.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Here are Becky, Joanne, and Amanda getting ready to enjoy the movie by the glow of the Christmas tree. Yes, this is without the flash and literally the only lights (besides the TV) were from the Christmas tree :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The movie provided all the cheese factor we had hoped for and more! We're already discussing selections for next year...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6213087336943864779?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6213087336943864779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6213087336943864779' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6213087336943864779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6213087336943864779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/2nd-annual-cheesy-christmas-movie-night.html' title='2nd Annual Cheesy Christmas Movie Night'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JXHFNBZiB7I/Tuba2bIBQaI/AAAAAAAAB_8/OifH_-11m_o/s72-c/PB270273.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4789275639194549072</id><published>2011-12-11T18:55:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-11T19:13:28.720-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't try this at home</title><content type='html'>I was working on a project while sitting on the couch with a blanket covering my legs watching an ABC Family Christmas movie online.  And in my life, when accidents happen, they happen big.  Don't worry.  There were no casualties of said project, just a little stupidity on my part.  Just remember, when I share the details of said project, that I am a qualified adult and there were no children involved in this project. :)  That was all said for the "real" adults who read my blog (such as my mom, aunts, etc.) who will tell me that I should not play with fire.  Anyhoo...on to the details...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have a candle in our apartment that drives me crazy because it doesn't burn evenly.  I was laying on the couch watching a movie on my computer, and the candle was in my line of sight.  I noticed that it was burning down low enough that I couldn't see the flame and was afraid I was going to forget that it was burning (see how responsible I am!).  So, I decided (which I've done before) to burn some of the excess wax on the sides so that it doesn't bother me quite so much.  So, I got the tools for this project.  Candle (which I extinguished), lighter (you know the long-stemmed kind), cup to pour the excess wax into.  Supplies that I forgot...paper towels.  So, while I watched my movie, I began to burn.  It really is a satisfying project, one I've done lots of times before.  But not on the couch.  I got ready to dump my first batch of excess melted wax into the cup (successfully, I might add) when I realized I had no paper towels to wipe the wax off the outside of the candle.  So I set the cup of wax on the couch on my blanket.  Stupid, I know, but that's what I did.  And it spilled hot wax onto my favorite blanket.  A lot.  I tried to wipe it up with the paper towels I was in transit to get, but it didn't work very well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I googled solutions to the problem.  Many sites suggested freezing the area with ice cubes and scraping.  Tried it, didn't work.  Other sites said to iron it with a paper towel or brown paper bag between the blanket and iron to gather the wax.  I tried this and it worked really well, but there is still some wax on the blanket.  And I now have a big brown stain (the candle was apple cider) on my ironing board.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the moral of the story is don't put a cup of hot wax on the couch on top of your favorite blanket.  The moral of the story isn't stop melting candles because, let's face it, it's kind of fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on the up side, my blanket smells really good now! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4789275639194549072?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4789275639194549072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4789275639194549072' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4789275639194549072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4789275639194549072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/dont-try-this-at-home.html' title='Don&apos;t try this at home'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7438688307367935197</id><published>2011-12-08T18:58:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-08T19:04:29.125-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Just because it makes me laugh :)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AzbSvx8lMJw/TuFduab878I/AAAAAAAAB9I/_cmvLaW1mkA/s1600/PB230270.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683927256670203842" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AzbSvx8lMJw/TuFduab878I/AAAAAAAAB9I/_cmvLaW1mkA/s400/PB230270.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Don't worry...the tree did not burn out any lights. But when you plug in the tree, this is what you start with. We have one extension cord running to a plug on the left and two extension cords running to a power strip to the right. Don't ask me how the middle part of the tree is what goes in a different direction. That's just how it happened. Actually, now that I think about it, I can explain it. But I won't. Unless you really want me to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked Emily the other day what color she saw when she looked at the tree. She said yellow, which is the color I see the most of when I look at the tree. I jokingly told her that I was going to redo the lights and make sure the different colors were more evenly distributed! It's just not fair to green or blue or red!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7438688307367935197?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7438688307367935197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7438688307367935197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7438688307367935197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7438688307367935197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/just-because-it-makes-me-laugh.html' title='Just because it makes me laugh :)'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AzbSvx8lMJw/TuFduab878I/AAAAAAAAB9I/_cmvLaW1mkA/s72-c/PB230270.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7566192502238194724</id><published>2011-12-07T21:35:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-07T21:42:11.688-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Duly Noted</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2UGy_8gvTZk/TuAwyk0Ox6I/AAAAAAAAB8w/1EhJK0UR-us/s1600/PB220268.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683596375175907234" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2UGy_8gvTZk/TuAwyk0Ox6I/AAAAAAAAB8w/1EhJK0UR-us/s400/PB220268.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This was on our door at the apartment today. I didn't realize that when I throw my cigarette butts on the ground, it offends people! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I laughed because we really don't get notices from the apartment very often. There are a lot of other things that I feel like should be addressed, but I guess they have to start somewhere.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7566192502238194724?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7566192502238194724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7566192502238194724' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7566192502238194724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7566192502238194724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/duly-noted.html' title='Duly Noted'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2UGy_8gvTZk/TuAwyk0Ox6I/AAAAAAAAB8w/1EhJK0UR-us/s72-c/PB220268.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8556399986447483001</id><published>2011-12-05T18:15:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-05T18:26:27.818-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Name Brand Snob</title><content type='html'>I'd like to think I'm thrifty, but I'm not. I mean, I don't think anyone would accuse me of being thrifty anyway. But I wanted to set the record straight. I go to the store and think, "Hey, the store brand is (insert double digit cents) cheaper than the name brand. I should get that." Sometimes I do, and there are normally three reactions when I eat the food (which is where most of my name brand issues come from):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Yuck! Yuck! Yuck! I can't even finish that! This doesn't happen a huge percentage of the time, but it used to drive my step-mom nuts. Once she tried to serve me spaghetti made with the store brand sauce. Now, I was a Ragu girl at my mom's, so it's not like I was used to super high quality stuff, but that stuff she served was like reddish-orange water. Not going down my throat. The latest thing I bought (which was not ingested) was Walmart brand cooking spray. Leaves everything with a sticky brownish residue--both pots and food. I refuse to use it anymore. So if anyone wants a half-used spray can of the stuff, I'm your gal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Hmmm, I can't tell the difference. See, I'm not a complete snob. There are some things that just make sense to buy cheaper. Bread, for example. Milk (most of the time). I actually prefer the gallon size store brand orange juice to Tropicana. Ice cream, most of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I'll eat it, but I probably won't buy it the next time. I'm sure this is where the majority of my experiences fall, but I can't think of very many examples right now. The latest, and the reason for this post, is the steamable bags of vegetables. I bought the store brand because it was about 30 cents cheaper and I figured there wouldn't be a difference. Maybe it was just this bag, but the vegetables lacked flavor and were kind of chewy. So, I probably won't give them a second chance. I'll just pay the extra 30 cents next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe one day when I'm shopping for more than myself, I'll be more conscientious, but for now, I'm sticking with snobbery!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. Should my title be "Name Brand Snob" or "Store Brand Snob"? I'm questioning it enough that I'm trying to think of a new title!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8556399986447483001?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8556399986447483001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8556399986447483001' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8556399986447483001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8556399986447483001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/name-brand-snob.html' title='Name Brand Snob'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8827391252727188380</id><published>2011-12-01T18:16:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-01T18:20:36.296-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Emoticons</title><content type='html'>I am a huge believer in using punctuation and smiley/frown faces to convey my feelings. I'd blame instant messenger for this, but I'm pretty sure I used smiley faces to make a point even when I was sending snail mail. That being said, I don't think I believe that it is an adequate way to convey feelings. I have a 14 year old client right now. We were discussing communication and how her family communicates. She told me that she communicates her feelings best through text. I argued that you cannot adequately grasp the tone of voice someone is &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;texting&lt;/span&gt; in and it is better to communicate in person. To which she replied, "Yes you can. Smiley face. Wink face. Frown face..." So, apparently we no longer need to communicate face to face. Just so you know. In case you were wondering why I start &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;texting&lt;/span&gt; you while you are standing right in front of me. It's just how I communicate!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8827391252727188380?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8827391252727188380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8827391252727188380' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8827391252727188380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8827391252727188380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/12/emoticons.html' title='Emoticons'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-9046602199968308640</id><published>2011-11-30T21:16:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-30T21:30:23.923-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday Randomness</title><content type='html'>I had several things that I wanted to put on Facebook tonight, so I realized I would have to put the overflow on here! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I'm having sympathy pains for people with braces. The inside of my cheek is scraped up just like when I wore braces. Which I don't anymore, so I don't know what happened. I'm thinking that maybe I bit it, but I'm not sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way home from my mom's house on Saturday, I broke out the Christmas music. I started with Straight No Chaser's version of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch." Look it up on YouTube if you've never heard it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two of the radio stations in our area play all Christmas music until Christmas. I can never decide if I like this or not. I think it depends on the song. For example, I'm pretty sure that "Jingle Bell Rock" is the worst song ever, but it is the favorite song to play on the radio. Just FYI if any of the radio people are reading this: I immediately change the station when this song comes on. It's a version of "You had me at hello..." It's called "You lost me at rockin' around the Christmas tree..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-9046602199968308640?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/9046602199968308640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=9046602199968308640' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/9046602199968308640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/9046602199968308640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/wednesday-randomness.html' title='Wednesday Randomness'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2266023219033680040</id><published>2011-11-29T20:56:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-02T21:19:01.490-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Thinking of an Ornament...</title><content type='html'>Here are the new ornaments I added to the tree this year.&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1QmLOGo8l1w/TtWcEzRYNxI/AAAAAAAAB8k/Y3-eXdqXgvU/s1600/PB140262.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680618111294256914" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1QmLOGo8l1w/TtWcEzRYNxI/AAAAAAAAB8k/Y3-eXdqXgvU/s400/PB140262.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is my 2010 ornament from my mom. :) I wonder what 2011 will look like?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AS-Zlyk5FCc/TtWcEsk8fKI/AAAAAAAAB8Y/J83sjVW8ugs/s1600/PB140263.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680618109497277602" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AS-Zlyk5FCc/TtWcEsk8fKI/AAAAAAAAB8Y/J83sjVW8ugs/s400/PB140263.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is one I bought at Tanners when Mom and my aunts were in town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8LqTR2lEEzo/TtWcDkqGldI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/GPqmtUBzNQo/s1600/PB140264.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680618090191558098" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8LqTR2lEEzo/TtWcDkqGldI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/GPqmtUBzNQo/s400/PB140264.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is one I bought in Arizona last year while I was there for Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bXtHyB_N50E/TtWcDSjBG8I/AAAAAAAAB78/tRQ5VNVocZo/s1600/PB140265.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680618085330000834" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bXtHyB_N50E/TtWcDSjBG8I/AAAAAAAAB78/tRQ5VNVocZo/s400/PB140265.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Another one from Tanners. I can never pick just one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VY9UQB4rXRU/TtWcDMJEGgI/AAAAAAAAB70/jB89McrQSls/s1600/PB140266.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680618083610532354" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VY9UQB4rXRU/TtWcDMJEGgI/AAAAAAAAB70/jB89McrQSls/s400/PB140266.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Another one from Arizona. Again, I couldn't decide on just one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the title of today's post comes from a game we played as kids. Kind of like "I Spy" but finding ornaments on the tree. Now you just have to say, "I'm thinking of an ornament..." and people groan. I think I liked the game a little too much as a kid! Actually now sometimes the game goes: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: I'm thinking of an ornament.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My brother: That one right there (without even looking at the tree).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Yes! How did you guess that! (with exaggerated enthusiasm)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Good times. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2266023219033680040?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2266023219033680040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2266023219033680040' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2266023219033680040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2266023219033680040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/im-thinking-of-ornament.html' title='I&apos;m Thinking of an Ornament...'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1QmLOGo8l1w/TtWcEzRYNxI/AAAAAAAAB8k/Y3-eXdqXgvU/s72-c/PB140262.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-9110066887813964934</id><published>2011-11-27T20:36:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-27T20:59:56.537-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Decorating Extravaganza!</title><content type='html'>Emily and I decided that even though we love lots of lights on a tree, they are also the necessary evil to decorating for the holidays. Kind of like the edges to a puzzle. You know you have to do it, so you just get through it because you want to get on to doing the puzzle. That being said, putting lights on the tree was not without its drama again this year. But what Christmas experience wouldn't be worth telling about if it wasn't for the drama. Right? Please tell me I'm right. I mean, are memories don't survive the "perfect" year of decorating. But we sure can remember the years there was drama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5oyHRdLcHvM/TtL1lcyqaiI/AAAAAAAAB7c/V9ytNcC4goA/s1600/PB120242.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679872103800269346" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5oyHRdLcHvM/TtL1lcyqaiI/AAAAAAAAB7c/V9ytNcC4goA/s400/PB120242.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is how far we got with the lights before Emily had to run to the store. This was technically her second trip because the first was to get extension cords and a power strip. But officially we have the same amount of lights on the tree as we did last year. But two of the strands didn't work, so we had to replace them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DMR5C4AywvI/TtL1XN3RGwI/AAAAAAAAB7Q/_UNXYXZPen8/s1600/PB120243.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679871859274881794" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DMR5C4AywvI/TtL1XN3RGwI/AAAAAAAAB7Q/_UNXYXZPen8/s400/PB120243.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; While I was waiting I took some pictures of the process of decorating. Here is the organized box of all my ornaments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zy2UPTJc974/TtL1WXpEVbI/AAAAAAAAB7I/mLag9ImjOEU/s1600/PB120244.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679871844719809970" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zy2UPTJc974/TtL1WXpEVbI/AAAAAAAAB7I/mLag9ImjOEU/s400/PB120244.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Another box of goodies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Vzp_-VelVI/TtL1WN1vqqI/AAAAAAAAB60/4MWZpEHt4dU/s1600/PB120246.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679871842088626850" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Vzp_-VelVI/TtL1WN1vqqI/AAAAAAAAB60/4MWZpEHt4dU/s400/PB120246.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; All my ornaments laid out and waiting to go on the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yeHrNAhv4mE/TtL1V-Xqo7I/AAAAAAAAB6s/Guj1Uv1AmWk/s1600/PB120253.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679871837935936434" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yeHrNAhv4mE/TtL1V-Xqo7I/AAAAAAAAB6s/Guj1Uv1AmWk/s400/PB120253.