tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48715153439093508602024-03-05T06:58:13.110-08:00Our JourneyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-79637857977821872582012-12-13T16:55:00.000-08:002012-12-13T16:55:10.143-08:00Last Day of School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Today was Bailey's last day of preschool for the year and I had no idea that it was going to be so traumatic. For me, that is. She was fine. But she came home with this giant folder with all of her artwork from the past semester and it hit me . . . my baby's in SCHOOL. Like, REAL school. There was even a progress report inside; are you KIDDING ME!!! Deep breath. It's all going to be okay.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-IptD83OGI9pIhY7W9R60J6hiClX19LsQZ8B4bcjkK-m0uA_CQQABC6oLS89yNA0yf7vc85ld6w7aXqyAhIjWD84_ZZL-wZRMM4IA7xfxdOhgkZURJ8Sibmflv5zCOEU0P9zhHpHp/s1600/P1120271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-IptD83OGI9pIhY7W9R60J6hiClX19LsQZ8B4bcjkK-m0uA_CQQABC6oLS89yNA0yf7vc85ld6w7aXqyAhIjWD84_ZZL-wZRMM4IA7xfxdOhgkZURJ8Sibmflv5zCOEU0P9zhHpHp/s320/P1120271.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Front of her folder</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGH-zYuMm7nywoTRJYx58p2QncfJGZ2w73BkeqsLaYclyf8cHCPPsP51z2O7gWxCJDku3hezOqyUnkn71ZDMTBiweCw4WKJkIebUVd5s1afbBr7U-nCAlx4af1wMt6ge0No5NYq9k/s1600/P1120270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGH-zYuMm7nywoTRJYx58p2QncfJGZ2w73BkeqsLaYclyf8cHCPPsP51z2O7gWxCJDku3hezOqyUnkn71ZDMTBiweCw4WKJkIebUVd5s1afbBr7U-nCAlx4af1wMt6ge0No5NYq9k/s320/P1120270.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So THAT'S why she said she painted her foot</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fruit from "healthy foods" week</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnibXqnW4JNy-Ui2OJIcSiOrJnH_LDoXwHcGhm_6kvliPOzB6Fo4ztHf61hUvj_5i7EKsgWyg7g7JAZ-0nLSkj9gNo0YqEeQx-j5uQXZjOfWrxMrOKp3ttmkcQx_DLdj-tkLbd-8ST/s1600/P1120263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnibXqnW4JNy-Ui2OJIcSiOrJnH_LDoXwHcGhm_6kvliPOzB6Fo4ztHf61hUvj_5i7EKsgWyg7g7JAZ-0nLSkj9gNo0YqEeQx-j5uQXZjOfWrxMrOKp3ttmkcQx_DLdj-tkLbd-8ST/s320/P1120263.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clown made of shapes</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her cute little hands!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween art</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe8Jk3uXQn7nXwzt_r6xAM48j3bnMnP4A0UD_dSv1884_tabQcsmnktnWCayGDuBV5h9lZqLAhTzCGgV7veehwfvq-aVpn9U8xUA8AXE8o5Rq-AaZ6ZRXzk3vXbvG8suirv-enNRx/s1600/P1120267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe8Jk3uXQn7nXwzt_r6xAM48j3bnMnP4A0UD_dSv1884_tabQcsmnktnWCayGDuBV5h9lZqLAhTzCGgV7veehwfvq-aVpn9U8xUA8AXE8o5Rq-AaZ6ZRXzk3vXbvG8suirv-enNRx/s320/P1120267.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Golden Sun and a butterfly</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNxtvmzJKANnkfcvWGAHDQGNmkOUCJcpLH7RU38tGI3zz4iyutAmkNZCLNHG94SF1qXatU9UMWrFLNUUANHAhZ7__13R5CvjpeoybXFzVfaKKPwhpRe6b9If5hUbjcZ7kivzlDDzYH/s1600/P1120268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNxtvmzJKANnkfcvWGAHDQGNmkOUCJcpLH7RU38tGI3zz4iyutAmkNZCLNHG94SF1qXatU9UMWrFLNUUANHAhZ7__13R5CvjpeoybXFzVfaKKPwhpRe6b9If5hUbjcZ7kivzlDDzYH/s320/P1120268.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Furry pig? Pink sheep?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXIfCVKRMKhxe6a8ax81DxGhTn4cQ7uVMAsmfBWq61LMn9rYuGW9Lmsust_rfJ81KrXTE8Ix7hEyraqfX08icp-tmPAySLQR6IuEYu-XMXRo01314ySFvPj6q3WB8pEKXC4yR3Xkc/s1600/P1120269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXIfCVKRMKhxe6a8ax81DxGhTn4cQ7uVMAsmfBWq61LMn9rYuGW9Lmsust_rfJ81KrXTE8Ix7hEyraqfX08icp-tmPAySLQR6IuEYu-XMXRo01314ySFvPj6q3WB8pEKXC4yR3Xkc/s320/P1120269.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even a diploma!!! :)</td></tr>
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We are SO proud of our Bailey girl and all her hard work. She had great notes on her progress report and seems to be going well in class. Let's hope that translates into some fabulous times in California and Utah the next eight weeks!!!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-51633931427920273512012-12-13T16:34:00.000-08:002012-12-13T16:34:10.639-08:00We Did It!The 12 Days of Christmas project is complete! And with only a few hours to spare.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibK7EmwHlmOxzByTA2Fb6_W1tmOBiEgzLaXO6bKjtAr9U0m-12CCPO-kXH-QmG2Md6pYWjDgK9QppI8eyd2eoZKraW00_VnOTKsdwMuXPZj0Z0GiqdWWpNznw75k49lF2NdTTYLyVD/s1600/P1120261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibK7EmwHlmOxzByTA2Fb6_W1tmOBiEgzLaXO6bKjtAr9U0m-12CCPO-kXH-QmG2Md6pYWjDgK9QppI8eyd2eoZKraW00_VnOTKsdwMuXPZj0Z0GiqdWWpNznw75k49lF2NdTTYLyVD/s320/P1120261.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finished tree!</td></tr>
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Here's the run-down of the items we gifted to our "neighbors":<br />
<ul>
<li>Police (the ones that set up shop outside our house and disturb nap time) - A jar of Dulce de Guajaba and sliced bread</li>
<li>Workers (there's a house down the block where one of the guards and a local "chica" live) - Plate of banana muffins</li>
<li>Fruit guys (the ones on the corner that harass us when we're driving and croon over the girls when we're walking) - Four bags of ice for their thermoses </li>
<li>Milk lady - Plate of sugar cookies</li>
<li>Guards (the two along our usual route to the mall) - Plates of sugar cookies and home made granola bars</li>
<li>Fruit Vendors (we're regular customers at Tuesday's AgroMart) - Plate of sugar cookies</li>
<li>Librarian - Plate of banana muffins</li>
<li>Chipa guys (so sweet to Bailey, even when we don't stop in and buy chipa) - Baggie of sugar cookies; we were out of paper plates (besides, Bailey wanted to "help" carry them...baggie it is!)</li>
<li>Sindy and Sylvia (two of our favorite ACA secretaries) - Christmas plates with banana muffins</li>
<li>Bailey's teachers - coffee mugs, Irish cream instant coffee mix and nail polish</li>
<li>Dr. Schmidt (he's recently moved into a new office) - puzzle, markers and paper for the "kid" area</li>
<li>Tio Ruben - snacks to jump start his stay in our house while we're away</li>
</ul>
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Yes, there were a lot of banana muffins and sugar cookies being passed around, but Bailey loves to bake and those are two things that are easy to make, easy to gift, and "easy" to snack on ourselves when there were leftovers! :)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYoo_uAZXeYi3Xnj0vytbN95zPtWKFzs9LDhIhxeAaRTrf_A4kGLJY4PvhE0CqhtF3kmZfh6JwTL_uWx6TMN_cfU10-4FTV81GitGDtNmpmk9gI_gS-wpiR9VlZE91Y7_ACOilcAL7/s1600/P1120259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYoo_uAZXeYi3Xnj0vytbN95zPtWKFzs9LDhIhxeAaRTrf_A4kGLJY4PvhE0CqhtF3kmZfh6JwTL_uWx6TMN_cfU10-4FTV81GitGDtNmpmk9gI_gS-wpiR9VlZE91Y7_ACOilcAL7/s320/P1120259.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bailey with her teachers; I felt weird taking pics <br />with the others on our list...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-37962865285613254692012-12-09T16:26:00.001-08:002012-12-09T16:28:38.427-08:0012 "Days" of ChristmasSince the beginning of the month, Bailey and I have been working on a Pinterest inspired project to give small gifts to people in our neighborhood in celebration of Christmas. We started with a bare Christmas tree - well, a giant green triangle with a star on top - and are adding an ornament every time we give a plate of cookies, bags of ice, or trays of cupcakes to various friends around town. <br />
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The plan was to have 12 ornaments and to gift one goodie every day for the first 12 days of the month. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezey. </div>
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Ha.</div>
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It's the 9th (soon to be the 10th) and there are only six ornaments on the tree. Three of which we put on in one day.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWYKqaUdeKKPLbl7oArcFWxL0wzNEHGlnFfNlRBXkwASi-uD6660RCyJ_KzBjqaC0B5Wm4vU0ws2ycuNYFHpsOgbfOJov6cu9QEcoOGG4KEbXTk5K-o3Laz0-7nhutu-7D13ney3w/s1600/P1120224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWYKqaUdeKKPLbl7oArcFWxL0wzNEHGlnFfNlRBXkwASi-uD6660RCyJ_KzBjqaC0B5Wm4vU0ws2ycuNYFHpsOgbfOJov6cu9QEcoOGG4KEbXTk5K-o3Laz0-7nhutu-7D13ney3w/s320/P1120224.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mixing up banana muffins to take to our neighbors</td></tr>
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You see, the lady that comes to collect the milk I donate doesn't always come on the same day every week. Neither do the trash guys. And the police that set up shop on the corner aren't predicable, either. So I couldn't make up a nice little "advent" type calendar to go by. We're just winging it (which is SO hard for me!). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtOrBLitxcw7go7z_qi0Tlzang1OG9x6tFeZrT_Y4BOUZfla5CY4VoMjVzAui6BbXD-uGhutG-4SLVtLit9dEm0wi9DrX5b4yH8uVePo0dqcSHuXD6U3TYT4eP06BeeYC72QZPBaL/s1600/P1120198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtOrBLitxcw7go7z_qi0Tlzang1OG9x6tFeZrT_Y4BOUZfla5CY4VoMjVzAui6BbXD-uGhutG-4SLVtLit9dEm0wi9DrX5b4yH8uVePo0dqcSHuXD6U3TYT4eP06BeeYC72QZPBaL/s320/P1120198.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day one (actually the 3rd); putting up the second<br />
of three ornaments that day</td></tr>
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But we're not giving up. Yes, we have six ornaments to go and only four days left, but I'm bound and determined to finish. And, let's be honest, Bailey's just along for the ride at this point. <br />
<br />
Even if we have to change the names on the ornaments and give a plate of cookies to the chipa guys instead of the ice cream gal, we will have a dozen red ornaments on that tree by the time we get on our plane bound for home. We will.<br />
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I hope...</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-36526285777682232922012-12-07T15:23:00.001-08:002012-12-08T04:43:35.924-08:00I'm SorryIn the spirit of the holidays, I'd like to offer an apology to everyone that has a child under the age of three.<br />
<br />
I have thought terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad things about you, your child, and - mostly - your parenting. Especially you non Babywise folks. <br />
<br />
It all started roughly 30 months ago when we were blessed with our darling Bailey. We had read the Babywise book, had friends who successfully implemented the Parent Directed Feeding theory, and knew that we bought into the school of thought. The first weeks were rocky, but hey - you spend nine months growing up inside your mommy's tummy and then pop out on a perfect 3 hour eat-wake-sleep cycle. But by the time Bailey was just a few weeks old, she was in a routine and on a pretty good schedule. As the weeks went by, she just rolled with the punches: extending wake times, transitioning to life in Paraguay, and lengthening her eat-wake-sleep cycles first to 3.5 hours, then to four.<br />
<br />
Perfect.<br />
<br />
What do you mean you were nursing every two hours all day long? Isn't your kid like FOUR months old?<br />
<br />
"Growth spurt" you say??? Suuuuuure. You just need to let that kid cry.it.out.<br />
<br />
She's not sleeping through the night? Hummmm...maybe you should read "THE" book. Duh.<br />
<br />
Can you PLEASE stop posting on Facebook about your little one not taking good naps! It's your gosh-darn fault. Buck-up! Be the parent! Adjust wake times and figure it out!<br />
<br />
That's just a sampling of what has rolled around in my head as I read your posts about the woes of motherhood. I may have replied "So sorry! Hope the rest of the day turns around for you" . . . but that's not what I was thinking. Definitely not.<br />
<br />
And while I'm being honest, my running holier-than-thou commentary wasn't reserved just for the non-Babywise moms. No, you fellow schedule Mommies were subject to scrutiny, too, as you struggled with extending the wake times, dropping naps, dealt with interruptions to the day. My pride welled up and I just couldn't understand what your problem was. If you would just do Babywise "right"- whatever that is - you wouldn't have any problems. <br />
<br />
Man did I have it coming.<br />
<br />
And I got it.<br />
<br />
In a word: Boston.<br />
<br />
This kid has been "trouble" since day one. And God has been using her to soften my spirit, reveal a whole lot of "junk" in my heart that I (still) have to deal with, and humble me as a parent, well, as a person in general. <br />
<br />