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Some of Emily's chaos. We stopped to eat and realized there was not a single piece of furniture that we could sit on (even the table was covered) so we ate on the floor!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dotL4SDqv-4/TtL1VoJtLEI/AAAAAAAAB6g/2aLTcDI8_xw/s1600/PB120247.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679871831971802178" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dotL4SDqv-4/TtL1VoJtLEI/AAAAAAAAB6g/2aLTcDI8_xw/s400/PB120247.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The final strand of lights! Hip Hip Hooray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fu3S3YuPBcM/TtL0ZBbLzkI/AAAAAAAAB6U/2mk8t1TZ0Tw/s1600/PB120249.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679870790783979074" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fu3S3YuPBcM/TtL0ZBbLzkI/AAAAAAAAB6U/2mk8t1TZ0Tw/s400/PB120249.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I look so happy. This was after my one and only meltdown. Where all but the bottom two row of branches went out. Lots of trial and error later, and one threat to not put any lights on the tree, we figured out we had blown a fuse in the extension cord. Who knew you could do such a thing! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ixQr_e2VDPk/TtL34mzxZjI/AAAAAAAAB7o/7fMKPuiiYIc/s1600/PB120257.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679874631930046002" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ixQr_e2VDPk/TtL34mzxZjI/AAAAAAAAB7o/7fMKPuiiYIc/s400/PB120257.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Emily hanging some ornaments. Isn't the backlight pretty!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eET-miZwtWo/TtL0Xxs2ENI/AAAAAAAAB58/8ViWzmrPLCk/s1600/PB120259.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679870769383215314" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eET-miZwtWo/TtL0Xxs2ENI/AAAAAAAAB58/8ViWzmrPLCk/s400/PB120259.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Me hanging an ornament. Ignore the lounge clothes. As I told Emily, you don't decorate yourself to decorate a Christmas tree!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8SQ2BZKkyi0/TtL0XjvtZAI/AAAAAAAAB5s/rcTwqrKIgFo/s1600/PB120260.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679870765637133314" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8SQ2BZKkyi0/TtL0XjvtZAI/AAAAAAAAB5s/rcTwqrKIgFo/s400/PB120260.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The finished product! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3FfRXtW790I/TtL0XmbPt0I/AAAAAAAAB5k/0Y96CxofzIU/s1600/PB120261.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679870766356608834" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3FfRXtW790I/TtL0XmbPt0I/AAAAAAAAB5k/0Y96CxofzIU/s400/PB120261.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; We turned off all the lights. Two things we decided: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. We don't really need any other lights on in the apartment to see with!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. We might not need to turn the heat on until January because, while it doesn't feel like the tree puts off heat, it seems much warmer in the apartment! :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-9110066887813964934?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/9110066887813964934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=9110066887813964934' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/9110066887813964934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/9110066887813964934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/christmas-decorating-extravaganza.html' title='Christmas Decorating Extravaganza!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5oyHRdLcHvM/TtL1lcyqaiI/AAAAAAAAB7c/V9ytNcC4goA/s72-c/PB120242.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1854542674133300785</id><published>2011-11-24T22:10:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-24T22:13:46.434-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Cable Coma</title><content type='html'>I don't have cable at home, for good reason. When I come to visit my mom, I feel like I go into a cable coma. I sit and flip through the endless channels because I can. And I watch things that I don't need to watch. Today I was in cable heaven: NCIS marathon and Bones marathon at the same time! And I did just what I hate my father to do. I flipped back and forth between episodes during commercial breaks! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moral of the story: I would never get anything done if I had cable!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1854542674133300785?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1854542674133300785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1854542674133300785' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1854542674133300785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1854542674133300785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/cable-coma.html' title='Cable Coma'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-5693806774374507809</id><published>2011-11-24T10:50:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-24T10:55:43.019-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Thanksgiving!</title><content type='html'>"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His love endures forever." Psalm 136:1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am currently reading through the book of Jeremiah, and as I was reading this morning, I was praying that, in the midst of the consequences that Israel was facing, God would reveal to me the continuity of His word and how, even in the midst of these consequences, there is reason to praise. And in chapter 26, I found that God, in the midst of his prophesying through Jeremiah, was still willing to relent if the people would turn back to Him. What a gracious God we serve!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I was thinking through the things I have to be thankful for. And there were so many. And it was so fun to read through Facebook posts of the things my friends and family are thankful for. Thank you Lord for a day to think about what we are thankful for!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-5693806774374507809?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/5693806774374507809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=5693806774374507809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5693806774374507809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5693806774374507809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/happy-thanksgiving.html' title='Happy Thanksgiving!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4829867493934695079</id><published>2011-11-19T14:12:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-19T14:22:47.119-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a Nerd / This is my 700th POST!</title><content type='html'>So, I have a friend who uses the sticky notes on her computer. For those of you who don't know, they are a post-it note that is on your desktop. You can even change the colors. I made fun of her for using this when I first saw it. However, a few months ago, I created one with the start of my Christmas list. And then about a month ago, I started another one for a list of what I want to buy everyone for Christmas (luckily, none of my family lives close by to accidentally see what they are getting for Christmas!). The nerdy part: last week I figured out the way to line through the items as I buy them. It's a high-tech to-do list! And I have to say, I take back making fun of my friend. It is a good reminder. Although it does sometimes bother me, so I have to hide it from view.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for my 700th post, I will let you in on 7 things you might not know about me:&lt;br /&gt;1. I could live in a hoodie sweatshirt all winter if I was allowed.&lt;br /&gt;2. I bought the same Bible twice because the other one started loosing pages but I didn't want to "break in" a new Bible. At least this way, I knew where certain things were based on their location on the page in the old and new Bible. I have a visual memory. Even if I can't remember chapter and verse, I can remember left hand side, first column, near the top.&lt;br /&gt;3. Most of the time, I would rather go back for seconds on fruits and vegetables then get dessert.&lt;br /&gt;4. Every spare surface in my living room and bedroom is filled with picture frames. Which is why I don't like to dust.&lt;br /&gt;5. I only really obsess about Chick-fil-a because I don't have one close by. Once it comes to Peoria, you won't hear me talk about it that much.&lt;br /&gt;6. Holding a baby is one of the quickest ways to cheer me up. I've been known to call friends with babies and invite myself over when I've had a particularly bad day.&lt;br /&gt;7. I used to love flying but now it's kind of a nuisance. A necessary nuisance when your family and friends are scattered across 3 different states, but still a nuisance.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4829867493934695079?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4829867493934695079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4829867493934695079' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4829867493934695079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4829867493934695079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/im-nerd-this-is-my-700th-post.html' title='I&apos;m a Nerd / This is my 700th POST!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2455397602435782677</id><published>2011-11-19T11:54:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-19T14:24:22.268-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy 4th Birthday John! :)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XOLhAEDXCB0/TsftdU0CzQI/AAAAAAAAB5M/i-7GadhD--4/s1600/379686_2631151707690_1522308787_32863548_1772855403_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676766943382785282" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XOLhAEDXCB0/TsftdU0CzQI/AAAAAAAAB5M/i-7GadhD--4/s400/379686_2631151707690_1522308787_32863548_1772855403_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This was what I found on Facebook this morning. John's birthday present from his mom and dad. Hopefully he opened my books and puzzles first! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While he lives far away and I don't get to see him very often, just seeing pictures of him brings me joy! I love that little boy smile and those dimples. And his enthusiasm. I can't believe it's been four years. And I can only say for 3 more months that he's my favorite nephew! Then I'll have two favorite nephews.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks Chris and Ann for adding such a blessing to the family!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0wW5zDNy9EY/TsfvaQ47LiI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/oTdmCCTVdFg/s1600/PC010073%255B1%255D.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676769089813163554" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0wW5zDNy9EY/TsfvaQ47LiI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/oTdmCCTVdFg/s400/PC010073%255B1%255D.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; It's hard to believe he was once this small!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Happy Birthday John!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2455397602435782677?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2455397602435782677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2455397602435782677' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2455397602435782677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2455397602435782677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/happy-4th-birthday-john.html' title='Happy 4th Birthday John! :)'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XOLhAEDXCB0/TsftdU0CzQI/AAAAAAAAB5M/i-7GadhD--4/s72-c/379686_2631151707690_1522308787_32863548_1772855403_n%255B1%255D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-5667145766573023601</id><published>2011-11-18T18:26:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-18T18:28:59.293-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Another first</title><content type='html'>I posted a while back about seeing an ATM filled for the first time and the rarity of seeing a billboard being changed. Today I saw a free-standing mailbox being emptied and I thought, "Have I ever seen this?" I couldn't recall a time, so I think it was another first. Sometimes when I mail things in those mailboxes, I think about not seeing them get emptied. Will my mail actually get where it is supposed to go? But it always does, so apparently they do get emptied when they say they will, even if I rarely see it happen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-5667145766573023601?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/5667145766573023601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=5667145766573023601' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5667145766573023601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5667145766573023601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/another-first.html' title='Another first'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6773436554114562113</id><published>2011-11-17T19:23:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-17T19:31:44.252-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Statute of Limitations</title><content type='html'>Is there a statute of limitations on dream content? Because I have had some pretty weird dreams this month. And they've included some memories that I would think would not surface anymore in my dreams. Like, I haven't worked at LifeWay in almost 6 years, but I still have dreams about the store every couple of months. Or how I had a dream about my high school boyfriend. The details of that one are kind of funny, except that it was just weird. I dated him 15 years ago. But, I'll share, because I laughed this morning at the weirdness of the dream. Apparently I was talking to my mom on the phone and she was trying to talk me out of marrying him today. Like, he showed up and I was just going to marry him or something. So, I agreed with her. And then Emily and I were watching NCIS and there was a knock on the door and I asked her to let him in and he came in and made himself at home and we were about to start watching NCIS again and I just plain as day told him that we couldn't get married yet. And he said okay. But then I guess we still wanted to get married fairly quickly because I told him I was worried because Kari and I had been talking about weddings in general and she said that she couldn't book another wedding until the spring (more because she was tired of them, not because there were no days available) and I didn't want to make her do one more wedding if she didn't want to. And then I think I woke up. So, all in all, a very strange dream. Except the part where Emily and I were watching NCIS. That was perfectly normal :). But really, of all the guys I have known or now know, why would I dream about someone I haven't even seen in at least 13 years? All that to say, I definitely believe there should be a statute of limitations on what is allowed into my subconscious!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6773436554114562113?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6773436554114562113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6773436554114562113' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6773436554114562113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6773436554114562113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/statute-of-limitations.html' title='Statute of Limitations'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2931388223001107148</id><published>2011-11-13T20:43:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-13T20:57:19.384-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Happiness in a cup!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IkAvmiijObU/TsCAfDovL9I/AAAAAAAAB5A/Ye7QfNTM32k/s1600/PA290241.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674676801527295954" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IkAvmiijObU/TsCAfDovL9I/AAAAAAAAB5A/Ye7QfNTM32k/s400/PA290241.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; One of my favorite things is hot chocolate. I recently discovered the peppermint hot chocolate at McDonalds and have already invested quite a bit of money in said hot chocolate. They use cool whip and chocolate syrup. So I thought I would recreate some of the greatness at home. You can't see it, but I also have marshmallows under there. With some caramel hot chocolate. Hopefully I won't be bouncing off the walls instead of sleeping. I might have something else to say later about whether its still happy. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2931388223001107148?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2931388223001107148/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2931388223001107148' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2931388223001107148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2931388223001107148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/happiness-in-cup.html' title='Happiness in a cup!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IkAvmiijObU/TsCAfDovL9I/AAAAAAAAB5A/Ye7QfNTM32k/s72-c/PA290241.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2177440276762366940</id><published>2011-11-13T19:56:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-13T20:06:16.705-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bon. Fire.</title><content type='html'>I have a friend who recently bought a house with some land and he had everyone over for a bonfire last night. This was part of the email he sent out, "I'll be lighting the bonfire @ 7:15 and you probably don't want to miss that, if you now the kind of stuff I like doing!" So, I knew the bonfire would be big. But I didn't know it would be explosive. We all stood ample distance from the huge pile of brush, because we really do know the kind of things he likes to do. He lit part of it and then he stood back a ways. Turns out he had a gun and a propane tank. A couple shots later, we had quite the toasty fire going! A friend took these pictures. We just kept thinking that it looked like she had zoomed in really close, so she finally got a few people to stand in front of the fire. And the pictures still do not do it justice. It was a fun evening. I don't know if I've ever seen a fire quite that big before!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674664881701602050" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l2AT4PlkDSg/TsB1pO01QwI/AAAAAAAAB4w/t-u7xjSGvhM/s400/377859_10150387486405768_512070767_8201952_826578804_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D8OIDNJOR7w/TsB1pESb1VI/AAAAAAAAB4o/0zAlG1CWNVQ/s1600/295953_10150387483080768_512070767_8201934_1599199658_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674664878872974674" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D8OIDNJOR7w/TsB1pESb1VI/AAAAAAAAB4o/0zAlG1CWNVQ/s400/295953_10150387483080768_512070767_8201934_1599199658_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Kari looks like she is doing a fire dance but she was really saying, "It's really hot right here!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2177440276762366940?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2177440276762366940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2177440276762366940' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2177440276762366940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2177440276762366940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/bon-fire.html' title='Bon. Fire.'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l2AT4PlkDSg/TsB1pO01QwI/AAAAAAAAB4w/t-u7xjSGvhM/s72-c/377859_10150387486405768_512070767_8201952_826578804_n%255B1%255D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3396203069685411843</id><published>2011-11-12T11:45:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-12T11:50:23.588-06:00</updated><title type='text'>F as in Frank</title><content type='html'>I have one of those last names where spelling it over the phone is almost impossible if you want it spelled correctly because the letters sound similar to other letters. So, I've adopted my own phonetic alphabet. Here is how you spell my last name: F as in Frank, O, R, S as is Sam, B as in Boy, E, R, G. Most people can get that right. But it got me curious about the military phonetic alphabet. Here is how you would spell my name. Foxtrot Oscar Romeo Sierra Bravo Echo Romeo Golf. And then, of course, I was looking at all the other letters and some of them just seem odd. Hotel. India. Kilo. Lima. November. Uniform. Whiskey. I kind of wish I could have been a fly on the wall for the discussion when they came up with which words to use for each letter! If there were women involved, it probably took weeks. If there were men involved, it was probably just the first word they associated with each letter. Either way, some of the choices are just...interesting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3396203069685411843?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3396203069685411843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3396203069685411843' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3396203069685411843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3396203069685411843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/f-as-in-frank.html' title='F as in Frank'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4491634050218637500</id><published>2011-11-07T19:26:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-07T19:45:34.587-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I love me these cats!</title><content type='html'>One thing I miss almost as much as Dad, Amy, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt;, and Josh not being in Peoria, is Samson, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Isabell&lt;/span&gt;, and Sophie not being in Peoria. I enjoyed my snuggle time with the cats while I was in Arizona.&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_X2N8bzHnNg/TriGKtJwtRI/AAAAAAAAB3s/53lJhcriEf8/s1600/PA080237.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672431249150489874" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_X2N8bzHnNg/TriGKtJwtRI/AAAAAAAAB3s/53lJhcriEf8/s400/PA080237.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Samson was being camera shy and wouldn't look at me. Or even acknowledge that I was calling him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JpmtuMTioGI/TriGKY9Ry1I/AAAAAAAAB3g/GVDW-G7ryPY/s1600/PA080236.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672431243729423186" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JpmtuMTioGI/TriGKY9Ry1I/AAAAAAAAB3g/GVDW-G7ryPY/s400/PA080236.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; He had also just finished eating and was licking his chops :) This is the entrance to Josh's bedroom. Samson likes to hang out here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jZUZDjyMkt0/TriGJ3iMpgI/AAAAAAAAB3U/IuKHc9hO6g8/s1600/PA080234.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672431234757469698" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jZUZDjyMkt0/TriGJ3iMpgI/AAAAAAAAB3U/IuKHc9hO6g8/s400/PA080234.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Sophie surprised me when I walked by the laundry room (or closet). But who can resist some freshly washed towels!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-amgRjEXEVVc/TriGJeAW_DI/AAAAAAAAB3I/cbWMC71Q0w8/s1600/PA070222.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672431227904654386" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-amgRjEXEVVc/TriGJeAW_DI/AAAAAAAAB3I/cbWMC71Q0w8/s400/PA070222.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I love this picture because she is sitting on the Ticket to Ride box. I would have to do some digging, but I think I have a picture of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Isabell&lt;/span&gt; sitting on the same box. If I find it, I'll let you know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WD46C3XJjPw/TriGJDQfeDI/AAAAAAAAB28/bXJgw2-ujMQ/s1600/PA040051.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672431220724561970" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WD46C3XJjPw/TriGJDQfeDI/AAAAAAAAB28/bXJgw2-ujMQ/s400/PA040051.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is one of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Isabell's&lt;/span&gt; favorite places to lay. Crammed into the corner of the desk right beside Amy's computer. And she would lay like this for hours. Because that's exactly how I want to spend hours of my time, especially when there are beds and pillows and couches all over the place!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4491634050218637500?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4491634050218637500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4491634050218637500' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4491634050218637500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4491634050218637500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-love-me-these-cats.html' title='I love me these cats!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_X2N8bzHnNg/TriGKtJwtRI/AAAAAAAAB3s/53lJhcriEf8/s72-c/PA080237.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-607077159289724916</id><published>2011-11-07T18:17:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-07T18:23:40.135-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sorry for the absence</title><content type='html'>Unless you didn't miss me. Then I'm not sorry at all. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been without Internet for 4 1/2 days. But it felt like an eternity. It stresses me out because I don't have access to my email at work. So I feel like people are trying to get in touch with me and I don't know it. The sad thing. 4 1/2 days, not one personal email. Apparently, no one missed me in the email/Facebook realm. But I'll pretend I was missed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You should probably be glad my Internet was out on Thursday, because my plan was to come home and have a complete meltdown on my blog. Complete with crying and wailing and gnashing of teeth. It was a bad week. But now I'm over it and you don't have to hear about it! Aren't you lucky. If you still want to hear the gory details, just call me or send me an email. I can tell you some good, albeit whiny, stories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the one thing I discovered through it all is that McDonald's makes an AMAZING peppermint hot chocolate. Okay, probably not over-the-top amazing, but enough that I've had to refrain from going there and getting some every day. Because I love me some peppermint hot chocolate!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next I shall blog about all the fun stuff I've gotten to do over the last two weekends. Last week, up until losing Internet, I was too busy to blog. Then when I had time, I had no Internet. So I haven't been able to fill you in on the fun happenings of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I shall go find some dinner. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-607077159289724916?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/607077159289724916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=607077159289724916' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/607077159289724916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/607077159289724916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/11/sorry-for-absence.html' title='Sorry for the absence'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6074883990939796143</id><published>2011-10-31T18:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-31T18:08:47.867-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I will grin and be happy...I will grin and be happy</title><content type='html'>Friday is our annual retreat at work. I usually look forward to retreats. Getting paid to sit around and eat food and get to know coworkers better and eat more food. My kind of retreat. So, when I remembered it was on my calendar, I got excited. That is, until I got this email today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just a reminder - Our annual BHS Retreat is this Friday, Nov 4th from 10 - 2 pm at Scott's Prairie. We will be outside for a significant amount of time so please dress appropriately for weather. I would wear shoes you don't mind getting dirty/muddy and be prepared for rain. Also, you won't regret bringing cameras - phones will work just fine."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of a sudden, I feel a cold coming on. Or, at the very least, a bad attitude. Seriously? Outside? Wear appropriate shoes? Don't forget your camera? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have I ever mentioned that I don't like 1. team building games, 2. things that might make me look foolish (that people would want to take a picture of), 3. Doing things because someone is making me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, now that I have vented...I will grin and be happy. I will have a good attitude. I will not complain to anyone at work. I will look forward to the food portion of the day. And if that's too much to ask, I will only exhibit slight stubbornness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6074883990939796143?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6074883990939796143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6074883990939796143' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6074883990939796143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6074883990939796143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-will-grin-and-be-happyi-will-grin-and.html' title='I will grin and be happy...I will grin and be happy'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7795472866395337446</id><published>2011-10-25T19:36:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-25T20:18:07.811-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Saturday in 15 pictures or less :)</title><content type='html'>I'm back from vacation, but I thought I'd let you know how the rest of the weekend went. Saturday started with french toast for breakfast. And then the boys were stuck in the house for the morning because there were a bunch of volunteers doing work around the Acres. So, they suggested a pool tournament. I was all in, even though I knew I would quickly lose. These guys are serious about there tournaments.&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMRcmn6iMm0/TqdbHnV5aPI/AAAAAAAAB0g/D_5kjwF0qm8/s1600/PA060199.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667598842447096050" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMRcmn6iMm0/TqdbHnV5aPI/AAAAAAAAB0g/D_5kjwF0qm8/s400/PA060199.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; A bracket was created. Complete with choosing order of play using playing cards. I won the right to play the first game against Cru...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r5GiOix5yVs/TqdbHGPml0I/AAAAAAAAB0U/y0tciG0k-4E/s1600/PA060192.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667598833562326850" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r5GiOix5yVs/TqdbHGPml0I/AAAAAAAAB0U/y0tciG0k-4E/s400/PA060192.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Lucky for my advancement in the tournament, he's the youngest in the house. Dad helped him a lot, but I still managed to win. Phew... While I waited for the next game, I played some Speed with Emerson and talked about life. I admit...I may have gone into therapy mode for 2.5 seconds. But I warned him ahead of time. And stopped as soon as I could :).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YE-hWjn9YeE/TqdbGtWu5FI/AAAAAAAAB0I/1z0T_VOeXoo/s1600/PA060197.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667598826881344594" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YE-hWjn9YeE/TqdbGtWu5FI/AAAAAAAAB0I/1z0T_VOeXoo/s400/PA060197.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Another of the young kids, Douglas. So, I ended up coming in 3rd place. Pure luck. I played Joseph for 3rd place and he scratched the 8 ball. I kinda don't like winning that way, but I guess that's how the ball rolls (heehee...pun intended). Dad, of course, won the tournament.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8oZsUDu36kI/TqdbGF5CoGI/AAAAAAAABz8/wQoOV1I3_IM/s1600/PA070200.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667598816287826018" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8oZsUDu36kI/TqdbGF5CoGI/AAAAAAAABz8/wQoOV1I3_IM/s400/PA070200.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XvMWzUrOkC4/TqdbFybRlcI/AAAAAAAABzw/XhLD9m7wUC4/s1600/PA070202.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667598811062703554" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XvMWzUrOkC4/TqdbFybRlcI/AAAAAAAABzw/XhLD9m7wUC4/s400/PA070202.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Amy gave some haircuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8IsjiINnyS0/TqdZlrgepOI/AAAAAAAABzk/EaszB3dgMUk/s1600/PA070218.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667597159938041058" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8IsjiINnyS0/TqdZlrgepOI/AAAAAAAABzk/EaszB3dgMUk/s400/PA070218.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Me and Douglas. He is a TALKER. I mean, seriously, could talk to a rock for an hour without realizing it never talked back! But he's cute too. :) And you quickly learn that you don't really have to listen to him while he's talking. He's just happy to be talking to you. I did listen sometimes, I promise!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PggUu3-gcEM/TqdZlAiM8SI/AAAAAAAABzY/ES0yeiys92g/s1600/PA070203.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667597148402544930" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PggUu3-gcEM/TqdZlAiM8SI/AAAAAAAABzY/ES0yeiys92g/s400/PA070203.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Finally able to go outside. Skateboarding, rollerblading, biking. None of the kids seem to mind the 90 plus degrees outside. I, however, quickly took my pictures and then went back inside!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FuYl8buBx04/TqdZkk_KVaI/AAAAAAAABzM/_qzfWEvdWuQ/s1600/PA070207.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667597141007816098" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FuYl8buBx04/TqdZkk_KVaI/AAAAAAAABzM/_qzfWEvdWuQ/s400/PA070207.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; We then made caramel apples. Well, Amy and Emerson did. Daynah and I supervised and took pictures :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I31ZPO_UvqE/TqdZkOYd5VI/AAAAAAAABzA/AY_QLrWo-1k/s1600/PA070210.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667597134939940178" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I31ZPO_UvqE/TqdZkOYd5VI/AAAAAAAABzA/AY_QLrWo-1k/s400/PA070210.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HjCXCWbhNs4/TqdZjyUWX5I/AAAAAAAABy0/pQtVXsSqLL4/s1600/PA070213.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667597127406477202" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HjCXCWbhNs4/TqdZjyUWX5I/AAAAAAAABy0/pQtVXsSqLL4/s400/PA070213.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Ready to be caramelled!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LnemuiNGRRs/TqdXySTgQCI/AAAAAAAAByo/COY9_Otx_7M/s1600/PA070223.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667595177487777826" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LnemuiNGRRs/TqdXySTgQCI/AAAAAAAAByo/COY9_Otx_7M/s400/PA070223.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Yummy! They were good!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Saturday night some members in the community put on a fall festival. I didn't take any pictures of the kids dressed up or having fun. I was too busy holding a baby :) One of the relief couples had a baby a few months ago and he is super cute! Oh, and guarding all the prizes the kids won. That was the job of the evening. At the end of the night, Emerson wanted me to take some pictures of him jumping hay bales. Turns out my camera doesn't take good night pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UjZk1MOpg20/TqdXyMNz4DI/AAAAAAAAByc/cLzLhkAETBc/s1600/PA070224.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667595175853285426" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UjZk1MOpg20/TqdXyMNz4DI/AAAAAAAAByc/cLzLhkAETBc/s400/PA070224.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Kind of looks like it's snowing. As a matter of fact, when we had the blizzard last year, Emily and I took pictures at night and I thought the camera was taking pictures of all the snowflakes. Turns out, not so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2uFNehau36c/TqdXxhGbjII/AAAAAAAAByQ/NnJ8Hnqx7dM/s1600/PA070225.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667595164279606402" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2uFNehau36c/TqdXxhGbjII/AAAAAAAAByQ/NnJ8Hnqx7dM/s400/PA070225.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Here is my second attempt. Emerson is in the right hand corner.. Kind of scary, but slightly cool too! :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;After the festival, one of the other houses came over for a bonfire. The boys played football. In the dark. In the rocks. They didn't seem to mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hsXmfBHBFkA/TqdXxRBNfNI/AAAAAAAAByE/1_E7tdc7k3A/s1600/PA070230.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667595159962746066" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hsXmfBHBFkA/TqdXxRBNfNI/AAAAAAAAByE/1_E7tdc7k3A/s400/PA070230.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GJYhO2kxDKY/TqdXxCLFa8I/AAAAAAAABx4/THWkQem3gfY/s1600/PA070229.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667595155977628610" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GJYhO2kxDKY/TqdXxCLFa8I/AAAAAAAABx4/THWkQem3gfY/s400/PA070229.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; One of the many pictures I tried to take of the fire.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sunday we went to church, a barbecue at the park, and then hung out at the house the rest of the day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Monday, we picked up Josh early from school and went to Amy's parents house for me to see it. We went to Chickfila for lunch. I got on an airplane and came home. I forgot that I would be on Arizona time, so I stayed up way too late to have to get up early for work today. Luckily, I didn't have anything scheduled until the afternoon, so I slept until 8 and went into work at 10.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7795472866395337446?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7795472866395337446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7795472866395337446' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7795472866395337446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7795472866395337446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/saturday-in-15-pictures-or-less.html' title='Saturday in 15 pictures or less :)'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMRcmn6iMm0/TqdbHnV5aPI/AAAAAAAAB0g/D_5kjwF0qm8/s72-c/PA060199.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4397664521471711398</id><published>2011-10-22T13:20:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-22T14:02:53.605-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Grand Canyon Galore (Caution: Many pictures ahead!)</title><content type='html'>When you see the amount of pictures, you have to remember that they are whittled down from almost 100.  Just saying.  And they are definitely mostly in reverse order.  I didn't plan ahead.&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-bEHjczltg/TqMQuV1iV6I/AAAAAAAABxo/Yk0nQY4rK-k/s1600/058.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-bEHjczltg/TqMQuV1iV6I/AAAAAAAABxo/Yk0nQY4rK-k/s400/058.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666391144483936162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Can you spot the Colorado River in this picture?  And the white line is a trail that many of the Acres kids and staff hiked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0JO8Ci4u7Ro/TqMQt2nKmLI/AAAAAAAABxc/9jKenoSQYhQ/s1600/170.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0JO8Ci4u7Ro/TqMQt2nKmLI/AAAAAAAABxc/9jKenoSQYhQ/s400/170.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666391136102160562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I just wanted a picture of a bird soaring with the canyon in the background.  This is the best I got.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; named him Vector.  He was a little camera shy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fpeb2JV2tzE/TqMQtX8NNTI/AAAAAAAABxQ/mgy99TxEYDo/s1600/140.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fpeb2JV2tzE/TqMQtX8NNTI/AAAAAAAABxQ/mgy99TxEYDo/s400/140.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666391127868912946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Just a pretty view :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hw5K2RJToQk/TqMQsygEX1I/AAAAAAAABxE/i_KJb7guUo8/s1600/146.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hw5K2RJToQk/TqMQsygEX1I/AAAAAAAABxE/i_KJb7guUo8/s400/146.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666391117818781522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;These trees were so cool!  And soft.  We climbed into a lot of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y9mgAd6QhAM/TqMQsoGarvI/AAAAAAAABw4/1EzdrOHJpNQ/s1600/138.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y9mgAd6QhAM/TqMQsoGarvI/AAAAAAAABw4/1EzdrOHJpNQ/s400/138.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666391115026837234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;These were all along the path focusing on points of interest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wwTkbEj88C0/TqMO7GuZlQI/AAAAAAAABws/9Dq5FzztI4A/s1600/135.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wwTkbEj88C0/TqMO7GuZlQI/AAAAAAAABws/9Dq5FzztI4A/s400/135.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666389164742513922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Another cool tree :)  With me in it!  Getting in was usually easier than getting out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xrTzTiti6BE/TqMO6GY8Y3I/AAAAAAAABwk/I5NJC-rUpHM/s1600/128.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xrTzTiti6BE/TqMO6GY8Y3I/AAAAAAAABwk/I5NJC-rUpHM/s400/128.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666389147472651122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I like this shot because you can't see that I'm standing on anything, so it looks a lot like I'm floating in the canyon!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U7vWkpIxEkk/TqMO56fR_4I/AAAAAAAABwU/tO0ETrwAUzc/s1600/085.