Because I did nurse her every two hours, all weekend long when she was about two months old and "should" have been on a solid three hour schedule. Growth spurt? Maybe. I dunno.<br />
<br />
Because she didn't magically sleep through the night one night like she "should" have. It was on our doctors recommendation that we just let her cry - for over an hour the first night - when she was about three months old. In his words: "she's too big to need that 3AM feeding."<br />
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Because she's an erratic napper; the things that disturb her one day (i.e. the police setting up a checkpoint outside her window), don't bother her the next. The blender that doesn't wake her up one week, does on the following try. Some days morning naps are two hours long. Somedays (like today) they're 45 minutes. She wakes up happy, but that's not how it's "supposed" to be.<br />
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And the list goes on. <br />
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And I've learned to let go . . . and eat my humble pie as I watch our crazy, unpredictable, fickle baby play contentedly on the floor. <br />
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She will never be the perfect poster-child for Babywise, and neither will I be a perfect mother. That was out the window long before I even got started. <br />
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And I will read posts about other crazy, unpredictable, fickle children with a heart full of empathy, and a soul aching for forgiveness for all the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad things I thought.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-74458905378240301432012-11-27T09:37:00.000-08:002012-11-27T09:37:44.832-08:00Trebumkotte Thanksgiving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Spending holidays away from family and the traditions that have been a part of your life since before you can remember is one of the things that makes living abroad hard. You do what you can to recreate the meal and you spend the day with the friend that have become your surrogate family, but it's still not the same. Fun, and the best you can muster, but there's a part of you that misses family just a bit more than usual. </div>
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That said, we had an enjoyable time with two other families (plus two singles) from ASA this past Thursday. We started off with nap time for the girls while we finished up the food and waited for the others to arrive. Waiting for the others outlasted nap time, so the girls were in full-fledged play mode when it was time to get our grub on.</div>
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The table was filled with delicious food: turkey, gravy, twice-baked mashed potatoes, squash casserole, green bean casserole, green salad, dressing and rolls. YUM!!!<br />
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Once we ate, we all ignored "Mom"'s advice to wait 30 minutes before swimming; it was hot and the pool felt amazing. This is the part of the day where Brandon snuck away from the group and grabbed himself a tryptophan-induced nap. <br />
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The girls took a swim break to munch on some popsicles, while the rest of us held out for apple pie and blueberry dump cake.<br />
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As the evening came to a close, the wind picked up a bit and temperature dropped just enough that Bailey wanted out of the pool. So it was time for some turkey coloring in the coloring books Bobbie put together for the girls for just such an occasion.<br />
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Boston was under the weather; cold + fever = no fun. This was about as festive as she got on turkey day. Oh well, she'll have plenty more, filled with family and friends and the "right" foods on the North American continent. {SMILE}<br />
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By the way: Trevino + Bumgarner + Waterkotte = Trebumkotte; and I'm going to miss those guys. I don't know what we'd do without them.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-53310280343331869152012-11-27T05:42:00.000-08:002012-11-27T05:42:45.951-08:00Brandon's TurkeyThis whole fiasco started nearly six weeks before turkey day, as we sat around the pool with our Thanksgiving family, delegating pieces of the meal to each other. I'd made an apple pie for a previous gathering and was put on pie duty for Thanksgiving. Others had made various side dishes for other BBQ's and/or at last year's feast and were called upon to recreate those dishes. <br />
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Then it got to Brandon.<br />
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And we all laughed. <br />
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He didn't know why.<br />
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Maybe it had something to do with the fact that his usual contribution to a meal is in the form of drinks? Maybe?<br />
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His pride took a hit and - you know Brandon - he set his sights high. "Fine!" he said. "You laugh all you want; I'll make the turkey!"<br />
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We chuckled again; well, they all chuckled and I rolled my eyes, knowing that Brandon is just stubborn enough to make it happen. Then I got nervous about how much it was going to cost us to import this darn bird.<br />
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The rest of the story is best told with the pictures I took of the process. I forgot a few of the first "steps" so you'll just have to imagine Brandon planted in the chair at the computer, youtube-ing "how to brine a turkey." His jaw hit the floor several times as one video kept throwing out lines like "two days later" then "wait overnight" and "three days later." I just laughed. And he found another recipe that had a shorter timeline.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adding salt and sugar to boiling water to make the brine</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cleaning out the turkey</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Putting the turkey in a garbage bag<br />(hey, you do what you can with what you have)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bag o' turkey in the fridge's vegetable<br /> drawer, then add the brine</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drying off the brined (and rinsed) turkey</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for the oven!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6tOTuftIjsu1Lizi1IZVuHfvsfvNDoFszxD01uHd-WFJ7R0VwH8nbxlxXCkVJR5bUTT5U7mRBDEBegVXR1rwMHOBPl3-aTo7kMczOQ_D2i-Bz-i3tRRJk5KU16H5lhTaKPR_3qqzl/s1600/P1110869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6tOTuftIjsu1Lizi1IZVuHfvsfvNDoFszxD01uHd-WFJ7R0VwH8nbxlxXCkVJR5bUTT5U7mRBDEBegVXR1rwMHOBPl3-aTo7kMczOQ_D2i-Bz-i3tRRJk5KU16H5lhTaKPR_3qqzl/s320/P1110869.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It cooked MUCH faster than expected</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOzZKQljiyIGQi3evU0IjfOobUUk1pY5m6VyZAIzMsf0v8D4sAahhnBePAqdTthLiNaz9ZLZT2SJ6lijwfqg2XXd0fxmzhzBVSwlajRsIqPCNdx8vpUILdCsC7_iGomwMNjJ-mlzIm/s1600/P1110875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOzZKQljiyIGQi3evU0IjfOobUUk1pY5m6VyZAIzMsf0v8D4sAahhnBePAqdTthLiNaz9ZLZT2SJ6lijwfqg2XXd0fxmzhzBVSwlajRsIqPCNdx8vpUILdCsC7_iGomwMNjJ-mlzIm/s320/P1110875.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to carve his masterpiece</td></tr>
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How did it taste you ask? Let's just say that Brandon will be the designated turkey-cooker in this household. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-47347436790011929522012-11-16T17:03:00.000-08:002012-11-16T17:03:45.734-08:00Rock a Bye Baby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the words of Bailey "Where's a the rocking chair? They come a take a the rocking chair away?"</div>
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Yeah, baby. The rocking chair is gone.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy reading stories to little Bailey girl</td></tr>
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I knew better than to get attached. It was only ever on loan. The former academic director at Asuncion Christian Academy had used it for all four of her kids; since the youngest was nearly three when we moved here, it wasn't being used for nursing duty. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyW1rTmGQZ3Gc57jOOqwmtrF6pXLclx8ll0Q4WhYFtTFOpH2QByv5iw8XYnd7wZ3lyVNSrMyo4KXOKp5i4ODi7gZ2k_3_9XoosZTAXxsQ7Wdyh1i8OqFYPI57iVX6YEzoAjH31TWEg/s1600/P1060271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyW1rTmGQZ3Gc57jOOqwmtrF6pXLclx8ll0Q4WhYFtTFOpH2QByv5iw8XYnd7wZ3lyVNSrMyo4KXOKp5i4ODi7gZ2k_3_9XoosZTAXxsQ7Wdyh1i8OqFYPI57iVX6YEzoAjH31TWEg/s320/P1060271.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">iPhone time with Graw</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I was - and am - incredibly grateful for the loan. It was much more comfy than a dining room table chair tucked in the corner. And nursing Boston will be a bit "harder" now. But it still wasn't the right chair. You see, I was supposed to nurse my babies in my great-Aunt Ruby's rocking chair. The one with the squeaky springs in the seat that poke your bum through the crimson and mustard fabric cushion. Then again, she was "supposed" to be around to gift it to me herself, instead of me inheriting it just weeks before Bailey's arrival in 2010. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uaMWgDFtOiHrv4R-ZHMqwzCX4yaDOgVdyW0V4Q9msDPJlFfPmqGHeu7fwr7MHt5xo9m2gkT_sRjGtulU3yKj-qM9GqI-RDnNEWC6Pi692lFl6F2Yxnm_LbrkbhLR7gZvA0fZYPDp/s1600/P1060458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uaMWgDFtOiHrv4R-ZHMqwzCX4yaDOgVdyW0V4Q9msDPJlFfPmqGHeu7fwr7MHt5xo9m2gkT_sRjGtulU3yKj-qM9GqI-RDnNEWC6Pi692lFl6F2Yxnm_LbrkbhLR7gZvA0fZYPDp/s320/P1060458.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stashed the phone for a "cheese!"</td></tr>
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Instead, I fed my girls on someone else's chair. With a seat-back that leaned a bit too far back and spindles that I could never situate in a comfortable way along my spine, even with an afghan draped over the back. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5oRFWh_57Prhm7RZNxlFSZ6zyusimDCfclTayKkb_TPduwpOqGrqRWrgNRyaq-Axw-S4VpgmwAU-FJGeQGzlj1aimNWWXC-Y9gpWz-BTlLLFnYkGIa8UOSQJiInBKkSpyH25vpZRa/s1600/P1110747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5oRFWh_57Prhm7RZNxlFSZ6zyusimDCfclTayKkb_TPduwpOqGrqRWrgNRyaq-Axw-S4VpgmwAU-FJGeQGzlj1aimNWWXC-Y9gpWz-BTlLLFnYkGIa8UOSQJiInBKkSpyH25vpZRa/s320/P1110747.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super awkward/terrible last-ditch<br />effort to get a pic</td></tr>
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Even if it was all wrong - wrong chair, not super comfortable, weird & unpredictable squeaks in the rock, so few pictures of it, five minute warning that it was being picked up and taken away - it was still "ours" for a season. It's what I used to feed my girls and soothe their boo-boos in. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA5uTMepPXeoEXjL1TYHoIcPdPEjGRXk2zIDcJddqfeVqjKp5sCatcMnLvr6Ad_ZrfvbKNo45ngRmvBHZDaEx55gPp0Z8db9Ws2IfkUgUhCk_LCGTLg_aX-y9E_KPO54r5dpoaEE9/s1600/P1090443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA5uTMepPXeoEXjL1TYHoIcPdPEjGRXk2zIDcJddqfeVqjKp5sCatcMnLvr6Ad_ZrfvbKNo45ngRmvBHZDaEx55gPp0Z8db9Ws2IfkUgUhCk_LCGTLg_aX-y9E_KPO54r5dpoaEE9/s320/P1090443.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ONLY picture of me (sort of ) in the chair.<br />At least I'm with both my babies.</td></tr>
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And I'm going to miss it . . . I already miss it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-86001370035599847742012-11-09T10:28:00.000-08:002012-11-09T10:28:18.622-08:00Marine Ball<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_bMzQqcfOT4NxzXJNspxNzTA3pOUz3vfYQQ-FM_QHOpX8JXIy2QQ3AMpL3V5fNBFnRk8MCJfTNghIneCIV33TAvNhurn5b2ePuXQdJJ9Xc90T5SA-b7tNIq7gkaTz2lTfNstPnJj/s1600/P1110531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_bMzQqcfOT4NxzXJNspxNzTA3pOUz3vfYQQ-FM_QHOpX8JXIy2QQ3AMpL3V5fNBFnRk8MCJfTNghIneCIV33TAvNhurn5b2ePuXQdJJ9Xc90T5SA-b7tNIq7gkaTz2lTfNstPnJj/s320/P1110531.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arriving at the ball</td></tr>