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U7vWkpIxEkk/TqMO56fR_4I/AAAAAAAABwU/tO0ETrwAUzc/s400/085.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666389144278007682" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Every time I see this, it makes me laugh.  The story behind the picture is too long to tell.  Let's just say, Josh surprised &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; and I by popping up like a gopher!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9hJBZ92tyxw/TqMO5umoibI/AAAAAAAABwI/ICixvtjFfcc/s1600/126.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9hJBZ92tyxw/TqMO5umoibI/AAAAAAAABwI/ICixvtjFfcc/s400/126.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666389141087619506" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One of my artistic attempts.  I love the contrast of close and far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BeNN4uqqgoI/TqMO5IdeMcI/AAAAAAAABv8/mE1jBSj43tM/s1600/111.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BeNN4uqqgoI/TqMO5IdeMcI/AAAAAAAABv8/mE1jBSj43tM/s400/111.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666389130848645570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Sisters :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dzbxkNR_05w/TqMNgmKnE3I/AAAAAAAABv0/_JZRwr1wHIE/s1600/106.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dzbxkNR_05w/TqMNgmKnE3I/AAAAAAAABv0/_JZRwr1wHIE/s400/106.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666387609814242162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My feet hanging over the canyon :)  Even though I shouldn't have walked in flip flops, they make a better picture than if I had worn tennis shoes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bHAPHpr5e0A/TqMNgXqS1vI/AAAAAAAABvk/G7JvpLLVz8Y/s1600/147.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bHAPHpr5e0A/TqMNgXqS1vI/AAAAAAAABvk/G7JvpLLVz8Y/s400/147.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666387605920601842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Maybe the best self portrait I have ever taken!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kaMZmUV7sNo/TqMNfeCMG1I/AAAAAAAABvc/lDbz6t-_LsU/s1600/078.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kaMZmUV7sNo/TqMNfeCMG1I/AAAAAAAABvc/lDbz6t-_LsU/s400/078.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666387590451567442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Out on a precipice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MLkLDUPtQUU/TqMNfP2NA9I/AAAAAAAABvM/iJ_E-yQQA0E/s1600/066.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MLkLDUPtQUU/TqMNfP2NA9I/AAAAAAAABvM/iJ_E-yQQA0E/s400/066.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666387586643198930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Brother and sister.  Yes, Josh is taller than me now.  Yes, this picture makes it look like he is taller than he is.  Yes, I'm okay with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c4e-IQ1n_6g/TqMNexFOfeI/AAAAAAAABvA/38rZdSuBm-U/s1600/069.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c4e-IQ1n_6g/TqMNexFOfeI/AAAAAAAABvA/38rZdSuBm-U/s400/069.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666387578384711138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Another cool tree!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-46jHQxXj05I/TqMKgFArPqI/AAAAAAAABu0/peLnmDiy0eQ/s1600/061.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-46jHQxXj05I/TqMKgFArPqI/AAAAAAAABu0/peLnmDiy0eQ/s400/061.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666384302379318946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; doing what &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; does. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pVHeETPJEXs/TqMKfnNYp_I/AAAAAAAABus/cHKn2nFxQpo/s1600/059.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pVHeETPJEXs/TqMKfnNYp_I/AAAAAAAABus/cHKn2nFxQpo/s400/059.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666384294379562994" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Looking out at the canyon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2tGaWJ39_iQ/TqMKfPXm71I/AAAAAAAABuc/ebgCWUATL3M/s1600/049.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2tGaWJ39_iQ/TqMKfPXm71I/AAAAAAAABuc/ebgCWUATL3M/s400/049.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666384287979990866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I almost fell in!  They were pretty sharp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XTDfKVJuQdA/TqMKeysBqSI/AAAAAAAABuQ/F9bVtax-2hs/s1600/042.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XTDfKVJuQdA/TqMKeysBqSI/AAAAAAAABuQ/F9bVtax-2hs/s400/042.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666384280281000226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Heehee&lt;/span&gt;.  Josh was pointing out something from when they hiked the canyon.  I don't think I was really listening because I was still taking it in.  If you look really carefully, you can just barely see the river in this picture too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8Dyx9Fr968c/TqMKeekQcoI/AAAAAAAABuE/DK5bCYhV4IY/s1600/041.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8Dyx9Fr968c/TqMKeekQcoI/AAAAAAAABuE/DK5bCYhV4IY/s400/041.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666384274879705730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My first glimpse of the GRAND CANYON.  Well, not actually.  But the first picture I took of the GRAND CANYON.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4397664521471711398?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4397664521471711398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4397664521471711398' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4397664521471711398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4397664521471711398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/grand-canyon-galore-caution-many.html' title='Grand Canyon Galore (Caution: Many pictures ahead!)'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-bEHjczltg/TqMQuV1iV6I/AAAAAAAABxo/Yk0nQY4rK-k/s72-c/058.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6396656043889273598</id><published>2011-10-22T13:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-22T13:20:19.019-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Selection from the day on the lake</title><content type='html'>This is from our day on Lake Bartlett.  I'll probably put most of my pictures on Facebook, but I thought I'd put a selection on here too.  I can narrate better on my blog :).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tbJgphj_b44/TqMIVbtw3-I/AAAAAAAABt8/bkpGq1D5nKM/s1600/039.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tbJgphj_b44/TqMIVbtw3-I/AAAAAAAABt8/bkpGq1D5nKM/s400/039.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666381920472195042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Josh and I, obviously.  He found that ball in the lake!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--0HilO3xB5M/TqMIVP2RC7I/AAAAAAAABto/C3pEKOXPZww/s1600/031.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--0HilO3xB5M/TqMIVP2RC7I/AAAAAAAABto/C3pEKOXPZww/s400/031.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666381917286632370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I couldn't resist more pictures of the cacti.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JwpJ76U2aak/TqMIUtreDBI/AAAAAAAABtg/vdgqVbmz83s/s1600/020.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JwpJ76U2aak/TqMIUtreDBI/AAAAAAAABtg/vdgqVbmz83s/s400/020.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666381908114541586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Lake plus mountains.  An interesting combination.  And so different than the lakes I have been on which are surrounded by houses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qjIz_UCYkts/TqMIUKzOYwI/AAAAAAAABtU/iijHDpbuT7U/s1600/012.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qjIz_UCYkts/TqMIUKzOYwI/AAAAAAAABtU/iijHDpbuT7U/s400/012.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666381898751828738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Anchors away! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ojs5nHJlv1M/TqMITxt7c_I/AAAAAAAABtI/441bovu_38o/s1600/008.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ojs5nHJlv1M/TqMITxt7c_I/AAAAAAAABtI/441bovu_38o/s400/008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666381892018729970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A picture of the dam.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6396656043889273598?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6396656043889273598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6396656043889273598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6396656043889273598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6396656043889273598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/selection-from-day-on-lake.html' title='A Selection from the day on the lake'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tbJgphj_b44/TqMIVbtw3-I/AAAAAAAABt8/bkpGq1D5nKM/s72-c/039.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2923180221125321094</id><published>2011-10-22T10:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-22T10:33:36.853-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Days Three and Four</title><content type='html'>Wednesday was more of the same...Lunch date with Dad because no one else wanted to go to the dining hall, television with the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;fam&lt;/span&gt; while we waited for everyone to get home from school, and hanging out with the kids after school.  I played lots of pool and one once.  I lost a game to my dad, which was a given.  But the 8 and 9 year &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;olds&lt;/span&gt;?  Although, that is about the level I play at!  Played Ticket to Ride with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt;, Emerson, and Josh.  Went with Dad to pick up Brandon from work.  Watched the end of You've Got Mail. Went to bed.  I have been going to be earlier here than I do at home.  But I'm also waking up earlier than I would at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;home&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thursday was a road trip to the Grand Canyon with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; and Josh.  I've never been on a road trip with just the two of them, so I was a little nervous.  They like to sleep and do their own thing in the car.  I told &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; she had to stay awake for me because I wasn't driving 8 hours in one day without someone to entertain me.  She did a great job of entertaining me! :)  Those of you who know my road trip records, I only had to stop once for a potty break/gas break/food break each way.  I was kind of surprised.  I think this was also my first experience driving in the mountains.  It was all highway driving, so it wasn't difficult, but still new.  And kind of weird in someone &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;else's&lt;/span&gt; car.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Grand Canyon was AMAZING!  Your first glimpse is really weird.  It looks fake and one dimensional.  But as your eyes adjust, you begin to see the awesomeness of God's creation.  There is a two mile path around the rim that we walked.  The kids (although they should have expected it) were rolling their eyes at how many pictures I was taking.  But this was also their 3rd trip, and Josh has hiked part of the canyon, so it was all routine to them.  We laughed a lot.  Josh almost had me crying at one point because I was laughing so hard.  I got a huge blister on my foot because I decided it was a good idea to walk the 2 miles in flip flops.  Oops... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I didn't bring my cord for pictures and I haven't tried Amy's computer with my card, but it didn't work in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Daynah's&lt;/span&gt; computer, so eventually I will post some pictures.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today is more hanging with the kids.  I need to get some pictures with the boys.  Then they have a carnival tonight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2923180221125321094?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2923180221125321094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2923180221125321094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2923180221125321094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2923180221125321094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/days-three-and-four.html' title='Days Three and Four'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7490311050150549882</id><published>2011-10-19T23:13:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-19T23:22:12.916-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Day Two</title><content type='html'>One of the reasons I wanted to come to Arizona was to see how a typical week for Dad and Amy goes.  I picked a typically crazy week, apparently :).  The younger kids are on early release all week for parent-teacher conferences.  There are several doctor's appointments and general running kids to and fro.  I was able to meet the four kids that I haven't been able to meet in the past because they have moved in since I visited last.  They currently have 8 boys living with them.  I rode along this morning while Amy took one of the younger boys to the doctor, then we took him to school.  I had lunch with Dad and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; and watched Gilmore Girls with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; and Judging Amy with Amy.  Then I rode with Amy to pick up Brandon from school and hung out until dinner time.  After dinner I played Ticket to Ride with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; and Emerson.  Then I taught Douglas (who apparently loves to talk and will talk to just about anyone.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; said she'll be glad for a break this week while he talks my ear off!) how to play Skip-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;bo&lt;/span&gt; and then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Cru&lt;/span&gt; joined us for a game as well.  That about sums up the day, not counting some other odds and ends stuff that I did, but I don't want to completely overwhelm you with details.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, even though no one in Illinois wants to hear this, it was 97 degrees today.  I don't care what anyone says, 97 is hot, dry heat or not.  Don't get me wrong, I'm kind of glad I missed the 45 with wind and rain that I heard you guys had today.  But I don't think 97 is a good alternative either.  Just &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;sayin&lt;/span&gt;'. :)  I was going to get some pictures up today, but never got around to it. Maybe tomorrow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7490311050150549882?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7490311050150549882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7490311050150549882' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7490311050150549882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7490311050150549882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/day-two.html' title='Day Two'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1721781221170165650</id><published>2011-10-18T23:17:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-19T09:09:55.364-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Day One: Success</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Day one of vacation was spent on Lake Bartlett Dam.  A fun time was had by all.  It was a little surreal tooling around on the lake with the mountains stretching above us.  Josh was the only one who got in the water, but I think he had fun doing it.  The rest of us enjoyed the shade of the pontoon boat.  Pictures to follow later.  The day on the lake was followed by Tom's for dinner and a trip to Walmart for dessert.  Where I found the best thing since finding out there is Chick-fil-a in Arizona: Blue Bell ice cream.  Everyone else got a personal serving size of Ben and Jerry's and I got a half gallon of mint chocolate chip.  Blue Bell...how I have missed you! :)  THEN (emphasis added for someone's entertainment and approval) it was on to watching NCIS and NCIS: Los Angeles with Dad and Josh while the girls (minus me of course) watched The Biggest Loser.  Watching NCIS without Emily was just not the same, but we did send a few texts back and forth because we were watching it at the same time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow starts the craziness of the next few days.  Amy shared their work schedule with me this morning and it involves a lot of here, there, and everywhere.  But, life as they usually know it is what I wanted for this vacation, so I say: Bring it on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'll let you in on a little secret...I think Daynah, Josh, and I are going to take a road trip to the Grand Canyon on Friday.  That makes me pretty excited because I didn't think I was going to get to do that this trip.  Daynah and Josh don't really care what we do as long as they get to get out of school to do it! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And a late night last night + an early morning this morning + a day spent in the sun = me VERY tired!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1721781221170165650?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1721781221170165650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1721781221170165650' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1721781221170165650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1721781221170165650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/day-one-success.html' title='Day One: Success'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4145984530426227513</id><published>2011-10-17T17:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-17T17:05:54.914-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm rich!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3NiSjw4DH-M/Tpyl_0_IT9I/AAAAAAAABs8/OPCVvuFBkl0/s1600/PA020005.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664584947299012562" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3NiSjw4DH-M/Tpyl_0_IT9I/AAAAAAAABs8/OPCVvuFBkl0/s400/PA020005.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This was the payment from my roommate for saving her from extreme embarrassment at the Sprint store. At this rate, if I continue to give her excellent advice, I could retire in, well...a whole lot of years!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4145984530426227513?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4145984530426227513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4145984530426227513' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4145984530426227513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4145984530426227513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/im-rich.html' title='I&apos;m rich!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3NiSjw4DH-M/Tpyl_0_IT9I/AAAAAAAABs8/OPCVvuFBkl0/s72-c/PA020005.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8870928553080249938</id><published>2011-10-16T19:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-16T19:53:03.211-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Update on my update</title><content type='html'>Earlier today my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; status update said "...packing...laundry...paperwork...cleaning bathroom...making coffee cake...Must.be.productive."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the update:&lt;br /&gt;laundry--check (it's even put away, which is a slight miracle!)&lt;br /&gt;paperwork--check--it was the first thing I did to get it out of the way and only took me about an hour.&lt;br /&gt;cleaning bathroom--check--I got slightly derailed by really not wanting to do it. Emily and I watched two episodes of Bones. Than I was way too hungry to clean. Than I had to get my suitcase down. Than I remembered that I had to...you get the idea! But it did get done. Not the best job ever, but I did use cleaning products and cleaned all the essentials.&lt;br /&gt;making coffee cake--it's in the oven and has 25 minutes left to bake.&lt;br /&gt;packing--most of the clothes are in the suitcase, minus some stuff that is still drying. My list of everything else that needs to be thrown into the suitcase is made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's only 7:51.&lt;br /&gt;I am Arizona bound in just over 24 hours! Hooray!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. Emily and I can't figure out why our bathrooms can't learn to clean themselves. I mean, they've seen us do it often enough, shouldn't they know how to do it by now?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8870928553080249938?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8870928553080249938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8870928553080249938' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8870928553080249938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8870928553080249938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/update-on-my-update.html' title='Update on my update'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-88030799664460885</id><published>2011-10-15T13:36:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-15T13:48:46.623-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Fall Foliage</title><content type='html'>Blogging is great for procrastinating! :) I'm trying to go through my pictures and transfer them to my computer before vacation and I forgot I had taken these.