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Months ago we found out about the Marine Ball and the open invitation to American citizens in the area. Tickets were pricey - $75 each - but it's used as a fundraiser for the Marine Corps (fundraising for what, I don't know, but whatever). We recruited some other teachers from ASA to go with us - two of our Ciudad del Este daughters - and headed out to the edge of town to party the night away. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK6JGl_jkQTUoIQW8hX5xK9y76Ue587-g8tFHIvCW55qexcaNIsylhhEaWj4BLa7YfpAvu9_JfvlTQYsgwkg6rP1pkFY6USbpx4NWIP0PfxXtWtH6Gns9q1MKt16lNn_0NC3voxQg5/s1600/P1110532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK6JGl_jkQTUoIQW8hX5xK9y76Ue587-g8tFHIvCW55qexcaNIsylhhEaWj4BLa7YfpAvu9_JfvlTQYsgwkg6rP1pkFY6USbpx4NWIP0PfxXtWtH6Gns9q1MKt16lNn_0NC3voxQg5/s320/P1110532.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our "children" Patricia and Katie</td></tr>
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The evening opened with a cocktail hour - of which we missed 55 minutes due to slow service at the salon and one of the girls having to be at school for the re-scheduled Halloween event. But we made it just in time for the hour long ceremony celebrating the marines and their 237th birthday.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3l6K_8u4A6JHZhgkrqYpAcWBElW59A2WQyAulZEJzoRe9kZ5UToULFpKXJh0sq2PM_ytR3R-4g3DXkgv_lxb3t2GxQMWne3A-Q89Ey9YCfkhwaDqjtGF0NAMbAHQ-TJ1HsgytIjW/s1600/P1110537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3l6K_8u4A6JHZhgkrqYpAcWBElW59A2WQyAulZEJzoRe9kZ5UToULFpKXJh0sq2PM_ytR3R-4g3DXkgv_lxb3t2GxQMWne3A-Q89Ey9YCfkhwaDqjtGF0NAMbAHQ-TJ1HsgytIjW/s320/P1110537.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the ceremony</td></tr>
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The Ambassador to Paraguay spoke, as did two other marines. One of whom called our attention to a lone place setting in the back of the room, complete with sword, hat, purple heart, and blank name badge in honor of all the marines who have lost their lives, both in combat and otherwise. Then there was a commemorative video shown honoring the corps and their legacy of service. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7Ij2BtQpCiAFkhtt8gLUKtygh_2lWa_HwCN6PrciJQ5sIA_-ppgVdrvQD2LLo92rZXbrBXb2i2JV655js3PDZB4_DqVxWizD3qLPzWIs0rqHN7IW89qRJo52F9nC5TFwrRrepdie/s1600/P1110543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7Ij2BtQpCiAFkhtt8gLUKtygh_2lWa_HwCN6PrciJQ5sIA_-ppgVdrvQD2LLo92rZXbrBXb2i2JV655js3PDZB4_DqVxWizD3qLPzWIs0rqHN7IW89qRJo52F9nC5TFwrRrepdie/s320/P1110543.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awww...</td></tr>
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The final ritual of the evening was the cutting of the birthday cake. The first slice was given to the guest of honor - this year being the Ambassador. The second slice was given to the oldest member of the marines. After taking a bite, he passed the slice to the youngest member of the marines to symbolize the passing on of the traditions of the marine corps. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvBVpmcm74Oolu2O-CAcRZBCoCV0KrgniH7HAGpU9QqGTzWf1_JS2IgFXjc8U_vxtFcNbMnQYPE-H-QNjFlS06lZFXbESbkHZ754hYb8I4CtS0Y4tvDzCzyhsaTPf-CpB_SpHznzh/s1600/P1110547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvBVpmcm74Oolu2O-CAcRZBCoCV0KrgniH7HAGpU9QqGTzWf1_JS2IgFXjc8U_vxtFcNbMnQYPE-H-QNjFlS06lZFXbESbkHZ754hYb8I4CtS0Y4tvDzCzyhsaTPf-CpB_SpHznzh/s320/P1110547.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the kids</td></tr>
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Once the formalities were complete, it was dinner and dancing for the rest of the evening. Our table was situated in the back (do they know Brandon, or what?) right next to the OFFICIAL kids table. This year was the first year they allowed children (over a certain age...maybe 9?) to come so that they could honor their parents and experience this part of embassy life. Brandon, of course, tried to steal fries from the students, and they returned the favor by offering him half-eaten, coke-dipped french fries. Oh to be 10 again. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaknyDUftNNpmbQ0H9ttculAwYE2-bZt0dvw_J_EEQLg2rat08RfVfMJFzP6p5Nob88OzioFgXDwZbBGx4j8rCaOffCL1cOKVuaB-VKxiMW2XwJznGCR6P8JNe9UkoGG0COXCRG5b/s1600/P1110549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaknyDUftNNpmbQ0H9ttculAwYE2-bZt0dvw_J_EEQLg2rat08RfVfMJFzP6p5Nob88OzioFgXDwZbBGx4j8rCaOffCL1cOKVuaB-VKxiMW2XwJznGCR6P8JNe9UkoGG0COXCRG5b/s320/P1110549.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The dinner was delicious, and I was SO grateful to have chosen the safe chicken meal instead of the beef. Brandon's steak was practically moo-ing. The dessert, though, was iffy at best and the girls and I kept trying to get up enough courage to slice ourselves some of the birthday cake instead. But alas, we didn't. Another night with no dessert.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3wHvN0qa0_ICFSh72cNPiJF60XiYyaFhadR7WM9GX_4FRQhyphenhyphenmJXpc-uvq9FKf8DYBeROOTuOcLexGSIKQ5gW-uM_PBHSR8QBX8ObnH535zFRAfhmAfHgPGsHenQha3XQPfuSQajj/s1600/P1110550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3wHvN0qa0_ICFSh72cNPiJF60XiYyaFhadR7WM9GX_4FRQhyphenhyphenmJXpc-uvq9FKf8DYBeROOTuOcLexGSIKQ5gW-uM_PBHSR8QBX8ObnH535zFRAfhmAfHgPGsHenQha3XQPfuSQajj/s320/P1110550.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Honorary place setting</td></tr>
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The music started blasting after the plates were cleared and we literally danced until 2 A.M. when the banquet hall had to shut down (we had the option to stay longer, but we would have had to pay an extra $50 EACH . . . we weren't having THAT much fun). <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-GmJC3-g_v7i-NPE2Syjkp8Ee3SyFziFDrOl7hyu6pDk6R1SIfxsiKJudNs4LVnUhqVXaM_KWHFsav6ZN5kCuQqyUuO6AIlABDiMP9hVNajARGAx4ULuGJMbca1TAGelwPUbIIhc/s1600/P1110553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-GmJC3-g_v7i-NPE2Syjkp8Ee3SyFziFDrOl7hyu6pDk6R1SIfxsiKJudNs4LVnUhqVXaM_KWHFsav6ZN5kCuQqyUuO6AIlABDiMP9hVNajARGAx4ULuGJMbca1TAGelwPUbIIhc/s320/P1110553.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So tempting...</td></tr>
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But you want to know MY highlight of the Marine Ball? Going to the salon and getting my hair and makeup done! Not that the evening wasn't fun in and of itself, but it was the first time I was pampered like that. Even when Brandon and I got married, my sister did my hair and makeup while we sat in the floor of my bedroom in my parents house. So to sit (kid free) in a salon, having someone else wash, dry, curl and style my hair; do my makeup and put on fake lashes...it was glorious!<br />
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Mostly the "kid free" part.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-53871093630258888242012-11-07T08:28:00.004-08:002012-11-07T08:30:12.897-08:00Halloween, Take 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Friday after Halloween, ASA was scheduled to have their annual Halloween party. During the week as we visited the school to play on the swings and have some library time, we saw the decorations slowly take over the campus as they prepared for the big event.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugs9Ky7U41G7h64ix_LGo6vRWE1kOa976NgHYjuvbX8rki4lDwD0Zb-ne-3yHZkKzuKvGBjHe68uJTyPTIUb9PRj2TXwUD7FhMFrD9kTRaZku-0GeV3eLY433tnHzwTveTWxd35N7/s1600/P1110443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugs9Ky7U41G7h64ix_LGo6vRWE1kOa976NgHYjuvbX8rki4lDwD0Zb-ne-3yHZkKzuKvGBjHe68uJTyPTIUb9PRj2TXwUD7FhMFrD9kTRaZku-0GeV3eLY433tnHzwTveTWxd35N7/s320/P1110443.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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But, sadly, the threat of rain caused the event to be postponed until Saturday - when Brandon and I were set to go to the Marine Ball.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-wJnB-np9MIMUPILHLIgdAqYl7mvsE8p_smi3wRnqWGYxoM7J5fIPQgnf1wFd_QRG4rvlAaR_WajK4W1Jj4F0MnJFZeghbIzMAjbgGjrWX78tWXBCOPSkw17mRcCYv4SbT3OIIFE/s1600/P1110446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-wJnB-np9MIMUPILHLIgdAqYl7mvsE8p_smi3wRnqWGYxoM7J5fIPQgnf1wFd_QRG4rvlAaR_WajK4W1Jj4F0MnJFZeghbIzMAjbgGjrWX78tWXBCOPSkw17mRcCYv4SbT3OIIFE/s320/P1110446.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Sister! Look at Mommy!"</td></tr>
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Though I'm not a BIG fan of Halloween, I was a bit disappointed that the girls wouldn't be able to wear their costumes again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsoKxnvWbze6b1OQQ02iOJ7h7ZBkQDiYzePcNa_fRagEx5W-UcgL3C3S8ItNJxBawLQGritWnpaBeduHLyIRJNiNoqJoc4jxGw5k6zUwPEp1xRDTtYoW9U_ud87R4h4Z2zbYqjkypi/s1600/P1110457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsoKxnvWbze6b1OQQ02iOJ7h7ZBkQDiYzePcNa_fRagEx5W-UcgL3C3S8ItNJxBawLQGritWnpaBeduHLyIRJNiNoqJoc4jxGw5k6zUwPEp1xRDTtYoW9U_ud87R4h4Z2zbYqjkypi/s320/P1110457.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to hide from the camera</td></tr>
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Bailey's got some good milage out of her get-up at preschool, but Boston only wore hers for the official "baby's first halloween" pics we took on Wednesday morning. And those stripes took several nights to sew on! She was GOING to wear it again. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0Bvw3I_8Q03NEQR0BlJzSXhWGFJHAHSw03sfBvfEJ1Tz3xKTBEAx5kUx71JmksiRV2u-5ie34qCmlurnJ7EP6IqR650w5DXUBN1_u5fSY42DiINCcJpINZtpCU3Ww8x-ftzD9g1B/s1600/P1110465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0Bvw3I_8Q03NEQR0BlJzSXhWGFJHAHSw03sfBvfEJ1Tz3xKTBEAx5kUx71JmksiRV2u-5ie34qCmlurnJ7EP6IqR650w5DXUBN1_u5fSY42DiINCcJpINZtpCU3Ww8x-ftzD9g1B/s320/P1110465.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing with trash (Bailey was VERY concerned)</td></tr>
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With the campus empty on Friday afternoon (and the threat of rain being an <i>empty</i> threat) we roamed the hallways like we owned the place to get some festive pics. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXZ8BrU0hNjJaCdDtxpifW0LtElV-8jXPL3ltVQoNjLhNBsD7lV3BaFqm5zZcqId5L5TMm2VzyrnFWqA7nz676ZI_6mT0waUk7r_xXxYFQcmx-rRb1F56m4_zqkhIvPdpJXYjXKl-/s1600/P1110472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXZ8BrU0hNjJaCdDtxpifW0LtElV-8jXPL3ltVQoNjLhNBsD7lV3BaFqm5zZcqId5L5TMm2VzyrnFWqA7nz676ZI_6mT0waUk7r_xXxYFQcmx-rRb1F56m4_zqkhIvPdpJXYjXKl-/s320/P1110472.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water? Water?"</td></tr>
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And in all actuality, we would not have been able to get many pictures at all if the campus was swarming with all the other students and their families. Blessing in disguise, I guess. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmaBMhGA-N7zy7QsU2X9GRmY0Wg0gIicNds9DVxzNZD5QjV_IG-HoUlMrEazO3UeMjq8a9aXgGVLbFYs_kOjp7EHtnJbDKE3LiA0V_QCHhQofDiGjUdHGIfuJRzNBang605roJPOOY/s1600/P1110480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmaBMhGA-N7zy7QsU2X9GRmY0Wg0gIicNds9DVxzNZD5QjV_IG-HoUlMrEazO3UeMjq8a9aXgGVLbFYs_kOjp7EHtnJbDKE3LiA0V_QCHhQofDiGjUdHGIfuJRzNBang605roJPOOY/s320/P1110480.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's getting TOO BIG!!</td></tr>
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Plus we didn't have to battle the "but the event doesn't start until 5 and Boston eats at 6 and needs to be in bed by 7 and Bailey's bedtime is 8" issue. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyXr5BTYbS-AcfB-l18NGM4q8jzUYlgd-kYeRxhzcdxvLekPJVG8RWazQ4U5lWXUQKqBuqpmsJcSqD74RNzVGbIdNhN65ixAgAnNtGuKHX-USrthqK6-HwE_r-wzBTN7cf4ks5Hyc/s1600/P1110498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyXr5BTYbS-AcfB-l18NGM4q8jzUYlgd-kYeRxhzcdxvLekPJVG8RWazQ4U5lWXUQKqBuqpmsJcSqD74RNzVGbIdNhN65ixAgAnNtGuKHX-USrthqK6-HwE_r-wzBTN7cf4ks5Hyc/s320/P1110498.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buuuzzzzzzzz!</td></tr>
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We went once the girls were done with naps and got back to the house in plenty of time for Boston's dinner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFeyzecoE77Ta8Q_ydirD6qAeU8SFRfmWrvSGtR5OYs-3agNyOS1Es1_5v8kcHaTHgZQ9OReJXThss4DkeC3JHeKt63eLNm0myxv-J4odJ8sfXIa5L8OykPUtuu0m6hWprqGyan1b/s1600/P1110503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFeyzecoE77Ta8Q_ydirD6qAeU8SFRfmWrvSGtR5OYs-3agNyOS1Es1_5v8kcHaTHgZQ9OReJXThss4DkeC3JHeKt63eLNm0myxv-J4odJ8sfXIa5L8OykPUtuu0m6hWprqGyan1b/s320/P1110503.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checking out the "scary" art</td></tr>
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Happy Halloween!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPId-WjNCp88eauomcnZ7-rvawpPlLQbvXvgBhwwuHqnLcCV11V8ldrtmwTXaJGFkRm7LoPI688SCNx2F5kfmz4_30DVzHangL0pJk05FC-lhw8-fkp_LjCZfYHVuQuVpV5IQiEjji/s1600/P1110506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPId-WjNCp88eauomcnZ7-rvawpPlLQbvXvgBhwwuHqnLcCV11V8ldrtmwTXaJGFkRm7LoPI688SCNx2F5kfmz4_30DVzHangL0pJk05FC-lhw8-fkp_LjCZfYHVuQuVpV5IQiEjji/s320/P1110506.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-83804074750295715332012-11-05T08:43:00.003-08:002012-11-05T08:43:38.060-08:00Halloween, Take 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Now that Bailey's in preschool, we've officially welcomed the era of class parties! Our first being Halloween.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtT49HH1CIh-XrYXCd2k2QAZVHmvyvRzPA5q7DiGM2CxGR50Lo_h3XUforF37V9z8V89dI_d3YSgk0k35k9YHpbqgj2X1UoR0T0ByKP6mOJ7eVtF1MDhHA-kDNzf7xqADRUeY4NJuT/s1600/P1110290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtT49HH1CIh-XrYXCd2k2QAZVHmvyvRzPA5q7DiGM2CxGR50Lo_h3XUforF37V9z8V89dI_d3YSgk0k35k9YHpbqgj2X1UoR0T0ByKP6mOJ7eVtF1MDhHA-kDNzf7xqADRUeY4NJuT/s320/P1110290.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With teacher Ceci</td></tr>
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We "recycled" her birthday get-up from Graw and Pa (the pink onesie and tu-tu), added some wings (courtesy of Lola's birthday party), put her hair in a bun and - voi-la! - we have a fairy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxiiQTasNutzoFbMW5r-GJ-aL6UfbppHILojyTUxvGE5-CI6TO6wZ2ldigPdtv7ra8EP7aShchyXyajpadQD8ipzd1_uKhyphenhyphenUDx9hzKORFbpZtQE-ILvGM0nnhSK-QOvKWd5tRxRBO/s1600/P1110310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxiiQTasNutzoFbMW5r-GJ-aL6UfbppHILojyTUxvGE5-CI6TO6wZ2ldigPdtv7ra8EP7aShchyXyajpadQD8ipzd1_uKhyphenhyphenUDx9hzKORFbpZtQE-ILvGM0nnhSK-QOvKWd5tRxRBO/s320/P1110310.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Class picture! </td></tr>
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At school, they had a "catwalk" set up using some classroom tables and each student got a moment in the sun as they strutted across the stage in their costume. The preschool owner - Maria - was impressive, announcing each and every students' name and their costume.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZx72WyLCZsh1OopuU4fqEuzxL_WZGdh9r_5m1QZoXu1oesGpEsvvJ3i-B2AL73fhTCT2dnqzkc9dd1SF6DvzmT29fpsjqRQqEtT18uKSob2HhggVkakrRL2N7nrkXKi-TFRXTxuEI/s1600/P1110340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZx72WyLCZsh1OopuU4fqEuzxL_WZGdh9r_5m1QZoXu1oesGpEsvvJ3i-B2AL73fhTCT2dnqzkc9dd1SF6DvzmT29fpsjqRQqEtT18uKSob2HhggVkakrRL2N7nrkXKi-TFRXTxuEI/s320/P1110340.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strut your stuff!</td></tr>
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After showing off their costumes to the other students, the kids grabbed their goodie bags (so THAT'S why you needed an old milk carton last week...) and set off to trick-or-treat!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjukzWhtcpQPdQYyeGrvvxcAJWB4cweGXu79G1lKizTPmGCuHOYzZPVudb81vcw15FjpoUgu9pkVtVsOM5E53x_Fk3YtDwSoTuzoPzZxTmpAHeCcrE6E1YJxoOL4BnKACKbvLODK79d/s1600/P1110353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjukzWhtcpQPdQYyeGrvvxcAJWB4cweGXu79G1lKizTPmGCuHOYzZPVudb81vcw15FjpoUgu9pkVtVsOM5E53x_Fk3YtDwSoTuzoPzZxTmpAHeCcrE6E1YJxoOL4BnKACKbvLODK79d/s320/P1110353.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Showing off her batty bag</td></tr>
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They stopped at a neighboring business where the owner handed out candy to each of the kids. From the looks of things, each grade level had a designated house or business to go to so that no one was overwhelmed with ALL the students. Once the handful of candy was in their bags, it was back to the classroom.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHMyMY2KaCo7NWyJ3Y7kdVBfcBgiEk_WF6KPY0CdtwGhmbuJT3Saeu0LS6AVpLLF6D0e19APJLeutx20zE7XZY_J6jgkEwyt3tIDb2_hOW1Q2ZyYdJiSAVp_yUtSRHc_3SAYDC1BB/s1600/P1110360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHMyMY2KaCo7NWyJ3Y7kdVBfcBgiEk_WF6KPY0CdtwGhmbuJT3Saeu0LS6AVpLLF6D0e19APJLeutx20zE7XZY_J6jgkEwyt3tIDb2_hOW1Q2ZyYdJiSAVp_yUtSRHc_3SAYDC1BB/s320/P1110360.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for candy</td></tr>
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Now for the fun part: FOOD! Bobbie (a fellow American mom and friend) and I were the only ones who brought homemade goods to the party. All the other parents had sent store bought cookies, candies and empanadas. And while oatmeal pumpkin muffins were a bit healthier than the other options, I'm definitely doing something with fruit next time. Maybe Christmas fruit skewers...I'll have to check Pinterest...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmfaqFkm_I7tcyv_5SDw01KDHiNafQi9kMamfLzVYQ842zlibdRH7jj7YRh1HR2-p-bMdPKYtqnvdM9DrUNXmRwaeghdsMFEqMqmDEwP-wEY7Nl2nR6IWvSwBwFZuYMyvNvOB-hGl/s1600/P1110386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmfaqFkm_I7tcyv_5SDw01KDHiNafQi9kMamfLzVYQ842zlibdRH7jj7YRh1HR2-p-bMdPKYtqnvdM9DrUNXmRwaeghdsMFEqMqmDEwP-wEY7Nl2nR6IWvSwBwFZuYMyvNvOB-hGl/s320/P1110386.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's eat!</td></tr>
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Bailey had a great time and it was a lot of fun spending the day with her, seeing how she interacts with the other kids. I know that she acts differently when I'm NOT around - I'm not that naive - but she was having fun and felt comfortable in the classroom with her classmates and teachers . . . all good things in my book.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2blN-RUwyQdxVDh8INxBdasvRy6XLu_TIhNVoBd_cv2LW2MCTRRde3B6vmgAJHQYcovTsTt4D-zi0jK9RteNbdHFvOiCr9gZSi-FDo0K0R2pDu9vr_8HLknMNuGDuEyIca8rLWz9/s1600/P1110389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2blN-RUwyQdxVDh8INxBdasvRy6XLu_TIhNVoBd_cv2LW2MCTRRde3B6vmgAJHQYcovTsTt4D-zi0jK9RteNbdHFvOiCr9gZSi-FDo0K0R2pDu9vr_8HLknMNuGDuEyIca8rLWz9/s320/P1110389.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You gonna finish that?</td></tr>
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Before we went home, I snuck one last picture of Bailey on the catwalk since the angle I was at during the "parade" was a bit off:<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-27831444638965851622012-10-29T06:50:00.000-07:002012-10-29T06:50:01.335-07:00Robots in Disguise It dawned on me the other day that I never did a write-up on our car. And that I haven't told very many people about the best part of our car . . . it's a transformer!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://comikazeexpo.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Transformers-Bumblebee-as-a-Camaro-724632.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="http://comikazeexpo.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Transformers-Bumblebee-as-a-Camaro-724632.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://comikazeexpo.com/iconic-movie-cars-and-michelle-rodriguez-to-be-at-comikaze-party-2-18-update/">image source</a></td></tr>
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No, no. Not THAT kind of transformer. But it's kind of fun to think about driving Bumble-bee.<br />
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Our car, in reality, started off somewhere across the ocean where everything is in reverse. Back in 1997 when it was brought over to the Americas, the dash was switched around, but there are some key differences. Some key ANNOYING differences.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwhj1Q0UriMa9H6S8N0PrZ52t8dlCTGpUyleHHbwJTqy1vZrHmUFOga7tfv_r94T3zfzOKn26DxqUazhZ1PmVDpD3WzrerVx214zDAelnQHuWRQzmYgEw3DiBbxdvsYiBFQygyPbg/s1600/P1110217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwhj1Q0UriMa9H6S8N0PrZ52t8dlCTGpUyleHHbwJTqy1vZrHmUFOga7tfv_r94T3zfzOKn26DxqUazhZ1PmVDpD3WzrerVx214zDAelnQHuWRQzmYgEw3DiBbxdvsYiBFQygyPbg/s320/P1110217.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>
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The gear shift still faces the passenger seat. That is, the display showing whether you're in reverse, drive, neutral, etc. is on the right and you can't see it when you drive. You either have to count clicks or watch the display next to the odometer. And you have to push the gear shift button with your pinky because it, too, is on the passenger side. <br />
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The "wands" on either side of the steering wheel for the blinker, windshield wipers and headlights are on the opposite sides. I can't tell you how many times I've gone to turn on the blinkers to make a turn and ended up raking the wipers across a dry windshield. And it's customary to use the wipers to indicate that you don't want your window cleaned by the street kids; I've had quite a few unwanted washes when I turned on the blinkers instead of the wipers. Grrrrr.<br />
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The panel for rolling up/down the windows that is on the driver's door is also a bit tricky. The top row - the one for the driver and front-seat passenger - is in reverse. The bottom row - for the back seat windows - is normal. So, top left: front-seat passenger. Top right: driver. Bottom left: driver-side back seat. Bottom right: far post. Got it? Yeah, me neither.<br />
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Until this week, we thought those were the only things weird about the car (aside from the minor curiosity of the hazard button being closer to the passenger than driver). But on Wednesday, Brandon took Bailey to school in the morning and accidentally left the headlights on. Thanks to some good friends, we got Bailey home from school and got a jump for the battery. Later that evening, we were in the car, headlights on, when we pulled up to the house. Brandon left the lights on (again) after he stopped the car and when he opened the door...no warning *ding*ding*ding*. But when I opened the passenger door...*ding*ding*ding* The warning is still wired to the <i>old</i> driver - now passenger - door.<br />
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So there you have it. That's what it's like to drive a transformer. It's not nearly as glamorous as Shia LeBeouf and Megan Fox make it out to be. Figures.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-79359010894848108912012-10-12T17:40:00.000-07:002012-10-12T17:40:20.737-07:00Lost and FoundLast Sunday night, I thought that this might be the last picture I would ever take of Nala. A picture originally part of a series of pics for a yet-unwritten post about my now-failed attempt at a garden; more to come on that later. Maybe.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inspecting the depth of the hole for my zucchini plants </td></tr>
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We came home from a bar-b-que with some friends around 7:30 and saw that the large gate (our "garage door") was ajar. It wasn't swung all the way open, just a foot and a half or so gap. We left the girls in the car to check on the house (no signs of an intruder, phew!) and I cried out "Nala! Nala girl!" <br />
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"She's not here, Stacy," Brandon replied (without even looking, I might add).<br />
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He was right.<br />
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She was gone.<br />
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Caring for our girls trumped the Nala search (sorry pet lovers, but baby beats dog every time) and I choked back tears as I got Boston and Bailey to bed. It had been an especially long weekend for Bailey: 10 P.M. bedtime Friday night (yikes!) and 9 P.M. on Saturday (plus the loss of an hour, so it might as well have been 10 P.M. again). Understandably, she was out of sorts and needed some extra love at bedtime. I laid in bed with her for a while, praying safety for our precious dog. <br />
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Unbeknownst to me at the time, Brandon took off in the car, searching the neighborhood for our pet. He asked the guards along our street and our restaurant owner neighbors . . . no one had seen her. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bailey drying the rain off of Nala</td></tr>
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Once the girls were settled and Brandon done with his search, we talked about what we were going to do. For safety reasons, we didn't feel comfortable leaving the gate open overnight in hopes that Nala would return on her own. Dogs do that, right? Remember where they live. Go back home when they're done with their galavanting. All we could do was listen for the neighbor dogs to bark and check if it meant that Nala was back in the area. <br />
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It didn't seem like enough.<br />
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I had to go out myself and look.<br />