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a tree at the end of my apartment building. One day when I was getting home from work, the sun was hitting the yellow leaves in such a magnificent way, that I had to go in and get my camera. The camera did not even begin to capture the brilliance of the sun on the leaves, but I wanted to share it anyway! I always say the yellow leaves are my favorite, until I see the orange ones! :) Really, I can never decide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kysFtyQ9k-I/TpnTVg_iN8I/AAAAAAAABsY/I5XlB2u9PlU/s1600/P9180086.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663790372982241218" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kysFtyQ9k-I/TpnTVg_iN8I/AAAAAAAABsY/I5XlB2u9PlU/s400/P9180086.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UWU6Nbq0xOM/TpnUr1dspuI/AAAAAAAABsw/wAk8Jnci0JA/s1600/P9180087.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663791855946213090" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UWU6Nbq0xOM/TpnUr1dspuI/AAAAAAAABsw/wAk8Jnci0JA/s400/P9180087.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-88030799664460885?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/88030799664460885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=88030799664460885' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/88030799664460885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/88030799664460885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/blogging-is-great-for-procrastinating.html' title='Fall Foliage'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kysFtyQ9k-I/TpnTVg_iN8I/AAAAAAAABsY/I5XlB2u9PlU/s72-c/P9180086.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2945833250175203926</id><published>2011-10-15T13:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-15T13:18:43.516-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Progress</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V0J5moZErxg/TpnLunS-kqI/AAAAAAAABsM/FiI5Xm_eN1c/s1600/P9290089.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663782008078111394" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V0J5moZErxg/TpnLunS-kqI/AAAAAAAABsM/FiI5Xm_eN1c/s400/P9290089.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is the building that has to be knocked down in order for them to build Chickfila and Chipotle. The torn out side is a fun reminder for me of what is to come! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2945833250175203926?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2945833250175203926/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2945833250175203926' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2945833250175203926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2945833250175203926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/progress.html' title='Progress'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V0J5moZErxg/TpnLunS-kqI/AAAAAAAABsM/FiI5Xm_eN1c/s72-c/P9290089.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-5626140187682122563</id><published>2011-10-15T12:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-15T13:02:20.213-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You probably have better things to do than to read this</title><content type='html'>I am about to wow you with the mundane! I got my haircut yesterday and Brooke (my hairdresser and friend) and I were talking about all the things people put on Facebook that no one really cares about, but we feel the need to share. I am just as guilty as the next person, especially when I am bored or have nothing pressing to do. So, instead of putting all my boring goings-on on Facebook, I will put them on my blog. And than I can put more than one! :) So, here goes! You can stop reading now if you really want to. I promise, it won't offend me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I have been craving Wing Stop for about a week now. I have a coupon but I kept forgetting to put it in my purse, so all the times I was going to get it, I decided I could not justify going home to get the coupon and than going back out to get the wings. And I couldn't justify paying for the fries knowing I had a coupon for free fries. So, I went out the door prepared to fulfill my craving. It was everything I had hoped for!&lt;br /&gt;2. I am having two Dr. Peppers today. I know I will regret it, but the first one went down way too fast!&lt;br /&gt;3. I feel the need to do lots of unproductive things today and I feel no need to do the productive things that I have to get done (like paperwork and cleaning my bathroom and at least making a packing list).&lt;br /&gt;4. I am going on vacation in 2.2 days. I don't really know if the .2 is accurate, but it was more fun to write than just 2 days. I only have one more work appointment on Monday before said vacation! Yipee Skippee!&lt;br /&gt;5. I have a strong urge to do a puzzle, but I know if I start one, I will not get anything else done today. Responsibility is STUPID! :)&lt;br /&gt;6. Blogger spell check does not recognize Facebook as a valid word.  Man are they behind the times!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, boringness is officially over. For those of you who hung in there, you must like to procrastinate as much as I do! Or you love me a lot and think I am the greatest writer ever, even when it is about boring stuff! Either way, I appreciate you! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-5626140187682122563?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/5626140187682122563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=5626140187682122563' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5626140187682122563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5626140187682122563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/you-probably-have-better-things-to-do.html' title='You probably have better things to do than to read this'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-645509114445899369</id><published>2011-10-10T20:14:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-10T20:18:19.037-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another client story</title><content type='html'>I opened a new client last week and met with her individually for the first time today. She is fourteen. I was gathering all kinds of information for my assessment. Here is the conversation that made me say, "Okay then..." (in my head, not out loud!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: What is your mother's main form of discipline?&lt;br /&gt;Her: Taking me cell phone away.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Before you had a cell phone, what would she do?&lt;br /&gt;Her: I've always had a cell phone. Well, since I was about 6, so I don't remember.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And than I went on to the next question! Did anyone else catch that? 6? Really? Did I even know how to dial a phone when I was 6? Who would I have called? Well, maybe China accidentally, but no one on purpose!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oy with the poodles already! (A Gilmore Girl expression of dismay!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-645509114445899369?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/645509114445899369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=645509114445899369' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/645509114445899369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/645509114445899369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/another-client-story.html' title='Another client story'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-495468092807314644</id><published>2011-10-08T14:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-08T14:17:41.167-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm getting too old for this</title><content type='html'>Game nights are fun.  Learning new games is fun.  Hanging out with friends is fun.  But when a 32 1/2 year old does this until 2:00am, it's fun at the time.  I've never been drunk before, but what I felt this morning has to be something like a hangover! :)I slept until 9:30 which was good because I thought I would still wake up at 8.  And I had some pretty weird dreams (which I can't really remember right now) but I think at least part of them had to do with Dominion cards. Really it hasn't been too rough.  Once I got into the shower, I felt human and haven't been tired at all yet today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did also learn that you can easily get through most of the lights in Peoria at 2am without having to stop at every.single.one!  But, when you do have to stop, they seem a whole lot longer because there are no other cars around and it feels a little senseless to sit there and wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks Kari for a fun evening...and for talking me into just one more game...and than just one more game after that! And thank you Saturday for nothing urgent on the agenda so I could take it easy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-495468092807314644?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/495468092807314644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=495468092807314644' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/495468092807314644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/495468092807314644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/im-getting-too-old-for-this.html' title='I&apos;m getting too old for this'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3254593841358714508</id><published>2011-10-06T21:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-06T21:43:58.540-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I shall never leave Peoria again!</title><content type='html'>In the spring of 2012, I will no longer have any need to leave Peoria. So, I should get all my visiting in before than!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the &lt;a href="http://centralillinoisproud.com/fulltext/?nxd_id=204197"&gt;official story &lt;/a&gt;that was announced yesterday: "You're going to see a few changes around Northwoods Mall. The former Regions Bank building is being torn down on Scenic Drive. Two new additions are coming to the area. Chick-Fil-A and Chipotle will join the mall area by Spring of 2012."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only problem is going to be when I pull into the parking lot. Which restaurant should I eat at?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my coworkers sent me a message about the announcement. I told her that I choose Chick-fil-a for my birthday lunch next year! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, after next spring, people will have to start visiting me! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3254593841358714508?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3254593841358714508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3254593841358714508' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3254593841358714508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3254593841358714508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/i-shall-never-leave-peoria-again.html' title='I shall never leave Peoria again!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2593827292439333799</id><published>2011-10-03T19:40:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-03T19:48:58.960-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Taylor-isms</title><content type='html'>I am babysitting for Joe and Ginger tonight, which basically consisted of coming over and putting Taylor to bed and than hanging out by myself. Joe was putting Hudson to bed when I got to the house, so Taylor let me in. She pretty much didn't stop talking until I left her room so she could go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hudson is Daddy's son."&lt;br /&gt;"When Daddy comes I'm going to ask for more juice. He might give me juice. But he will say I have to drink milk." (funny thing...it happened just like that after he came up!)&lt;br /&gt;"My mom is Ginger. My dad is Joe."&lt;br /&gt;"Where's Emily. I can't see her." As I responded to a text from Emily and told her what I was doing.&lt;br /&gt;And than she asked if Emily was big or little. I didn't know how to answer her, so I went with a safe, "She's big like me!" :)&lt;br /&gt;"Do you have a little girl at home?" Me: "No. I don't have any kids." Taylor: "I have a kid." Me: "Who is your kid?" Taylor: "Hudson." Me: "No, Hudson is your brother. He is Mommy and Daddy's kid."&lt;br /&gt;"I'll have to look at my parade candy. I think I'm out of suckers. But if you don't want a tootsie roll, I'll look."&lt;br /&gt;"Why are you reading that book?" As I looked at one of the kids books while I waited for her to go potty before bed.&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Taylor, did you color this picture?" Taylor: "Yes. For Mommy. Maybe she will take it to Cal. i. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fornnnn&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ia&lt;/span&gt;." She added several syllables to an already long word!&lt;br /&gt;And lots of giggles. That girl sure likes to giggle. And talk. And talk! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2593827292439333799?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2593827292439333799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2593827292439333799' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2593827292439333799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2593827292439333799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/taylor-isms.html' title='Taylor-isms'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7377521760260238704</id><published>2011-10-02T13:28:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-02T13:31:46.594-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You know the seasons are changing when...</title><content type='html'>...these are the shoes you see on my floor instead of flip flops! :)&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0MxgwjfDxKU/ToituvCpKsI/AAAAAAAABsE/S4UoNkQmFzE/s1600/P9160085.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658963950204168898" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0MxgwjfDxKU/ToituvCpKsI/AAAAAAAABsE/S4UoNkQmFzE/s400/P9160085.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Oh, and when the leaves on the trees start to change...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7377521760260238704?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7377521760260238704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7377521760260238704' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7377521760260238704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7377521760260238704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/you-know-seasons-are-changing-when.html' title='You know the seasons are changing when...'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0MxgwjfDxKU/ToituvCpKsI/AAAAAAAABsE/S4UoNkQmFzE/s72-c/P9160085.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3509620283429112104</id><published>2011-10-01T21:04:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-01T21:30:09.947-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Two aunts and a mom</title><content type='html'>Last weekend I was blessed to have two of my aunts and my mom come visit me in Peoria! This trip has been a while in the making. Last year, Aunt Teresa and Mom were supposed to come visit but the week before, my grandma fell and broke her hip. In anticipation for this weekend, I was going to write my grandma a letter that said, "Dear Grandma, please do not engage in any daredevil stunts this week. Love, Teresa" If you knew my grandmother, you would know how funny this really is. So, when Teresa, Tricia, and Mom arrived on Saturday, we did a whirlwind tour of Peoria. Starting with lunch at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Avanti's&lt;/span&gt;. Than we went out to Tanners Orchard. I really don't know what I would do with family or friends that came to visit other than in the fall, because I always take guests to Tanners! It was kind of overcast, but the rain held off until we got into the store. We even did part of the corn maze! And than we all spent too much money on all things apple related. Except I didn't get the apple salsa that I had my eye on and I'm still regretting it. Here are some pictures from Tanners:&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wbzw53cDkyc/TofJ5iWHw5I/AAAAAAAABr8/B0VdkFgQLG4/s1600/P9080082.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658713447123633042" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wbzw53cDkyc/TofJ5iWHw5I/AAAAAAAABr8/B0VdkFgQLG4/s400/P9080082.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Teresa, Mom, Tricia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KN1M0xJsnh0/TofJ5Tl83WI/AAAAAAAABr0/U1b_RckLyBQ/s1600/P9080081.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658713443163495778" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KN1M0xJsnh0/TofJ5Tl83WI/AAAAAAAABr0/U1b_RckLyBQ/s400/P9080081.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-14o__0hlQtU/TofJ5JgnPgI/AAAAAAAABrs/D49FJVZ_8w4/s1600/P9080080.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658713440456752642" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-14o__0hlQtU/TofJ5JgnPgI/AAAAAAAABrs/D49FJVZ_8w4/s400/P9080080.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Aunt Teresa was intrigued by the barrel rides. I think she wishes she was a kid so she could ride in one!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B4WfarQIg_4/TofJ4waBGPI/AAAAAAAABrk/55nn7ZjBH0M/s1600/P9080079.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658713433718200562" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B4WfarQIg_4/TofJ4waBGPI/AAAAAAAABrk/55nn7ZjBH0M/s400/P9080079.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The green pumpkin in front of us is Aunt Teresa's one regret. She really wanted to buy it but didn't. But than she talked about it the rest of the weekend! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NJvTui8I0Y0/TofJ4bDg-aI/AAAAAAAABrc/IdOeDQbgjaU/s1600/P9080078.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658713427986676130" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NJvTui8I0Y0/TofJ4bDg-aI/AAAAAAAABrc/IdOeDQbgjaU/s400/P9080078.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; They were also fascinated by the windmills, which you can barely see in the background.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Tanners I took them on a tour of Peoria. And by tour, I definitely mean an as-seen-through-Teresa's-eyes tour. I mean, we did the major things like Grand View Drive and the Riverfront and Downtown. But they also got. "And this is where I work." "And this is where I used to work." "And this is where I sometimes go to the gym." "And this is my favorite Chinese restaurant." (which we ordered for dinner!) "And this is the area where some of my clients live." "And this is one of our two malls." "And this is where I grocery shop most of the time." "And this is where Kari lives." "And this is one of my favorite houses in this area." "And this is where I used to live."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the tour we went back to my apartment, went back out to get Chinese, ate dinner, went back out to get a movie, and watched a movie. We weren't great planners, but that's okay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday morning Mom went to church with me and than we went out for brunch at Le Peep. Than we hung out for a little longer before they left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, it was a great visit! I hope it's not another 5 1/2 years before they visit again!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3509620283429112104?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3509620283429112104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3509620283429112104' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3509620283429112104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3509620283429112104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/10/two-aunts-and-mom.html' title='Two aunts and a mom'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wbzw53cDkyc/TofJ5iWHw5I/AAAAAAAABr8/B0VdkFgQLG4/s72-c/P9080082.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3441229592099313827</id><published>2011-09-29T20:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-29T21:02:30.709-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's time for a little randomness :)</title><content type='html'>It's been a while since I made a random list of things, so here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I just sat down to eat a healthy snack of apples (from our trip to Tanners last weekend).  But just as I was finishing cutting up the apple, I spied the candy corn on the counter.  And that is when I discovered that if you take a bite of apple and a bite of candy corn, it's almost the same as eating a taffy apple.  Thus rendering my healthy snack not so healthy.  But very tasty!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. My car passed 90,000 miles this week.  It will be five at the end of the year.  