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It had nothing to do with me not trusting Brandon's search, I just know myself and know that I wouldn't ever forgive myself if I just sat around the house and did "nothing". So I backed the car out of the driveway and took off, windows down, crying "Nala! Here, Nala-girl!" all the while. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our FIRST pictures of Nala</td></tr>
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I drove down our street for a while- tracing the path that I used to run along with Nala - then went a few blocks off of our familiar trail to talk to different guards. "Te viste un perro negro?" Nothing. No one had seen anything.<br />
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I crossed a fairly busy street (think Hermosa if it were only two lanes wide with store fronts and parking spaces lining the curbs), praying that I didn't see her sprawled out in the street. Praying that I wouldn't be the one to hit her as I searched. THAT would have put me over the edge, for sure.<br />
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Near the mall, I came across a guard who said that he saw her about an hour earlier, and he pointed toward another main street (this time, think Foothill, by Victoria Gardens, but only two lanes each way with busses weaving and out of traffic). <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bailey has grown up SO MUCH since then!</td></tr>
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If the guard was right about Nala, she was headed in a straight line. After a detour at a park cady-corner to the guard (what dog doesn't like a good romp at the park?) and a few more "te viste un perro negro" 's with the street kids (mad that I didn't have any change for them), I made my way across the busy street and resumed asking neighborhood guards and families enjoying the cool night air if they'd seen our dog.<br />
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No, lo siento senora.<br />
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Maybe she didn't come this far.<br />
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Back across the street and headed home. Slowly. Not wanting to admit defeat. <br />
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Oh, and I just remembered that tomorrow kicks off "dog week" during learning time with Bailey. Figures.<br />
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I wove up and down countless side streets, asking families walking home from the grocery store and parking attendants alike if they'd happened upon a black dog. "Un perro alto y un poquito flaco?" (Yes, Nala's a girl, and I know I should end everything with an "a" . . . I just have a hard time calling her "perra"; it just doesn't seem right).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What would Bailey do without her friend? </td></tr>
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Back home.</div>
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Search "complete," but not complete. She was still out there.</div>
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Ten o'clock rolled around and so I snuck into Boston's room for her last feeding of the night. As I held her, I again prayed for Nala. I prayed for her safety. I prayed that she wasn't hurt. That she wasn't pregnant. I prayed for forgiveness when the thought "I won't have to pick up poop anymore" snuck into my head. I prayed for her return.</div>
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Just as I was about to lay Boston back in her crib, Brandon pushed the door open and mouthed the words: "She's back!"</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Nala-girl, safe and sound</td></tr>
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Turns out, the neighborhood dogs were happy to announce Nala's reappearance in the neighborhood. Trouble was, when Brandon went to the door and he saw Nala at the gate, Nala bolted! Brandon was shirtless and shoeless and locked in the patio. As Nala sprinted away from the house, he scrambled for his keys, unlocked the front gate and took off after her. She made it (safely) five blocks away from our house before Brandon finally caught up to her. </div>
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We gave her a preliminary check-up and there wasn't a single mark on her. No bite marks, scratches, nothing. God heard our prayers. </div>
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And the vet says that as long as she wasn't in heat (we're 99% sure she wasn't/isn't) that puppies are out of the question. We take her mid-November to check for pregnancy and - if she's not - take care of "things" for good. </div>
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We still don't know how she got out; the gate's been secured in the same manner for the past sixteen months and this is her first escape. But the gate swings IN, towards the yard, so there's no way she opened it herself. Our theory is that there was someone walking by, Nala barked, and they kicked at the gate to scare her. And at that point, I think it's safe to say that they BOTH took off running. Go get 'em, Nala! :)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-41733635644257789502012-10-08T09:54:00.000-07:002012-10-08T09:54:25.171-07:00Iguazu Falls, Take 2In April of 2011, we visited the Iguazu Falls for the first time (see <a href="http://trevinofam5.blogspot.com/2011/04/iguazu-falls.html">post</a>). This past weekend - a three-day-er due to "spring break" on Friday - we journeyed back to Ciudad del Este with another family from ASA to take in the sights once more. This family, too, had been to Ciudad del Este once before, but had not seen the falls due to a rainy day (*foreshadowing cue*) and sick baby. They were determined to see the falls.<br />
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On Friday morning, we loaded the girls into the car and set off on the "five hour" journey across the country. Literally, we drove from one side of the country to the other in 327 kilometers (230ish miles). Highways have a max speed of 80 kilometers an hour (50 mph), but there are several - no, TONS (of) - places where the highway traverses a town and the speed limit falls to a whopping 40 kilometers an hour (25 mph). Even if you wanted to tempt the national police and blaze through town at break-kneck speeds, the speed bumps would not just slow you down, they'd bring you to a screeching that-used-to-be-my-car-but-now-it's-a-pile-of-steel halt. So we inched our way cross-country, dodging big-rigs and playing chicken with oncoming traffic all the way. Throw in a bogus stop by the police where we (once again) bribed our way out of an imaginary ticket and you can see that there was nothing relaxing about the journey to the city of the east.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bailey taking a nap</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We all feel that way, Boston!</td></tr>
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We reached the hotel just before the car imploded with the emotions streaming out of it's four occupants. Phew! We quickly unpacked and spent the afternoon lounging by the pool, burning off the stress that the drive added to our shoulders.<br />
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Before dinner we decided that it would be a great idea to put all four girls in the bath together. There's a giant tub, they all need baths . . . why not? It was a slippery, splashy mess of a good time and they all survived. Once the little girls were out of the tub, Bobbie turned on the jets for Bailey and Lola. But apparently 2 year-olds don't like "more bubbles" when "more bubbles" is accompanied by some unknown motorized sound beneath their bums. Live and learn.<br />
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The hotel room was absolutely perfect for our family. Bailey had her own twin bed and we used the love seat from the sitting area to create a toddler rail along the side. With the love seat out of the way, we moved the hotel-provided crib from the side of our bed into the curtains. And, no, that's not a typo. We literally put her IN the curtains. We closed the curtain liner, shoved the crib against it, then pulled the "decorative" curtains in front so that she could have her own little space (and we could walk around during nap time without disturbing her). </div>
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Saturday morning arrived, and with it . . . rain. Of course. I had heard thunder during the night and prayed "Oh God, please don't do this to the Bumgartner's <i>again</i>!" but I guess rain was in His plan for our trip. After their failed trip last year to the falls, Bobbie and Andrew were set on seeing the falls, and Brandon and I are up for anything. So we loaded up a van and headed into Brazil (along with three other single girls from ASA who intended to go to Encarnacion but ended up in Ciudad del Este...look at a <a href="http://country.paraguay.com/images/map_paraguay_cities.gif">map</a>...I don't quite know where they went wrong). <br />
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Dirty looks and snide comments ensued as we disembarked the 15-passenger van with the four little girls in tow, but we just smiled and kept on keepin' on. And it was SO worth it!<br />
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Boston was due to eat when we were about half-way along the trail (of course) so I grabbed her from Brandon and took off on a speed walk past the other hikers in search of a spot to pop a squat and nurse. But because of all the rain and some construction, the tables that I remember being at a particular spot on the journey weren't out. So I found a wide staircase (where people could easily walk around us) under a tree (it's much more pleasant to be hit with occasional drops off a leaf than the constant drizzle in the open air) covered up (I'm not that Paraguayan) and nursed Boston with this as my view:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was a brief moment with no one on the platform</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only the railing wasn't blocking the view...</td></tr>
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By the time we were done with the hike, the rain had subsided a bit and we had four happy girls to show off to the ladies who told us, point blank "it's too cold to have these girls out in the rain!"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy little camper!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing around after the hike</td></tr>
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With the falls checked off our to-do list, we had nothing left but to enjoy our time together away from Asuncion and away from the heat. And God blessed us with a peaceful - and uneventful - drive back to our house. We can't wait for the next long weekend! </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-44394213191606287602012-09-18T17:34:00.007-07:002012-09-18T17:34:58.409-07:00Oil and Water Don't Mix<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
No, there's no profound life-lesson hidden in that title, just the scientific fact that oil and water don't - well - mix.</div>
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After sharing a flavored water with Bailey on our trip home from the grocery store, Mommy had an inspired moment; a flashback, really, to days spent in the First Baptist Church of Upland children's area where there was an ancient bottle of blue oil and clear water that kept me fascinated week after week. </div>
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It was time to pass the "tradition" on to Bailey. </div>