Yikes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I felt like the kindergartners who get notes pinned to them to take home to their parents this week.  I have been so forgetful and I feel like I should just keep a constant notepad with me so I can write notes like, "Teresa, you are walking into the kitchen to get a drink of water." or "Teresa, you just walked down two flights of stairs at work so that you could make a copy of a treatment plan from your client's file." or "Teresa, you are driving to Client A's house."  It has been a very forgetful week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I heard on the radio this week that body temperature changes often cause nightmares or vivid dreams.  I am the queen of the vivid dream.  This week I had a dream that I went with a group of friends to see a movie and I took my nephew with me.  I also took the booster seat I keep in my car into the theater with me.  Except it wasn't for John, it was for me. But when John started standing in his seat to see over the person in front of him, I felt like I had to give him the booster seat.  And I may have been a little irritated because than I couldn't see over the really tall person sitting in front of me.  Wow, just writing that makes me feel like a really selfish person.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  I've been comment-less for over four posts now.  So, I'll send out my usual, pathetic, woe is me, plea for some comments.  I like your comments.  As much as I like writing on my blog! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3441229592099313827?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3441229592099313827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3441229592099313827' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3441229592099313827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3441229592099313827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/its-time-for-little-randomness.html' title='It&apos;s time for a little randomness :)'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1320933980798209483</id><published>2011-09-28T21:35:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-28T21:43:44.489-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Names</title><content type='html'>With Baby #2 on the way, my brother and sister-in-law are looking for baby name ideas.  I have sent a couple of names their way, but today I realized I should give a caveat to the passing along of names.  I feel kind of bad passing names along.  I'm basically saying, "I like these names, but not enough to name my own baby that."  Because, although I'm not married, I have a few names in my head that would be my top choice of baby names, and if I pass those names on to my brother and sister-in-law, and they choose that name, I won't be able to use it anymore.  But I do honestly like the names I've passed on...just not for my own baby... :)  Don't worry, if they choose one of the names I've submitted, I won't tell my nephew that his name is one of my reject names.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1320933980798209483?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1320933980798209483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1320933980798209483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1320933980798209483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1320933980798209483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/baby-names.html' title='Baby Names'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8563262698118535066</id><published>2011-09-27T21:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-27T21:15:06.767-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday Mom!</title><content type='html'>I know she's in bed already and it's kind of late in the day, but this is the earliest I could get to the computer. So, it's a better-late-than-never Happy Birthday to my Mom! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is one of the pictures we took over the weekend while she was here. Besides the fact that you can't see my hands because of my sleeves, it's a pretty good picture. I loved that my mom and aunts came down so that I could show them around. I love you mom and hope you had a wonderful birthday! :)&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-000uZ9-4yMw/ToKCVTFVttI/AAAAAAAABrM/cTEYegiUCTw/s1600/P9080075.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657227384342296274" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-000uZ9-4yMw/ToKCVTFVttI/AAAAAAAABrM/cTEYegiUCTw/s400/P9080075.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8563262698118535066?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8563262698118535066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8563262698118535066' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8563262698118535066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8563262698118535066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/happy-birthday-mom.html' title='Happy Birthday Mom!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-000uZ9-4yMw/ToKCVTFVttI/AAAAAAAABrM/cTEYegiUCTw/s72-c/P9080075.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8946121043015764099</id><published>2011-09-26T18:11:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-26T18:15:29.076-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Even adults have consequences</title><content type='html'>Friday I had a long to do list. And the one thing I did not get done was my paperwork. I told myself I would do it Sunday. I knew I was lying to myself. I thought I could get it done at work today. But, no. So, now, on this rainy evening when I just want to curl up with a book, some hot chocolate, and an apple cider donut, I have to do paperwork instead. And to make it worse, paperwork is technically due on Monday. So I have the added guilt of missing that deadline. All because I chose to finish my book before cleaning instead of doing paperwork before cleaning. I even tried to give a coworker a piece of candy to write my notes. Oddly enough, she said no. Alrighty, enough complaining. I'm going to be a big girl now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8946121043015764099?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8946121043015764099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8946121043015764099' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8946121043015764099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8946121043015764099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/even-adults-have-consequences.html' title='Even adults have consequences'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8463892491270579627</id><published>2011-09-24T10:31:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-24T10:43:36.892-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Not much to say Saturday</title><content type='html'>It's getting toward the end of the month and I've noticed that I'm lacking in blog posts for the month, so I am feeling pressure to post more. I know, it's a random thing to feel pressure about. But this is me we are talking about. The queen of randmomness.  You know, no pressure to get Facebook or texting on my phone or a texting phone or a Kindle, but pressure to maintain a certain level of blog posts.  It makes perfect sense! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally finished my cleaning yesterday, got to the grocery store, and made it to a friend's house for dinner on time. The only thing I didn't get accomplished was my work paperwork (oops!). And that's because I had fun procrastinating some of the morning away after I got back from an appointment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Game night was fun. Four girls, a bag of snack mix, cookies, cheese dip, and Rummikub. Lots of laughter and eating and girl talk. Just what I needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom, Teresa, and Tricia should arrive in about 20 minutes and than it is off to have a fun filled 24 hours touring Peoria. Tanners is on the agenda, but other than that I haven't made any more plans. We are flying by the seat of our pants today! I'm charging my camera batteries as we speak, so hopefully I will actually use it and pictures will follow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ta Ta for now! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8463892491270579627?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8463892491270579627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8463892491270579627' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8463892491270579627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8463892491270579627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/not-much-to-say-saturday.html' title='Not much to say Saturday'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2694128238518929672</id><published>2011-09-23T14:54:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-23T15:01:13.243-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking a break</title><content type='html'>I am taking a break from my cleaning frenzy because I want to :). But I don't need to. Because I have more to do. Why am I cleaning, you may ask?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. It's been, ummm, a bit too long since the last time I cleaned. And by a bit too long, I really mean just a couple of days, right? If you may be detecting a bit of sarcasm, I really don't know what you're talking about.&lt;br /&gt;2. I am getting bombarded by company tomorrow. My mom and two aunts are coming for an overnight visit. We're packing them in here at the apartment. I don't think Emily knows what she's getting herself into. &lt;br /&gt;3. Because of said company. The particulars of the company. I mean, if Danell was coming to visit, I might clean my bathroom and straighten up a little. But when it is someone from the "older" generation in your family, you kind of have to go the extra mile. And when one of those people is your mother, who really likes to clean, well, enough said! :) I love my mom. And I'm not saying she would judge me. Well, if she would judge me, she wouldn't do it out loud and definitely not to my face. So, there really is no reason to worry, but I still feel the need to do some serious cleaning.&lt;br /&gt;4. The company is a good excuse to get things done that I don't normally do. I really don't mind cleaning once I start, but there are other things I'd rather be doing most of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, that was probably enough of a break...off to dust and vacuum I go! And than to the grocery store. And than to a friend's house for some games and fun! See, there is fun at the end of the cleaning, I just have to get through it and stop procrastinating. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, look, a butterfly...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2694128238518929672?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2694128238518929672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2694128238518929672' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2694128238518929672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2694128238518929672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/taking-break.html' title='Taking a break'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3236943568097605036</id><published>2011-09-19T21:58:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T22:03:07.349-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's not a tumor!</title><content type='html'>I was talking to Danell last night and told her that I had a headache and that I felt like my head was going to explode.  I said, "I think it might be a tumor."  To which, she of course replied, "It's not a tumor."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And than something kind of random occurred to me.  The Arnold Schwarzenegger line is a fairly universal quote.  Not many people look at me confused when I throw it out in conversation.  But I wouldn't really consider Kindergarten Cop a universally watched movie.  So how does a phrase from a movie like that become so popular?  I don't know the answer, but these are the musings I sometimes have....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3236943568097605036?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3236943568097605036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3236943568097605036' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3236943568097605036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3236943568097605036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/its-not-tumor.html' title='It&apos;s not a tumor!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1075052229770012141</id><published>2011-09-18T17:05:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-18T17:06:40.209-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another fun Bones quote</title><content type='html'>Yet again, I laughed out loud.  And it only seems right to share the things that make me laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweets: So, uh, I'll help you get the car back. &lt;br /&gt;Hodgins: Really? &lt;br /&gt;Sweets: Yeah. You know why? Because I'm Mr. Adventure. &lt;br /&gt;Hodgins: I'd rather you were Mr. Sneaky Ninja Killer Assassin. But hey, a guy can't be picky in this sidekick market.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1075052229770012141?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1075052229770012141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1075052229770012141' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1075052229770012141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1075052229770012141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/another-fun-bones-quote.html' title='Another fun Bones quote'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1062110654297399016</id><published>2011-09-16T17:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T17:40:13.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The wires in my brain might be slightly misalligned</title><content type='html'>I had pancakes for dinner tonight. The back of the box gives instructions on how to make 6-7 pancakes. But, at most, I only eat 4-5 pancakes. Now, it has not occurred to me until now, that I could try to make less of the batter. Mostly because I am a recipe follower. And I'm not going to make all 7 and save 2 for later because, let's face it, I would never eat them. But, it's a good thought, Mom (since I knew that would be your suggestion). But, here's where the misfire in the brain occurs. I feel less bad about throwing away the leftovers when it is the batter and not the actual pancake. Usually I make 6. I have no problem washing the batter down the sink. But I always feel kind of bad about throwing away that leftover pancake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1062110654297399016?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1062110654297399016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1062110654297399016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1062110654297399016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1062110654297399016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/wires-in-my-brain-might-be-slightly.html' title='The wires in my brain might be slightly misalligned'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7055410304236079519</id><published>2011-09-16T16:21:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T16:36:06.317-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It seemed apropos</title><content type='html'>I enjoy television and movie quotes. They often make me laugh. I didn't think I could hear this one from Bones without putting it on my blog. Good thing I don't consider what I do or say on here important! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Military intelligence? That's an oxymoron. You know, a term that contradicts itself...I'm the most important UFO blogger in the world."&lt;br /&gt;Booth: "Important blogger. Talk about an oxymoron."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. I also looked up the word apropos to make sure I was using it correctly. I couldn't really tell, from the definitions I read, but I think it's right! Either way. My blog. My rules. I an use whatever words I want, whether they are in context or not! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7055410304236079519?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7055410304236079519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7055410304236079519' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7055410304236079519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7055410304236079519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/it-seemed-apropos.html' title='It seemed apropos'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-5672449953781638313</id><published>2011-09-12T19:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-12T19:58:59.036-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Family Photo</title><content type='html'>Mom was in Georgia last week and took this adorable picture. I thought I'd share it on here as well! :)&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aVxtYOdve3U/Tm6qCxo9chI/AAAAAAAABrE/oI9OfpKeVXM/s1600/315570_2003325403006_1239731742_31887634_6291220_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651641547058147858" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aVxtYOdve3U/Tm6qCxo9chI/AAAAAAAABrE/oI9OfpKeVXM/s400/315570_2003325403006_1239731742_31887634_6291220_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Besides all the baby belly cuteness (which is the obvious cuteness in this picture!) I love that John has no shoes on (shocking, I know!). Ignore the scruffiness on my brother's face. Apparently, it's part of his new dress code at work!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-5672449953781638313?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/5672449953781638313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=5672449953781638313' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5672449953781638313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/5672449953781638313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/family-photo.html' title='Family Photo'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aVxtYOdve3U/Tm6qCxo9chI/AAAAAAAABrE/oI9OfpKeVXM/s72-c/315570_2003325403006_1239731742_31887634_6291220_n%255B1%255D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4822456461938437467</id><published>2011-09-11T21:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-11T21:47:54.036-05:00</updated><title type='text'>One week and two days...</title><content type='html'>...until the new season of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;NCIS&lt;/span&gt;. For those of you who don't know, at the end of the season, Tony was told that he needs to secretly investigate someone and he looked very &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;leery&lt;/span&gt; or shocked or like it was something he didn't really want to do. So the question all summer has been, "Who does he have to investigate?" And because of this, Emily and I have had variations of this conversation many times this summer...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emily: Who do you think it might be?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Abby.&lt;br /&gt;Emily: No! It can't be Abby! Do you really think it's Abby? I just don't think it can be Abby.&lt;br /&gt;Me: I don't know. Tony did look pretty shocked.&lt;br /&gt;Emily: It can't be Abby!&lt;br /&gt;Me: Maybe it's McGee.&lt;br /&gt;Emily: Do you really think it would be McGee?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This conversation has been similar, back and forth, sometimes with me providing the answers, sometimes with Emily providing the answers. But always with the same outcome...we don't really know. But in one week and two days, we will hopefully get some answers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. Sorry about the lack of blog posts. I have been getting back into the fall semester. After a whole summer of not having much going on in the evenings, I'm back to being busy most evenings during the week. And it takes a few weeks to get into the swing of things. Bear with me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4822456461938437467?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4822456461938437467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4822456461938437467' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4822456461938437467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4822456461938437467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/one-week-and-two-days.html' title='One week and two days...'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7322413155982474428</id><published>2011-09-02T16:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-02T16:35:09.788-05:00</updated><title type='text'>1,238,462</title><content type='html'>Another secret about me. I like to exaggerate. :) So, in full Teresa fashion, I'd like to announce baby number 1,238,462 in our family in just over a year. Otherwise known as my new nephew. Making his appearance in early February!&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647876846313223250" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YU_jOtja2Kg/TmFKEWenNFI/AAAAAAAABq8/6Qvzuts9TRM/s400/318486_2328447820282_1522308787_32637567_609351_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt; I'm super excited! When Ann was pregnant with John, obviously I was excited. But it was a new, I've-never-been-an-aunt-before kind of excited. This is more of an I'm-an-aunt-and-I-know-how-cool-it-can-be excited. Do you see the difference? Plus, who wouldn't be excited about another John running around in this world? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7322413155982474428?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7322413155982474428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7322413155982474428' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7322413155982474428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7322413155982474428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/1238462.html' title='1,238,462'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YU_jOtja2Kg/TmFKEWenNFI/AAAAAAAABq8/6Qvzuts9TRM/s72-c/318486_2328447820282_1522308787_32637567_609351_n%255B1%255D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8982182873259815483</id><published>2011-09-01T21:04:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T21:17:57.659-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Some things change for the better</title><content type='html'>I have a confession to make. Shhh...don't tell anyone. Ready. Here it is. I'm a teensy weensy tiny bit melodramatic. I know. You guys would never think that. But it's true. I'm an all or nothing thinker. Yeah, I see the gray areas, but more often than not something is really good. Or really bad. No in between. Either I'm on top of the world or the world is going to end. It causes a bit of a roller coaster of emotions in my life. Not always good. Okay, most of the time, not good at all. But after 32 years, I've come to expect it and have tried to learn to deal with it or head it off. Sometimes that works, sometimes not so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One year ago today, my dad, stepmom, sister, and brother pulled out of their driveway and headed to Arizona. I would like to say it was just another day for me. No big deal. But...not so much. It was a huge change. I would like to say that I handled it well and with maturity. But...not so much. The honest truth. Many months of bitterness. Toward them. Toward the situation. Toward God. And toward myself for feeling so much. It was a hard few months. Bitterness is never a good thing. It never pays to give into it. But sometimes, at the time, it feels so much easier. I also think those first few months, I lived in denial. I kept thinking they would get out there, hate it, and come back. So, when I would get reports of how much they loved it and were building a life for themselves, the bitterness would grow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Than I finally had to tear down some walls within myself. I had to face the objects of my bitterness one at a time. God, my family, me, the situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know when it happened, but eventually I realized that the bitterness had gone away. I was able to celebrate the people they were learning to love. I was able to invest prayer time in praying for the ministry and for the kids that they were impacting. I was able to see that there is more than just my small little world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was able to re-learn a life long lesson...the world does not revolve around me. As much as I often try to change that truth, it's just not going to change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, on this one year anniversary, I am able to say, I miss Dad, Amy, Daynah, and Josh terribly. And I can still say I wish they were here. But I can also say that I love that they followed a call that many people would be afraid to follow, and they went into a new world, and they are working to change lives. And I am glad that I can be a small part of that, just by being a part of their family. I love you guys! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8982182873259815483?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8982182873259815483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8982182873259815483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8982182873259815483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8982182873259815483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/09/some-things-change-for-better.html' title='Some things change for the better'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1008954290343924039</id><published>2011-08-29T18:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-29T18:49:55.600-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I live in a movie</title><content type='html'>In June I was driving to Walmart and all of the walkers and bike riders and runners were doing their thing in the spring evening. When all of a sudden I looked over and there was a girl. On a unicycle. My first thought might have been, "hmmm...that's kind of cool." quickly followed, once watching her for a few minutes, by, "why would anyone want to do that? That doesn't look fun at all!" I got to Walmart and texted Danell about aforementioned unicyclist. Her response: :Is Peoria a real town, or are you in a movie?" :) It made me laugh. I saw the unicyclist again today and thought about Danell's comment and laughed all over again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1008954290343924039?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1008954290343924039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1008954290343924039' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1008954290343924039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1008954290343924039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/i-live-in-movie.html' title='I live in a movie'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7028419936477408231</id><published>2011-08-28T14:52:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-28T15:10:05.688-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday Josh!</title><content type='html'>Today my baby brother turned 13. A teenager. It's so hard to believe! I can remember when he was born! I was a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;sophomore&lt;/span&gt; in college. I had seen Dad and Amy over the summer, but I didn't get to see Josh until the holidays. It was great to meet him (and see &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Daynah&lt;/span&gt; too!). I loved cuddling with Josh and having one more person that was shorter than me in the family! I've been going through mental pictures in my head of memories I have of Josh. I have a lot of friends who have young kids and they talk about all the cute things they say and do. I have those memories filed away that I pull out and laugh about or smile over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I love about Josh:&lt;br /&gt;~He has a sensitive, tender spirit.&lt;br /&gt;~He gives great hugs.&lt;br /&gt;~He likes to cuddle.&lt;br /&gt;~He will always play games with me.&lt;br /&gt;~He's generous and has a heart for people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you Josh! :) I'll miss seeing you today!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7028419936477408231?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7028419936477408231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7028419936477408231' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7028419936477408231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7028419936477408231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/happy-birthday-josh.html' title='Happy Birthday Josh!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-58081110905651281</id><published>2011-08-26T20:14:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-26T20:25:21.084-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pictures to go with those babies</title><content type='html'>Here are the pictures of some of the babies I got to hold on Saturday:&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-181pXlSVcIo/TlhGPc9JIzI/AAAAAAAABq0/rqnLpIdfHVY/s1600/298200_1969630800662_1239731742_31845403_2307690_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645339364193542962" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-181pXlSVcIo/TlhGPc9JIzI/AAAAAAAABq0/rqnLpIdfHVY/s400/298200_1969630800662_1239731742_31845403_2307690_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Gavin was a little too interested in everything going on around him to take the time to look at the camera. He probably sees enough cameras every day that he knows to look away!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zajO5fnDsf0/TlhGPMq0A9I/AAAAAAAABqs/BpVi_-hzIFY/s1600/310563_2379404523991_1216999558_32997417_4389670_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645339359821693906" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zajO5fnDsf0/TlhGPMq0A9I/AAAAAAAABqs/BpVi_-hzIFY/s400/310563_2379404523991_1216999558_32997417_4389670_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; He was very fascinated by my ring. He asked me if he could wear it, but I told him that we should probably just keep it on my finger!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EcSxzvWZYSs/TlhGO1u0n4I/AAAAAAAABqk/GT8YMfWJ1uA/s1600/298230_1969633400727_1239731742_31845415_6692581_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645339353664495490" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EcSxzvWZYSs/TlhGO1u0n4I/AAAAAAAABqk/GT8YMfWJ1uA/s400/298230_1969633400727_1239731742_31845415_6692581_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And this is little Charlotte Kate. She is definitely a cutie!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bx2jsKPWYfw/TlhGOer8F1I/AAAAAAAABqc/iITG78z6eGA/s1600/307325_1969633760736_1239731742_31845417_4872023_n%255B1%255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645339347478386514" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bx2jsKPWYfw/TlhGOer8F1I/AAAAAAAABqc/iITG78z6eGA/s400/307325_1969633760736_1239731742_31845417_4872023_n%255B1%255D.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And here is the majority of the people who were at the picnic. We took the picture later in the evening, so some people had already left. If you can locate me, you'll notice that Uncle Larry saved me a spot on the row with all the 3-5 year olds! I tried to protest but than decided I could be a grown up and go with the flow. :) But really, I'm not THAT short!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-58081110905651281?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/58081110905651281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=58081110905651281' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/58081110905651281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/58081110905651281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/pictures-to-go-with-those-babies.html' title='Pictures to go with those babies'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-181pXlSVcIo/TlhGPc9JIzI/AAAAAAAABq0/rqnLpIdfHVY/s72-c/298200_1969630800662_1239731742_31845403_2307690_n%255B1%255D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4757239759179605473</id><published>2011-08-25T17:49:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-25T18:03:25.501-05:00</updated><title type='text'>We are not ashamed!</title><content type='html'>Emily and I are most definitely not ashamed that our kitchen looked like this last night and we went to bed anyway. &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s69mDLXoTw8/TlbS3oUT2II/AAAAAAAABqU/jr0Twfvep1w/s1600/P8100070.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644931036112738434" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s69mDLXoTw8/TlbS3oUT2II/AAAAAAAABqU/jr0Twfvep1w/s400/P8100070.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; We're not ashamed that we've both had extremely busy weeks. Obviously not busy enough that we didn't have time to eat :), but busy enough that we didn't have time to do the dishes. So, tonight I came home armed for battle!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QEpER9Fid-I/TlbS3Cb5l5I/AAAAAAAABqM/0lcb9MkWFDE/s1600/P8100072.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644931025944024978" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QEpER9Fid-I/TlbS3Cb5l5I/AAAAAAAABqM/0lcb9MkWFDE/s400/P8100072.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; An empty dish drainer, a towel (I actually had to add another one during dish washing) and my "favorites" &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;playlist&lt;/span&gt; on &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;iTunes&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tA0OX8ysB-w/TlbS2rut15I/AAAAAAAABqE/HDkjqnZ2ocA/s1600/P8100073.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644931019848931218" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tA0OX8ysB-w/TlbS2rut15I/AAAAAAAABqE/HDkjqnZ2ocA/s400/P8100073.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And 30 minutes later...dishes done and trash taken out. (Some of you might be wondering why all the dishes are stacked above the dishwasher. Several years ago we learned that you just have to clean the dishes again once they come out of the dishwasher, so we stopped using it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kIJR9vdnzWo/TlbS1F2FfvI/AAAAAAAABp8/zu_rTR5fU-0/s1600/P8100074.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644930992499425010" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kIJR9vdnzWo/TlbS1F2FfvI/AAAAAAAABp8/zu_rTR5fU-0/s400/P8100074.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; And a spotless counter!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are not ashamed because we don't let this happen very often. And this blog is supposed to show true life, not some mystical want-to-be life! And it was actually Emily's suggestion that it get blogged about. Except we weren't sure what my mom would say. But I figured, whatever she might &lt;em&gt;think&lt;/em&gt;, she would not say out loud! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4757239759179605473?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4757239759179605473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4757239759179605473' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4757239759179605473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4757239759179605473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/we-are-not-ashamed.html' title='We are not ashamed!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s69mDLXoTw8/TlbS3oUT2II/AAAAAAAABqU/jr0Twfvep1w/s72-c/P8100070.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-8097792636427143723</id><published>2011-08-20T21:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-20T21:59:49.142-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Babies, Babies, and more Babies!</title><content type='html'>Today was the annual Cousins' Picnic for my dad's side of the family.  Cousins includes my dad's generation of cousins and his aunts and uncles and the kids on down the line.  To say that the family has had a baby boom this year would be a mild understatement.  They might have given the flies a run for their money, except the flies must have flown in from every state in the US for this party!  Someone commented that there will be 10 babies this year.  Five of which were at the party tonight. Every time you turned around there was a baby somewhere!  It was so much fun.  I was in baby heaven.  Landon and I read a book together, and Gavin and I did lots of jumping together (well, Gavin jumped, I  just encouraged him to work those legs!), and Charlotte and I watched a bags game and looked at flowers. And I got to eat dinner with Autumn, who is five.  And I asked Christopher about his new baby sister who was born on Thursday and he said "She came out.  I'm not answering any more questions!"  Oh, yeah, and I got to spend time with cousins, aunts and uncles, and my mother too :).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I also got the answer to the mystery of why I'm not married!  And from a five year old.  You know the saying, everything you learn, you learn in kindergarten?  Maybe it's true!  I overheard Autumn's mother telling a story about how Autumn was telling her that she was going to get married first because she was the tallest.  I poked my head into that conversation and exclaimed, "Is THAT why I'm not married yet?!"  I thought Sara was going to fall over she started laughing so hard!  But at least I know now.  Now, there's only a few problems with Autumn's theory for me:&lt;br /&gt;1. I have a cousin who told me a few years ago that he is never getting married.  And he's taller than me.&lt;br /&gt;2. My brother turns 13 next weekend.  He just passed me in height and is not of marriageable age yet.&lt;br /&gt;3.  Sara also pointed out that if my future husband is the shortest in his family, we might be waiting around for each other for quite a while!&lt;br /&gt;I'm just glad to finally have some answers.  Now I don't have to worry about it anymore!  Oh, wait, I wasn't really worrying about it before I had the answers. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-8097792636427143723?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/8097792636427143723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=8097792636427143723' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8097792636427143723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/8097792636427143723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/babies-babies-and-more-babies.html' title='Babies, Babies, and more Babies!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4774679826272444864</id><published>2011-08-18T16:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-18T16:46:27.505-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Be vewy vewy quiet...</title><content type='html'>My squirrel-hunting client went on a rabbit hunting excursion today.  He actually asked during our session if we could go outside to "look at nature."  I told him we could go out for the remaining 7 minutes that we had.  He hunted.  I silently laughed and stayed quiet as instructed.  Although he didn't have one, his plan was to put holes in a paper bag and keep the rabbit in there.  I keep trying to convince him that these animals are wild and would much prefer to stay in the wild than be kept in bags.  But he's 8.  And he's a boy.  And he doesn't want to hear the words coming out of my mouth.  He also has a phrase he likes to use, "A long day ago."  The context he uses it in is always a little sketchy, so I can't decide if he means "a long time ago" or "the other day."  But it makes me think of when my brother used to say, "ever mind" instead of "never mind."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was going to edit yesterday's post last night because I remembered one more tidbit from my day, but I had already shut off the computer.  It was going to go after the "If you get HIV, you WILL DIE" paragraph and say this: Speaking of dying...We had our annual fire drill at work today.  It makes me laugh every year because every year we discuss the fact that a fire drill is useless.  If our building catches on fire, none of us from the third floor attic are making it out alive.  Especially in the orderly way we file down the stairs!  Also, they asked if anyone else was in the building and we said, "Yeah, Jeff is on the phone.  Well, he was, but he's definitely dead by now!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4774679826272444864?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4774679826272444864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4774679826272444864' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4774679826272444864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4774679826272444864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/be-vewy-vewy-quiet.html' title='Be vewy vewy quiet...'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4305595442841892402</id><published>2011-08-17T20:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-17T21:02:41.647-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My brain is rattling :)</title><content type='html'>There are so many things going on in my brain, so I thought I'd do a random thought list for you today, in no particular order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before 9:00 today I had already been to one client's house (not for an appointment, but to schedule an appointment because she doesn't have a phone). On the way home some guy in a truck yelled "Hey gorgeous!" and than proceeded to whistle obnoxiously at me. I'd like to say I was flattered, but no so much. Plus, he was driving a trailer with some lawn care equipment in it. Hope I never have to hire him to mow my lawn!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During our team meeting at work we had to do our annual blood-born pathogens training. It consists of watching a movie that may have been made in the 80s. Or the actors just wanted it to look like it was the 80s. Either way, the best line, for the second year running is "If you have HIV, you WILL DIE!" Very ominous. But, correct me if I'm wrong. Won't I die even if I don't have HIV? And than it sparks snide remarks like the one I made to my boss. "If I come to you with a paper cut later today, I expect you to put on gloves and use the proper containers to dispose of all the stuff you use to stop the bleeding!