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After nap time, and a swim outside with sis, we gathered the necessary ingredients and got to work.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwELvWRHoQgG2F7PAe3c_1g3GN1GVgPPOSjxX4oVJMkNHer56DwqAHFVzf3piN1VaOnmW8gRFHAbLTBGFc-fWDSM2StP0YWf1425QuOd4FGeabjJTbJbO1dYI65c1NHNgPsLYEN0_/s1600/P1100391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwELvWRHoQgG2F7PAe3c_1g3GN1GVgPPOSjxX4oVJMkNHer56DwqAHFVzf3piN1VaOnmW8gRFHAbLTBGFc-fWDSM2StP0YWf1425QuOd4FGeabjJTbJbO1dYI65c1NHNgPsLYEN0_/s320/P1100391.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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First we filled the bottle half-way with oil and Bailey elected to dye it red. When we first put the red food coloring into the bottle, it beaded up on the oil and I thought the experiment was going to fall apart on step one, but we gave the bottle a good shake and the oil took on a ruby hue. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfkBIrooYgsjVB0TwmIbGRh5aC691zzAoEb_fxCGN2dOrn_SqUClmBmSLhcU259TsrrSX3aJ6ZWPRDVVWfeNgS8rdKDB340GwCSHcOtfi_zDjxDsOM7Vy9-1Pge3LxSyUqO2nlatY/s1600/P1100392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfkBIrooYgsjVB0TwmIbGRh5aC691zzAoEb_fxCGN2dOrn_SqUClmBmSLhcU259TsrrSX3aJ6ZWPRDVVWfeNgS8rdKDB340GwCSHcOtfi_zDjxDsOM7Vy9-1Pge3LxSyUqO2nlatY/s320/P1100392.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Next came the water. I filled up a measuring cup with some of the good ol' tap water and Bailey squeezed the last of our blue food coloring into the glass. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ2VB55IWx_OlL4FJ2FH2WZcSW5t2qwhvBTvR1Vfa61eKxI6JNReuIijrbLlijaTTE0U4qhQ9_BhyzRwAia9H-yRvGCDO1EI8h4As0YsvuvVVYF-drZXUwrGbuMpEPaU-M_O_MCOQ/s1600/P1100393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ2VB55IWx_OlL4FJ2FH2WZcSW5t2qwhvBTvR1Vfa61eKxI6JNReuIijrbLlijaTTE0U4qhQ9_BhyzRwAia9H-yRvGCDO1EI8h4As0YsvuvVVYF-drZXUwrGbuMpEPaU-M_O_MCOQ/s320/P1100393.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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After that, the fun part! I gently poured the water into the bottle as Bailey watched. I couldn't see her face - I was trying not to spill blue dyed water all over the kitchen - but she was rather quiet, leading me to believe she was at least somewhat intrigued by what was happening. The blue water "sank" to the bottom and the two colors didn't mix. No purple!!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHtJX6EC1NuAZWTG-9Ju6kn6LU5vPfOUPcHzlV5tFwWPNnEOLpE5bNsJ8B26MNUW9nrXH0aJ4nvF2WO8SKpxNlG6aAj2FaxpnnRRRw-C893DHD57h_-PWXN5thL82ryeG9XjxBqgBh/s1600/P1100396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHtJX6EC1NuAZWTG-9Ju6kn6LU5vPfOUPcHzlV5tFwWPNnEOLpE5bNsJ8B26MNUW9nrXH0aJ4nvF2WO8SKpxNlG6aAj2FaxpnnRRRw-C893DHD57h_-PWXN5thL82ryeG9XjxBqgBh/s320/P1100396.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Then the extras...we took some beads (original bought for some lessons on stringing, but the holes turned out to be too small for the string...and for Bailey) and Bailey got to pick ten to add to the bottle. And of course we practiced counting to ten: once as she selected the beads and laid them on the counter, and again as she plopped them into the red and blue solution.<br />
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Mommy glued the lid on, taped it up for good measure, and let Bailey go at it. Shaking the colors together and trying to find the ten beads.<br />
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If I had to do it over again, I probably wouldn't dye the water/oil such deep colors. It makes the beads extra hard to find and the purple is so dark that it's hard for a preschooler to identify the color as purple. But aside from that, it was a success.<br />
<br />
And, since Daddy came home with an empty Coke bottle after work, I guess we'll take another stab at it soon!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-28751480946142481622012-09-17T11:20:00.001-07:002012-09-17T11:20:44.526-07:00I've Learned to CookTacos. Spaghetti. Enchiladas. Pulled Pork. Fajitas.<br />
<br />
And that's about it.<br />
<br />
Before moving to Paraguay over two years ago, those were our meals. Week and and week out, that's what we ate. <br />
<br />
Over and over again.<br />
<br />
I can't believe we still like those things.<br />
<br />
In all likely-hood there are probably other meals that could be added to that list, but those were my go-to's. And with one of us being in school one night a week, throw in a date night, a dinner out with friends, school event . . . that got us through the week.<br />
<br />
Needless to say I had to pick it up a bit when we got here.<br />
<br />
What do you mean there isn't Rice-a-Roni? No Hamburger helper either? And no cream-of-anything soups?<br />
<br />
The first meal I cooked in our apartment at ACA was bad. Plain white rice (and not even the "good" rice...I didn't know there was a difference) and some chicken with generic "chicken seasoning" sprinkled on top. Not make-you-want-to-order-out bad, but the rice just tasted dirty and I definitely should have used more seasoning on the chicken.<br />
<br />
Flash forward two years.<br />
<br />
I have learned SO much.<br />
<br />
I can make my own enchilada sauce (yes, we still eat them from time to time).<br />
<br />
When a recipe calls for pre-packaged biscuits, I just make my own from scratch and go from there.<br />
<br />
Fried chicken? Got it.<br />
<br />
I can identify herbs by the shape of their leaves (and their aroma).<br />
<br />
I know which spices are stronger (or weaker) here in Paraguay and adjust the amounts accordingly.<br />
<br />
1 cup brown sugar = 1 cup white sugar + 1 Tablespoon molasses<br />
<br />
If I don't have all the ingredients called for, I know which ones are necessary and which ones are "just" for flavor (and how to compensate).<br />
<br />
Melted butter = oil (how did I not know that?)<br />
<br />
I'm not a gourmet cook by any means and I still have to refer to my recipe cards for 95% of the meals that I make, but even then, I've gone from copying down full fledged sentence instructions to simple lists of ingredients with brackets and numbers indicating what order in which to combine which ingredients. <br />
<br />
More than anything, I'm not afraid. I know what we like and I have the confidence to try new things. Thank you, Paraguay, for expanding my cooking repertoire and giving more variety to our weekly menus! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-63570068069869804182012-09-08T07:40:00.002-07:002012-09-08T07:40:37.971-07:00Six O'Clock<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5gtrog-a_H-6lUpsJM_NWzXxbk872bMqs1n7i85fAvXcUyAwUtNgcHywtrUKTiFBjKGgbLk4WFSswVq883gvtX_HqJX9kd1fRvrmLrTIg9KwrarnyIjd1VgWON_SGcARINUpJls36/s1600/P1090985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5gtrog-a_H-6lUpsJM_NWzXxbk872bMqs1n7i85fAvXcUyAwUtNgcHywtrUKTiFBjKGgbLk4WFSswVq883gvtX_HqJX9kd1fRvrmLrTIg9KwrarnyIjd1VgWON_SGcARINUpJls36/s320/P1090985.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Oh how I hate the hastening of that hour.<br />
<br />
Six O'clock.<br />
<br />
P.M., that is.<br />
<br />
Six A.M., I can handle. We're all still cuddled up in bed, waiting for our day to start at 7 A.M.<br />
<br />
But six P.M.? That's a whole 'nother story.<br />
<br />
Bailey's daily movie is over. Toy Story. Max and Ruby. Toy Story 2. Max and Ruby. Toy Story 3.<br />
<br />
Brandon's leaving school, starting his walk home after another exhausting day.<br />
<br />
Boston's trying desperately trying to power through the afternoon without a nap.<br />
<br />
I'm starting to prep dinner, due on the table at seven, lest the rest of the night fall completely to shreds.<br />
<br />
6:15<br />
<br />
Bailey's starting her room time (a blissful 45 minutes where she plays in her room alone)<br />
<br />
Brandon's about half-way home, on a good day.<br />
<br />
Boston's melting down quickly and I have a choice - hold her and delay dinner prep or endure her cries while chopping a few veggies and starting a pot of rice.<br />
<br />
6:18<br />
<br />
I hate hearing her cry.<br />
<br />
6:20<br />
<br />
Narrating my actions helps, a little.<br />
<br />
6:30<br />
<br />
Bailey's either sitting in bed reading to her toys, putting together puzzles, or scribbling furiously on her dry-erase Crayola white board.<br />
<br />
Brandon's home. Maybe. And desperate for a shower.<br />
<br />
Boston's content as long as she's held, so again the choice between a few cries or prepping dinner.<br />
<br />
6:45<br />
<br />
Bailey's screaming "POTTY!" and it's anyone's guess if she really has to go, or she's just anxious to be done in her room and knows that the word "potty" is her get-out-of-"jail"-free card.<br />
<br />
Brandon's home, pacing the house talking about how he needs to take a shower.<br />
<br />
Boston's a mess. Again. Still.<br />
<br />
7:00<br />
<br />
Bailey's done in her room, begging for help to clean up her room.<br />
<br />
Brandon's in the shower.<br />
<br />
Boston's done with the bouncey chair, the walker, the Jenny Jump Up, and the play gym. She's done, period.<br />
<br />
Let's eat!<br />
<br />
7:05<br />
<br />
Bailey's pushing food around her plate, scarfing down the carbs, tolerating the veggies, refusing to touch the meat.<br />
<br />
Brandon's diving in.<br />
<br />
Boston's cries are pressuring me to either scarf down my food at record pace, or leave my plate. I hate eating cold food.<br />
<br />
And so it goes. Round and round. Grumpy and hungry Boston. Tired and stubborn Bailey. Brandon and I trying to hold it all together. <br />
<br />
And then there's 8 P.M.<br />
<br />
THAT'S a glorious time.<br />
<br />
Bedtime.<br />
<br />
For BOTH girls.<br />
<br />
Oh, how I love 8 P.M.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-39778163155235004492012-09-07T14:12:00.001-07:002012-09-07T14:12:53.315-07:00Body PaintI was working on another post, another TWO posts, actually, but today's fun just can't wait. I feel compelled to post the pictures now.<br />
<br />
It started as a simple finger paint session. Things were going well and Bailey painted a picture of Nala (can't you tell?) on orange paper because orange is the color of the week. Then the bomb dropped: no Bible study. I was expecting three other gals to come over for a Beth Moore study (on the book of Daniel) and the plan was to stash Bailey in Mommy's room with a DVD while we ladies did our thing. Hummmm...now what are we going to do all afternoon?<br />
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Body paint! We took our tray of paint outside and continued the finger-paint fun, using our legs and feet as the "paper." Bailey had a blast!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3BuwFTxu1_LkKhEHouYJGOQRyLlZHfNK_lcF_FulnO6QhDGzUU_9S0o8aWp0q1yRrsYzUEsyl9QKlpw-Qd6XdymCBT7KRHUrSR-TWWLKmZDs5TsvtUi0Zmt2BSgI5_2lTu-xdepD/s1600/P1100019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3BuwFTxu1_LkKhEHouYJGOQRyLlZHfNK_lcF_FulnO6QhDGzUU_9S0o8aWp0q1yRrsYzUEsyl9QKlpw-Qd6XdymCBT7KRHUrSR-TWWLKmZDs5TsvtUi0Zmt2BSgI5_2lTu-xdepD/s320/P1100019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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And let's not kid ourselves. I had fun, too; maybe even more fun than Bailey. C'mon, when was the last time that YOU covered yourself in washable paint and DIDN'T have a grin from ear to ear?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_uElGJNTTVj3nftmtQFG3_XWpjx4IN_KAifniYpTIWtBDKd0NuHPEtXPBRG4hzjx7H9nVnNeJYFdL_J9iwHz6dDJgadzc3uctdsSsj5Q6u_WVuqceOE75p0bN7fbtV82hnRp1Jfw/s1600/P1100029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_uElGJNTTVj3nftmtQFG3_XWpjx4IN_KAifniYpTIWtBDKd0NuHPEtXPBRG4hzjx7H9nVnNeJYFdL_J9iwHz6dDJgadzc3uctdsSsj5Q6u_WVuqceOE75p0bN7fbtV82hnRp1Jfw/s320/P1100029.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Since this impromptu activity came on the heels of our "learning time" portion of the day, we of course reviewed shape names and (some) letters as we drew on each other. But she's two and my legs aren't that long, so we didn't have room for all the capital letters A through T (yes, I'm bragging; Bailey know's her capital letters A-T).<br />
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<br />
We painted until the tray was empty, and even then, Bailey insisted on swirling her finger around and around, hoping to get a few more drops of fun out of it.<br />
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<br />
The best part of the whole debacle, though, came when Bailey stood up proudly and declared that she was going to paint a bra. <br />
<br />
Wait...what?!?<br />
<br />
"A'ma paint a bra!"<br />
<br />
Don't worry, I video taped it, too, for future blackmail - er, I mean, for posterity's sake.<br />
<br />
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Ta-Da! The finished products!<br />
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Had Brandon been around, there would be pictures of the clean-up, too, which involved lots of scrubbing and one squirreley little toddler racing around the grass trying to escape the reach of the hose. Not a chance, toots! In the end she was soaked from head to toe - and laughing all the while. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-46633075549020392532012-08-19T17:52:00.000-07:002012-08-19T17:52:04.005-07:00Boston Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Three of the past four posts have been about Bailey, so I thought it was about time for an update about Boston. She's growing by the minute and is already filling out clothes that Bailey wore at nine months. She squeals in delight regularly and is an extra-smiley little baby. And boy, is she a trooper. We tote her around everywhere as we go through our days and most of the time she doesn't skip a beat. Thanks to babywise, we've got a pretty good schedule ironed out, which means we know what times are best to go out, how long we can stay gone, and when we should get home. Even when things get a little "off" . . . a good night's sleep fixes everything and we start over again in the morning. </div>
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Anyway, here are some pics to show you how Boston spends her days:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toes! I have toes!!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freed from the car seat at dinner</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB2AKXdeiHlNDAhx_OKf9bRIfGj-hb-cfobKUVPe0X2ppusXahdrwEg7kIklWEEUa5CwAhzccd442LI1CVPZJRxDigP2H0DN5ElbALDA7LPUc0ZwW11Lc2AbNj-7_RmpFGD__NPdo8/s1600/P1090579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB2AKXdeiHlNDAhx_OKf9bRIfGj-hb-cfobKUVPe0X2ppusXahdrwEg7kIklWEEUa5CwAhzccd442LI1CVPZJRxDigP2H0DN5ElbALDA7LPUc0ZwW11Lc2AbNj-7_RmpFGD__NPdo8/s320/P1090579.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tummy time while sister naps</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjubHS425C9n8dVw5cvU33Rq2sSoYvRpMSKdbwrX7QBtLpBLHrOZvmkugYU3dfjdR1qC9H61H_Q8v1F9MVfjzML3kaspRRQ6KT_vVsPO1GgqZ_cogdrQT6XxQorkM9MMQVcch9af6RS/s1600/P1090583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjubHS425C9n8dVw5cvU33Rq2sSoYvRpMSKdbwrX7QBtLpBLHrOZvmkugYU3dfjdR1qC9H61H_Q8v1F9MVfjzML3kaspRRQ6KT_vVsPO1GgqZ_cogdrQT6XxQorkM9MMQVcch9af6RS/s320/P1090583.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bumbo! (and pony tail)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9_yvMVeL0lIBRoKgeuP72nGa9obk0BVlRr41Eequ2aS_VQgQdZj2oN5evaNV7TG4cq99Z40UiKDMewCVlx4WU3MEsBsDdhI6befQ6Z4V6c1MGg2wUALTRzboFgcdEWcEaUah5w7a1/s1600/P1090666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9_yvMVeL0lIBRoKgeuP72nGa9obk0BVlRr41Eequ2aS_VQgQdZj2oN5evaNV7TG4cq99Z40UiKDMewCVlx4WU3MEsBsDdhI6befQ6Z4V6c1MGg2wUALTRzboFgcdEWcEaUah5w7a1/s320/P1090666.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Listening to her sister "read" to her</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpDabynRR-52k1Car9pHmhBrRbdvZbJ42Jagzoc37CtfSfaYnXW4ZfaxigD3LDSi8laJZv1WSNJXeH3lD0oMSAnskAwIQM3R9J16tZMl1oe0lVh8ybZSRT4LtqKwC0ZQ8cO6xdzBH/s1600/P1090703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpDabynRR-52k1Car9pHmhBrRbdvZbJ42Jagzoc37CtfSfaYnXW4ZfaxigD3LDSi8laJZv1WSNJXeH3lD0oMSAnskAwIQM3R9J16tZMl1oe0lVh8ybZSRT4LtqKwC0ZQ8cO6xdzBH/s320/P1090703.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chewing on her Jenny Jump Up</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1RCnFylELJDEV-DBglXKXWGIfjg5l4G24DSwcVtBC90CKnQOMORuY9IzemyEUiAT5SJ7JwcMMPImoMpxS4I8A258aT6AfMbC9Umr22elJdGJgf4KBC3Gn5EHQ0B6oYRp4WRWSUwi/s1600/P1090719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1RCnFylELJDEV-DBglXKXWGIfjg5l4G24DSwcVtBC90CKnQOMORuY9IzemyEUiAT5SJ7JwcMMPImoMpxS4I8A258aT6AfMbC9Umr22elJdGJgf4KBC3Gn5EHQ0B6oYRp4WRWSUwi/s320/P1090719.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checking out her new walker</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05pmTUQYBIFAUCzPoaMYc_uHOrgRTLtVwY70h01S9KMQ_md7gc5GYjl0FEDtS7r2e7OWCbLEm7nvtmZQ3j6bXCLgQPoOeHXQSGj6NbaEcrrET71o96fiiQyNoH-Hn2kLyryQcZO4p/s1600/P1090745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05pmTUQYBIFAUCzPoaMYc_uHOrgRTLtVwY70h01S9KMQ_md7gc5GYjl0FEDtS7r2e7OWCbLEm7nvtmZQ3j6bXCLgQPoOeHXQSGj6NbaEcrrET71o96fiiQyNoH-Hn2kLyryQcZO4p/s320/P1090745.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just hangin' out</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7P3_oQ0ZNMq1sJUnyeGzGthVGkFDvGsV9i57BC76Tw_-OIvVcGhv6NMAXj0gubAK-H2MxMj85EX5oU3YefKFluxfZi3EL8Gd9wPB99kkGmc994iIz9UnlVlVDApVBD2-nRo0jZ0a0/s1600/P1090778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7P3_oQ0ZNMq1sJUnyeGzGthVGkFDvGsV9i57BC76Tw_-OIvVcGhv6NMAXj0gubAK-H2MxMj85EX5oU3YefKFluxfZi3EL8Gd9wPB99kkGmc994iIz9UnlVlVDApVBD2-nRo0jZ0a0/s320/P1090778.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crying it out before a nap in her car seat</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGevl30mqLxptUFUzGKRRgruxt-o6MtejHQGqox66UgjYy1z0HZPgaDq7Y7ZHvlPiFQRqFCIh33zCmb8azhz_UymujYpD39tSQTbuA4EWvPvOw48pm14hoPArsPu5EIotR5pKlSl1m/s1600/P1090782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGevl30mqLxptUFUzGKRRgruxt-o6MtejHQGqox66UgjYy1z0HZPgaDq7Y7ZHvlPiFQRqFCIh33zCmb8azhz_UymujYpD39tSQTbuA4EWvPvOw48pm14hoPArsPu5EIotR5pKlSl1m/s320/P1090782.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing with her feet . . . again</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiquy0sgbJKGMMNQKRCLorTGw4Jd7HDIMt-YQguEBHYDI0JSnw2YxeCZ-8trehtej-j5LR973WbII_fOrOdNa8OAahH7J4XpgWvyE_vVR0SC7fOG6YpYxfca6q8YMHoVk4ksk0DiIeo/s1600/P1090786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiquy0sgbJKGMMNQKRCLorTGw4Jd7HDIMt-YQguEBHYDI0JSnw2YxeCZ-8trehtej-j5LR973WbII_fOrOdNa8OAahH7J4XpgWvyE_vVR0SC7fOG6YpYxfca6q8YMHoVk4ksk0DiIeo/s320/P1090786.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Watching" an elementary soccer game with sis</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-15621487809262509312012-08-10T18:03:00.000-07:002012-08-10T18:03:26.653-07:00The Purple Game<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Friday marked our second play date with our pastor's twin girls. After some "free play" time, we played the most AMAZING game ever. The purple game. </div>
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Now, as everyone knows, all games have to start with a read-aloud. Okay, so I made that part up. But the girls didn't know any better (it's part of the game!) and we enjoyed reading <u>To Market, To Market</u> together. Ideally the story would have had something to do with the color purple, but you do what you can with what you have.</div>
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After the oh-so-vital story time, we covered the coffee table with Nala's bath towel, and I brought out a bowl and two cups. One filled with red-colored water, the other with blue-colored water. (Here's the part where you pretend you don't know where this "game" is going.)</div>
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The girls stood on one side of the table and I stood on the other, with the cups out of reach of their anxious little hands. After they identified the colors in the cups, I poured one of the cups into the bowl. Let's say it was red. The girls squealed in delight as the red liquid filled the bottom of the bowl (and no, we didn't talk about how liquids have definite volume, but not definite shape...maybe next time). I asked them what color was in the bowl. RED!!!! </div>
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Next I held up the cup with blue water in it and asked them again what color it was. BLUE!!! And what color will the water be when I put it in the bowl with the red? BLUE!!! </div>
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(insert grin over the upcoming teachable moment!)</div>
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As I poured the blue water into the red, the girls jumped and screeched as the water DIDN'T turn blue. PURPLE!!! they screamed. </div>
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After a quick re-cap about red and blue coming together to make purple, each of the girls took a stab at the purple game. They even discovered that it didn't matter which color you put in first - red or blue - in the end it always became purple when the two were combined.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGz1hpSz6yWd7A5dGgStK0st9jaYZCvCePl56dYuNY4IONcG711qLaNJApocJAZNuVxYEZubL_dr_324zxvI6PCgg9uCsLEsS8BZsVslEClpDhldxclYMf7g0cb1bgpLl8ftPn3bAU/s1600/P1090617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGz1hpSz6yWd7A5dGgStK0st9jaYZCvCePl56dYuNY4IONcG711qLaNJApocJAZNuVxYEZubL_dr_324zxvI6PCgg9uCsLEsS8BZsVslEClpDhldxclYMf7g0cb1bgpLl8ftPn3bAU/s320/P1090617.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue in one cup, red in the other </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluAMeHvDrtmDONe_huTUWhQBLKkRNy0JWNO9xozgjfE0rV56XT6FMzAy1Sz8_i8ornHT1ovzmhMLOxS1-85wM-0Vw0G5VZdYTmK-TcROmbtiU1Z3vZXSncEXxzpGKFcPiUuUd_8gl/s1600/P1090619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluAMeHvDrtmDONe_huTUWhQBLKkRNy0JWNO9xozgjfE0rV56XT6FMzAy1Sz8_i8ornHT1ovzmhMLOxS1-85wM-0Vw0G5VZdYTmK-TcROmbtiU1Z3vZXSncEXxzpGKFcPiUuUd_8gl/s320/P1090619.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue first, then red</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqo2uyzjr2Xw6XZN1oPzoHuJGfnA-U_9h_XmfmeGLSoEkjjhCRSZ57GZiUw0aVA2RMs8UIUXXJYgmJLdNSDd5u99lXOweCUMg7xYlNEQL6cXIOU0MuBRBSEmIyzC9PbcfrPNCXTe4/s1600/P1090621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqo2uyzjr2Xw6XZN1oPzoHuJGfnA-U_9h_XmfmeGLSoEkjjhCRSZ57GZiUw0aVA2RMs8UIUXXJYgmJLdNSDd5u99lXOweCUMg7xYlNEQL6cXIOU0MuBRBSEmIyzC9PbcfrPNCXTe4/s320/P1090621.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red first, then blue</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3ddYEUIJ3xj30bTGbEdrBpGCiO46nIAtwZxSkuJrOp1gWVKWT6DjXXGWWY1fyDctM91dgdEQbybZbRzmNDPfPFjaFdIaJZmFl6iAckDlU0rwgX9h64j6hfD9J4zX4ot58_yJ3aIY/s1600/P1090623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3ddYEUIJ3xj30bTGbEdrBpGCiO46nIAtwZxSkuJrOp1gWVKWT6DjXXGWWY1fyDctM91dgdEQbybZbRzmNDPfPFjaFdIaJZmFl6iAckDlU0rwgX9h64j6hfD9J4zX4ot58_yJ3aIY/s320/P1090623.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Master mixer!</td></tr>
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And what play date would be complete without some (shirtless) butterfly-esque finger painting?!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUAj8XDpAFwJYyiaKL8QVnHeN-RdFEJV0Re0wRouc_DUgrmBFfkx_s68J6REmNfJqyiiyT5P8jDdeUseK4tBDiTJghIErT0iWcebR3BfoI3TDG5n4ofjcOml1Fadq5oEAkiFtD5RIZ/s1600/P1090633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUAj8XDpAFwJYyiaKL8QVnHeN-RdFEJV0Re0wRouc_DUgrmBFfkx_s68J6REmNfJqyiiyT5P8jDdeUseK4tBDiTJghIErT0iWcebR3BfoI3TDG5n4ofjcOml1Fadq5oEAkiFtD5RIZ/s320/P1090633.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-83214674984361829962012-08-10T12:28:00.000-07:002012-08-10T12:28:32.580-07:00MoldBack in May - shortly before going/coming to California to visit - I noticed something in our bedroom that explained my increased sneezing, itchy eyes and the congestion that accompanies most allergic reactions...<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtE6In6Ui9_qoXrlXDQFWNYtWInL59F6wW__h_baQEHg1k9cy5uNo1YFPxRZ0qK3jsV_T1IBpqu6IF8hxUgpwzAjbQs-00MihmWgcblDZgQoHq2wEBRA2WVkNByfAz1ZggF1ZIfdgI/s1600/P1090534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtE6In6Ui9_qoXrlXDQFWNYtWInL59F6wW__h_baQEHg1k9cy5uNo1YFPxRZ0qK3jsV_T1IBpqu6IF8hxUgpwzAjbQs-00MihmWgcblDZgQoHq2wEBRA2WVkNByfAz1ZggF1ZIfdgI/s320/P1090534.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 1</td></tr>
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MOLD.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqrPrWuQDnrnCYRUMrgh_UkNm6XWAx_hx8FUSkvkMy2khthd1GiIeiEJqE79RsGaw-yNLTz4x9U-t_sMAXUldFnkZnVtETLe7W2KoMGd5NjsZ-uKIuzSGufHvj-LNrc1RwSBtkTw_/s1600/P1090535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqrPrWuQDnrnCYRUMrgh_UkNm6XWAx_hx8FUSkvkMy2khthd1GiIeiEJqE79RsGaw-yNLTz4x9U-t_sMAXUldFnkZnVtETLe7W2KoMGd5NjsZ-uKIuzSGufHvj-LNrc1RwSBtkTw_/s320/P1090535.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 2</td></tr>
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Our roof has leaked since the day we moved in; to the point where I get up in the middle of the night to lay out towels in key places around the house when the rain starts pounding the roof in the middle of the night. We told our landlord and he just kind of shrugged and said "okay." </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVG0un222dS1FxQ7etr0zuDlSwsjXCvE3I8ofFvhMwfI6mdkdZQ2HrEqjhC6FIWTCZ8S4IC-vH5XjL68FFZWZr81uhoONuklgp01GMnc8YeqYRYPL7naWAYMdXMcef9_kZfGpM4-Li/s1600/P1090536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVG0un222dS1FxQ7etr0zuDlSwsjXCvE3I8ofFvhMwfI6mdkdZQ2HrEqjhC6FIWTCZ8S4IC-vH5XjL68FFZWZr81uhoONuklgp01GMnc8YeqYRYPL7naWAYMdXMcef9_kZfGpM4-Li/s320/P1090536.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 3</td></tr>
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<div>
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<div>
Humm...</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdXuenv9tKkU63k-EWcg9HQA3tqhOpU8pArE927KB5ARRZVFutKl9ngEMW2ubveUH2SsmrODBhqqD0pkNIV6tGrAHRz4FMf3x349CJ0_h1FM-LbpXkpWeOatGqDSc_8tytG7OOtYp/s1600/P1090537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdXuenv9tKkU63k-EWcg9HQA3tqhOpU8pArE927KB5ARRZVFutKl9ngEMW2ubveUH2SsmrODBhqqD0pkNIV6tGrAHRz4FMf3x349CJ0_h1FM-LbpXkpWeOatGqDSc_8tytG7OOtYp/s320/P1090537.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 4</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<div>