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had our first AWANA leader training today. I'm not sure I'm quite ready to get back into that groove, but I'll get there fast. I have no choice. AWANA starts in three weeks! Yikes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried the new Nutter Butter blizzard at Dairy Queen today. It was really good for about half the container, but it didn't really have staying power. I don't know that I would get it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a wimp. I turned the air back on because I didn't want to deal with the humidity tonight. Emily might roll her eyes at me. But she won't do it to my face, so I'm okay with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that's all of the brain rattling that I want to share! Thanks for partaking in the random workings of my brain!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4305595442841892402?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4305595442841892402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4305595442841892402' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4305595442841892402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4305595442841892402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/my-brain-is-rattling.html' title='My brain is rattling :)'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-3760315191928850930</id><published>2011-08-16T16:34:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-16T16:41:33.086-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I heart my clients (most of the time)</title><content type='html'>The best thing about working with kids is the unpredictability of what they will say and when they will say it. They don't have that social etiquette filter yet, and just say what they think. No two days with a client are the same because of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a client who I have been seeing for over a year. She turned 6 over the summer. We've been through quite a bit together and next week will be my last week seeing her, so I am cherishing time with her. I pick her up from her house and take her to the DCFS office to meet every week. Now, although she is six, she is delayed in speech and functions more at a 4 or 5 year old level. So over the last few months she has really come into her verbal reasoning skills, which has made her so much easier and more fun to work with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, we had gotten out of the car and were walking toward the door of the office. She was telling me about something that had happened at home, when all of a sudden two motorcycles went roaring by. I could just barely hear her say, "I can't hear you. Can you hear me?" I said, "No" which I think she saw me mouth. Just as the motorcycles went by she said really loudly (kind of like in the moment in a crowd of people when everyone seems to go silent at the same time and you are left saying something really loudly because of it) "Can you hear me now?!" I laughed and said yes and than she continued with her story as if we weren't interrupted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Than as we were getting back into the car, she asked if I had music in my car (I generally turn the radio off when clients are in the car so that they are more likely to talk). I said I had a radio and she asked if we could turn it on and I said no, but she could sing a song if she wanted to. There was a slight pause and than she said, "No, I can only sing in blue cars!" My car, amazingly enough, is not blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when I told her that next week will be our last week to meet, she said with a really sad voice, "But I will miss you." Much better than when she used to scream "I hate you!" when I would go to see her at school at the beginning of last school year. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-3760315191928850930?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/3760315191928850930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=3760315191928850930' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3760315191928850930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/3760315191928850930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/i-heart-my-clients-most-of-time.html' title='I heart my clients (most of the time)'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-4284654560666798361</id><published>2011-08-15T19:10:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-15T19:14:55.072-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's not all it's cracked up to be</title><content type='html'>Don't you hate it when you crave something and wait for it and than when you actually get it, it's just so-so?  The last few weeks at the grocery store, I've eyed something that I really wanted, but talked myself out of it for two weeks because it's not that good for me.  But yesterday, I finally broke down, realizing that if I don't get it, I will forever crave it.  So, I had some with dinner tonight.  And it just didn't even taste that great.  I was disappointed.  But now the craving is definitely gone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other hand, I've also been craving pancakes for about a month, but I keep forgetting to buy mix while at the store.  So I had pancakes for dinner last night.  I'm not usually a big fan of pancakes.  If I'm going to eat a breakfast food, I first want French toast and than I want waffles.  But those pancakes were pretty good.  However, I realized that they might have been pretty expensive pancakes, because what are the chances I'm going to want pancakes again before the mix goes bad?  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-4284654560666798361?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/4284654560666798361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=4284654560666798361' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4284654560666798361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/4284654560666798361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/its-not-all-its-cracked-up-to-be.html' title='It&apos;s not all it&apos;s cracked up to be'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-6617771710192273701</id><published>2011-08-12T20:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-12T20:37:53.717-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A train. A train. A train. A train.</title><content type='html'>And another train. That's how many trains I got stopped by this week. Really just in two days. So, anyone want to admit to putting the beacon on my car that sends all trains to the train tracks I am approaching? Because I wouldn't mind if you take it off now. It's been fun, but I'd like to travel in normalcy next week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously though, it was almost laughable. Tuesday, my client and I were driving to the DCFS office for our session. I approached just as the train lights started going off signalling that I could no longer cross the tracks. It precipitated an interesting conversation about how trains are dangerous. Being the best therapist she's ever met, I took it as an opportunity to discuss proper boundaries and how if you respect the rules of trains (don't play on the tracks) than they are not dangerous. I won't suggest she watch Unstoppable any time soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Than on the way back to my office I approached the train tracks in East Peoria just as the lights started flashing so that I had to wait for the entire train to pass by. I took out my book and put the car in park when the train stopped on the train. For at least a minute before it started back down the tracks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Than on Thursday, I was on my way to my office with my squirrel-catching client when we were approaching the East Peoria tracks. Just as a train was coming. Seriously, I am not lying. Luckily, this one was only 8 trains long. I counted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And than on the way home we were getting off the highway to approach the same tracks. But the off ramp was backed up further than usual. I could just peer up the road and through the trees to see. What's that? A bird? Nope. Definitely a plane. Although it was at least the end of the train. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of hours later, I was travelling back through East Peoria and got stopped. Again. This time it was by an engine only, going backwards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crazy, when you think that there are times that you can go months travelling through East Peoria without getting stopped at those tracks. Maybe I need to stop travelling. Oh wait, that's part of my job. Like I said, if you are the one who put the beacon on my car, I'd like it very much if you removed it promptly before I head to Pekin on Monday. Thank you in advance. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-6617771710192273701?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/6617771710192273701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=6617771710192273701' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6617771710192273701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/6617771710192273701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/train-train-train-train.html' title='A train. A train. A train. A train.'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7069833924919149981</id><published>2011-08-11T20:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T20:30:17.181-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A day in the life of an in-home therapist</title><content type='html'>Enter into another perfect day with me. It is 9:30 and I arrive at my first house of the day. The family is sitting outside enjoying the perfect weather. I enter into a conversation with the mother about the logistics of next week's schedule. I half-listen to my client, who is 8, telling me something about trying to catch a squirrel (don't tell my boss that I sometimes only half-listen to my clients!). As I am finishing up with the mom, I turn around to locate my client so we can go, and he is holding a plastic bag under a tree staring at the squirrel. I started laughing and said, "What are you going to do once you get the squirrel in the bag?" He hadn't thought any further than getting it into the bag. It took me a few minutes to convince him to come with me and put off the squirrel-catching until another day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to 2pm. I arrive at my last client's house, who is 12. Grandma goes into his bedroom to wake him up. As we wait for him, she tells me that he has not been sleeping at night but has been sleeping all day. He does not come out of the bedroom. After about 15 minutes, Grandma lets me come into his bedroom and try to get him up. I spend five minutes trying to get him to talk to me. He won't. I go back out to the living room. We wait a few more minutes. I go back. At this point, I tell him that I didn't meet with him last week and that we needed to meet this week. I told him that he could get up and come with me or he could be angry with me for coming into his room every five minutes to get him up. Either way, I was going to be with him for an hour and a half and he was not going to sleep. Grandma gave me free reign to go in and out as I pleased. I started taking things from him. Blanket, pillows. He was not getting up. I saw a water bottle on the floor and warned him that I might have to use it and than asked Grandma's permission. She laughed and said "You go girl." So, stripped of nothing to cover up with, I started trickling water on his head. Eventually he woke up enough to talk. I finally compromised with him. As long as he stayed awake, we could have our session in his room. He agreed. So, 45 minutes into the "session", we actually got some good therapeutic time in. Well, sort of. I still don't know why he isn't sleeping at night, but we reviewed concerns about his not sleeping at night and discussed some things he could try to do differently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's all in a days work, folks! Squirrel hunter and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Nazi&lt;/span&gt; therapist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7069833924919149981?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7069833924919149981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7069833924919149981' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7069833924919149981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7069833924919149981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/day-in-life-of-in-home-therapist.html' title='A day in the life of an in-home therapist'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-1732915828484517569</id><published>2011-08-11T20:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T20:04:40.811-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Gilmore Girls, how I've missed you...</title><content type='html'>RORY: Well, you know, I guess we don't have to talk about stuff.&lt;br /&gt;LORELAI: Yeah. Who says we always have to be talking? We can not talk.&lt;br /&gt;RORY: Of course we can.&lt;br /&gt;LORELAI: Okay…We should probably talk about how we're not gonna talk, 'cause I don't think we should just go right into it.&lt;br /&gt;RORY: Let's do something that doesn't require talking. Like we could go to the movies.&lt;br /&gt;LORELAI: You want to try not talking at a movie?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, this conversation made me laugh out loud. I love Gilmore Girls. This is my second episode today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Dad, Amy, and the kids were here, we spent a day at a fitness club that Dad got free passes to. Some of the boys were playing racquetball. All of a sudden, I turned to Daynah really excitedly and said, "Do you remember the episode of Gilmore Girls where Rory and Lorelai decide to play racquetball!" And she said yes. And we laughed. Gilmore Girls is such a bonding experience. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-1732915828484517569?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/1732915828484517569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=1732915828484517569' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1732915828484517569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/1732915828484517569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/gilmore-girls-how-ive-missed-you.html' title='Gilmore Girls, how I&apos;ve missed you...'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-639613844125032681</id><published>2011-08-09T20:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-09T20:33:39.671-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's all the library's fault!</title><content type='html'>It's the library's fault that I haven't blogged in over a week.&lt;br /&gt;It's the library's fault that I haven't cleaned my bathroom in...never mind, don't want to gross my mom out :) Over a week. We'll just go with that.&lt;br /&gt;It's the library's fault that I haven't been very social.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a kid I used to love the library. I loved to go and peruse the books. Love the smell of the library (one of my memories is of an old library). But somewhere along the way, I liked to buy books instead. Than I could have my own library. Since I loved to reread books, it seemed smart. And I loaned those books out a lot. But recently, my favorite authors haven't been putting out new books fast enough. That leaves me to have to buy books that I may or may not like. Not always my favorite thing. So, I "remembered" that I could go to the library. And then I found a new author I really liked. I read 4 books this weekend. Yes, 4 full books. Over 200 pages each. I have been putting off doing things like paperwork, eating, checking &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt;, cleaning, shopping, sleeping. You name it, I've put it off. And Sunday I made the mistake of going back for more. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm trying to find some balance.&lt;br /&gt;Cleaned my toilet yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;Went to the store and bought food to actually cook, not just microwave.&lt;br /&gt;Did some dishes.&lt;br /&gt;Blogged.&lt;br /&gt;Checked &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Watched television with Emily (aka, was social).&lt;br /&gt;Here's to balance in my life :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-639613844125032681?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/639613844125032681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=639613844125032681' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/639613844125032681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/639613844125032681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/its-all-librarys-fault.html' title='It&apos;s all the library&apos;s fault!'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7370668506621478532</id><published>2011-08-01T11:59:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T12:05:18.032-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Five chocolate milk glasses</title><content type='html'>Five chocolate milk glasses testify to how little I have been home this week! The only meal I've had at home since Tuesday is breakfast. Well, actually, I did eat lunch at home on Friday. But that's it! Emily was gone all week, too, so literally, last night I washed five chocolate milk glasses and five spoons, one plate, and a cookie sheet. I've had fun tagging along with Dad, Amy, and the kids all weekend. But I'm a bit exhausted. However, I'm trying to hold back emotion today as I say goodbye. But I don't have to do that until two more meals out and a day of hanging out. And than it's back to reality. I'll try to post more later about the goings-on of the weekend. I haven't taken any pictures, so I have nothing to entertain you besides my wit, which seems to be failing me lately as I have read through some boring posts that I have written. Maybe I should watch Gilmore Girls for inspiration...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7370668506621478532?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7370668506621478532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7370668506621478532' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7370668506621478532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7370668506621478532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/08/five-chocolate-milk-glasses.html' title='Five chocolate milk glasses'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-2697106518255215041</id><published>2011-07-26T18:35:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-07-26T18:38:50.431-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back in the day</title><content type='html'>I have a new client who is 7. I met with her alone for the first time tonight. I picked her up and took her to my office. So, while we were in the car, she was very chatty. Here is just one of the funny things she said:&lt;br /&gt;Client: You know back in the day.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yeah. (Not really sure what she was talking about)&lt;br /&gt;Client: Back in the day they had a rap song. Wanna hear it?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Sure.&lt;br /&gt;Client: Stop. Collaborate and listen.&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back in the day...doesn't make me feel old at all.&lt;br /&gt;I had the song stuck in my head the rest of the time I had her. Apparently she danced to this song for her dance recital.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-2697106518255215041?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/2697106518255215041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=2697106518255215041' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2697106518255215041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/2697106518255215041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/07/back-in-day.html' title='Back in the day'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1537673596288144000.post-7694478548561462304</id><published>2011-07-22T14:37:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-07-22T14:41:00.493-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Eavesdropping</title><content type='html'>I was in Target today and I overheard this comment from a girl who was about 6. "I wish I could get a cat! Pink is my favorite color!" At which time I look to what she is pointing to. The hot pink litter scoop. My first thought was, "Anything to do with a litter box would not encourage me to want a cat, no matter what color." But than I realized I have fallen prey to creative colors in the past. Thus the pale pink dust buster I have. I would have never gotten it if it had been gray or black. I guess if I had a cat and I had to clean out the litter box, a hot pink litter scoop might make it a little better! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1537673596288144000-7694478548561462304?l=termfor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/feeds/7694478548561462304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1537673596288144000&amp;postID=7694478548561462304' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7694478548561462304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1537673596288144000/posts/default/7694478548561462304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://termfor.blogspot.com/2011/07/eavesdropping.html' title='Eavesdropping'/><author><name>Teresa</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