My assumption was that it was just a Paraguay thing and we needed to suck it up. It's just part of living here.</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreq1fD_ToEkmaL_6cC6wBKsjMOtFpqsMYURO5Fr2TpEayCTqwt_TjFf55mTIgnN8_22fSdedboUD4H_PKTqioGdILW2LAYV0mztIJhb3FDOO50WTJ2H-wT42IVjNHEMUOLKM-eGqE/s1600/P1090539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreq1fD_ToEkmaL_6cC6wBKsjMOtFpqsMYURO5Fr2TpEayCTqwt_TjFf55mTIgnN8_22fSdedboUD4H_PKTqioGdILW2LAYV0mztIJhb3FDOO50WTJ2H-wT42IVjNHEMUOLKM-eGqE/s320/P1090539.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit 5</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<div>
The leaks (and therefore mold) are confined to the back two bedrooms; ours and the one we've been using as the guest room. Thankfully, Bailey's room was free of the nasty black stuff. And, to be honest, I can handle the congestion. After 30 (yes, thirty) years of dealing with allergies, what's a few more sniffles? But Boston was sleeping in the room with us at the time, and we'd be moving Bailey into the "big" room after the Cali trip. We HAD to clean it up. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QEBaCtUiJv_viq2NZEtFUFG3wLoGowd6AlVIQjH66-NpKYT4_gnanxlzVOV0a1ezW2xAyof6eV9zKZKhtNAte7yCkH7WgbIUITl5ptuo5FiePxPWxXz7DiraETsjkl9JbHa1y0qU/s1600/P1090545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QEBaCtUiJv_viq2NZEtFUFG3wLoGowd6AlVIQjH66-NpKYT4_gnanxlzVOV0a1ezW2xAyof6eV9zKZKhtNAte7yCkH7WgbIUITl5ptuo5FiePxPWxXz7DiraETsjkl9JbHa1y0qU/s320/P1090545.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandon getting a head start on the ceiling while the<br />other boys work on the roof</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<div>
Our six week hiatus (and the wintery conditions in Paraguay) only grew the problem. Literally. So we set a date, grabbed some friends, and attacked the mold. We used a bleach solution, followed by a good washing, then a sealant. Plus, our friend Ruben's dad came to replace a dozen broken roof tiles. No use cleaning up the mold if the cause is still there, right?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOfWzoBXJVqdMvaCcs8TIMLlIDOYqEgleUtXpqA6L7kwA88ufjdcFEk8lvnbc7F3YVLOVSir8PKICHADg-KeSJ6kZeZy6FCSFoOrGqE28KiapuB4SD0xngXWUg1Xf_keinlP4dusVh/s1600/P1090542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOfWzoBXJVqdMvaCcs8TIMLlIDOYqEgleUtXpqA6L7kwA88ufjdcFEk8lvnbc7F3YVLOVSir8PKICHADg-KeSJ6kZeZy6FCSFoOrGqE28KiapuB4SD0xngXWUg1Xf_keinlP4dusVh/s320/P1090542.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We moved our bed to the living room</td></tr>
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<div>
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<div>
Now the mold is gone and our ceilings look better. Well, sort of. The paint came off with the mold in some places, so it's taken on a spotted appearance, but as long as the mold is gone, I won't complain. Too much. </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoeygzs9gm0bCqpHrMwDtqEK8dW16esKdyCST3kXQXyCFSg7nnbWx4YYVifNTyvRNm964-yO64hqKp3_p9WPJsehrjDXZyBg96n3j9iVDtdkUNXHsHw0mo8i0Ur-qV89IVdPT4Zm52/s1600/P1090543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoeygzs9gm0bCqpHrMwDtqEK8dW16esKdyCST3kXQXyCFSg7nnbWx4YYVifNTyvRNm964-yO64hqKp3_p9WPJsehrjDXZyBg96n3j9iVDtdkUNXHsHw0mo8i0Ur-qV89IVdPT4Zm52/s320/P1090543.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Things from our room were piled in the dining area</td></tr>
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<div>
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<div>
And we're taking steps to make sure that we don't contribute to the problem from the inside. The big things being opening the windows in the mornings and line drying our towels between showers. So far the house has felt less stuffy, which is always a nice feeling.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7h0_AsTGq3tMiNJpSmZnw52OZej2lDW-bTnSbiD8SCG2dLa3Km7XxgZ9Q0KV89DDwjscWEoZRU4DvkoFDiYiVnv3N6fJjNM9DdkjTNaWiJE9oz0O5jtpmGRzwy4jYAfN1LymHJyM/s1600/P1090544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7h0_AsTGq3tMiNJpSmZnw52OZej2lDW-bTnSbiD8SCG2dLa3Km7XxgZ9Q0KV89DDwjscWEoZRU4DvkoFDiYiVnv3N6fJjNM9DdkjTNaWiJE9oz0O5jtpmGRzwy4jYAfN1LymHJyM/s320/P1090544.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Extra baby "things" were stashed by the fridge</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Now we're just waiting on a good hard rain to see if the roof repairs hold up!</div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-26460504488834584752012-08-03T11:10:00.000-07:002012-08-03T11:10:22.446-07:00Chores<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The past few weeks have been full of changes for our dear little Bailey girl! Among other things:</div>
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<ul>
<li>Travel from California to Paraguay (with a pit-stop in Panama)</li>
<li>Time change</li>
<li>Instant switch from summer to winter (though it's already starting to feel like summer again in Paraguay)</li>
<li>No more Graw and Pa in the morning</li>
<li>No more trips to Brooklyn's house (oh how it breaks my heart when she asks if we can "go Brookey house?")</li>
<li>No more talking to Abue on the phone (well, she does still, but it's all pretend now)</li>
<li>Preschool</li>
</ul>
<div>
And Mom and Dad's favorite addition? CHORES!</div>
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Don't get us wrong, she's not doing anything solo at this point. In fact, her "doing" of the chores actually makes tasks take LONGER and are more work for us than they are a help. For now, at least. But she's learning discipline and what it means to be a part of our team, team Trevino!</div>
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In the mornings she's in charge of feeding Nala, pointing out poop for us to scoop, and helping sweep up the leaves and debris in the yard.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgciCVJwHaCE7Jla-hBk54OKBKlzBw7BB__adV5_GKGcacQKsqwxUPrQQRzbWt68cVcjCOpLrIds7oWpfbgs8BtcE0uC3Cr1k5Y3JuTUI1yrYACZhyv_D0ISkIZ4tCaPEPscQSXZHTO/s1600/P1090472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgciCVJwHaCE7Jla-hBk54OKBKlzBw7BB__adV5_GKGcacQKsqwxUPrQQRzbWt68cVcjCOpLrIds7oWpfbgs8BtcE0uC3Cr1k5Y3JuTUI1yrYACZhyv_D0ISkIZ4tCaPEPscQSXZHTO/s320/P1090472.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"So heavy!!!"</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP933T-EBDW9Dh_bijhXANebvDEiJqvBLbLTBjW9EmvkNB-mwqVoRnLwxYVPzRO94Dy9tGFbojnLg71mDnSY9sfTEl7ajT8FoQwNNoVs0QxdyoKuKbHC847VLYhn24g9RK8XBaVyGo/s1600/P1090475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP933T-EBDW9Dh_bijhXANebvDEiJqvBLbLTBjW9EmvkNB-mwqVoRnLwxYVPzRO94Dy9tGFbojnLg71mDnSY9sfTEl7ajT8FoQwNNoVs0QxdyoKuKbHC847VLYhn24g9RK8XBaVyGo/s320/P1090475.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have to supervise her scooping, otherwise Nala<br />would probably get five or six scoops <br />of food instead of two!</td></tr>
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In the afternoons she helps Daddy water the grass and has once rinsed the bubbles off the dishes as I washed them (though our small kitchen makes dish-washing a hard job for two people to do, especially when one has to stand on a chair to reach the sink!)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GxE_jAShGOkz_KdkOc0uSKNx370mj_rc5joKR3vj5gPHjmOZpz4JxdTwnAN-P0Yf11LGQR1WrL9Y9T_XFvWuwDqg0_qFem_32GsuAEJwHp8TTJ41XvMpNwa8oo4CNLTuqAwY_CK4/s1600/P1090510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GxE_jAShGOkz_KdkOc0uSKNx370mj_rc5joKR3vj5gPHjmOZpz4JxdTwnAN-P0Yf11LGQR1WrL9Y9T_XFvWuwDqg0_qFem_32GsuAEJwHp8TTJ41XvMpNwa8oo4CNLTuqAwY_CK4/s320/P1090510.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"No! Bailey do it!" says Miss Independent.</td></tr>
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Evening time comes and she helps move the car back inside the fence, gives Nala her dinner, and is in charge of "setting the table" (just forks, her own sippy cup, and her own plate; nothing sharp or breakable). <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMveGShcF5mR_IAb9mmI5SskLGwvg7bdgqI4dLrnogtHhEz0svqgwtZe8H1LegW34rca5fRleBx1LcDZZ8q_Txs4cK-Us0yNgpUXygMNZkDSvGQubErcVZ2DgTAJwsirl6hjR3ocXL/s1600/P1090518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMveGShcF5mR_IAb9mmI5SskLGwvg7bdgqI4dLrnogtHhEz0svqgwtZe8H1LegW34rca5fRleBx1LcDZZ8q_Txs4cK-Us0yNgpUXygMNZkDSvGQubErcVZ2DgTAJwsirl6hjR3ocXL/s320/P1090518.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving the car with Daddy</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3eWOXuXvGPNhT6oifpnJhEBgy0EofY2Jjccvv3OrLnShz5RRYij81KocAuhz4mWAi23NRa3LuFbN2RT3oOkeOWLo0W9MsKDRmlRDsXKoljmQ8KJ1NKnQbpuusDnwHyaZrWzTgcgN/s1600/P1090521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3eWOXuXvGPNhT6oifpnJhEBgy0EofY2Jjccvv3OrLnShz5RRYij81KocAuhz4mWAi23NRa3LuFbN2RT3oOkeOWLo0W9MsKDRmlRDsXKoljmQ8KJ1NKnQbpuusDnwHyaZrWzTgcgN/s320/P1090521.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pushing our fence closed</td></tr>
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<br />
She's always been a great picker-upper of her toys, so I wouldn't call that a "chore" per-say. And we usually clean up as we go so that the house is never a disaster at any given moment. <br />
<br />
So far she's doing great with the added "responsibilities"and loves helping Mommy and Daddy. Soon, though, I'm going to start a sticker chart for her so that she still has motivation to work hard when the novelty of it all wears off.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-84715377971087843212012-08-03T06:17:00.001-07:002012-08-03T06:17:32.790-07:00Maria's Preschool<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrR-dt5rlPW_A7NM0UkUzW2lwmnASCKPCYgigDoKqaeamZjLrrqlpqyfKA8MbDdqfkQ_ug4PQ6OK15mr1jT4DfrRjpMFvnqAEtv5ghXrwa4CD7syMO6CalDv1PTyPYKiKTGHD6pGMi/s1600/P1090487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrR-dt5rlPW_A7NM0UkUzW2lwmnASCKPCYgigDoKqaeamZjLrrqlpqyfKA8MbDdqfkQ_ug4PQ6OK15mr1jT4DfrRjpMFvnqAEtv5ghXrwa4CD7syMO6CalDv1PTyPYKiKTGHD6pGMi/s320/P1090487.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for her first day!</td></tr>
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It's official. We've taken the plunge. Bailey is enrolled in preschool! Tuesday was her first day and she will be going twice a week. How did we get here? When did our baby grow up???</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVuAFSHdIDSeHXbsxOKBanPX3LlZm3z1KCww-MAwHgwRVk3zFJsAyOLoXEFDSwjmvos5ck67idI_As0HgahL16J9ETn1SQbxd8dkTW3jqjYJEmYn_Ql0rZWb_oK2RCJjyMXrUz0SS/s1600/P1090489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTVuAFSHdIDSeHXbsxOKBanPX3LlZm3z1KCww-MAwHgwRVk3zFJsAyOLoXEFDSwjmvos5ck67idI_As0HgahL16J9ETn1SQbxd8dkTW3jqjYJEmYn_Ql0rZWb_oK2RCJjyMXrUz0SS/s320/P1090489.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's in the owl room</td></tr>
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<br />
While we lived at Asuncion Christian Academy, Bailey had daily contact with other kids, neighbors, teachers and even some of the kids' parents. But after living in our house for the past year, I realized that Bailey was missing out on interaction with other kids (and adults). 99.9% of her time was spent with me, Dad and Nala. Now to add Boston to that mix. Not that it's a terrible thing to hang out with Mom, but sharing toys with Mom is a lot different from sharing toys with a fellow toddler. And there's something to be said for NOT being the center of attention every second of your life. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9l7G5l_tsLx-x6KCT2wjc50_14ozaHsGe4eOmJ2Kh_x0kS1p9B7MrpTw5gbqHgPbA3k9G9T35yj6V6Hpy8vaPeNXoyPE82RL9HonsZeA7W4yNrVL2wpn5tP6_FrL00hkYzhLlsxL/s1600/P1090490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9l7G5l_tsLx-x6KCT2wjc50_14ozaHsGe4eOmJ2Kh_x0kS1p9B7MrpTw5gbqHgPbA3k9G9T35yj6V6Hpy8vaPeNXoyPE82RL9HonsZeA7W4yNrVL2wpn5tP6_FrL00hkYzhLlsxL/s320/P1090490.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She has a cubby! *tear*</td></tr>
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So we started to look into preschools, or something of the like, to get Bailey out of the house a few days a week. Thankfully, Brandon had connections at work to a woman - Maria - who has run a private preschool for 20+ years (Brandon's secretary's mom, to be exact). The instruction is in English (though all the kids - save Bailey - speak Spanish as a primary language) and it is the unofficial feeder preschool for Brandon's school. Before visiting California in June, we toured the school, met with Maria, and discussed the possibility of Bailey attending, staring in August. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPi9KHLx-jGfQs5aiT1Wgi-i3YokX4HbWkjOyn8gNLN01L_GhdsaB6yBL4n_L0nFkoLGK5UNPzQbKSzLjA-tuqq6OF4_wrVjmhOZ1JWT8Qngtm9NpzqKcQlp8EuHnwKRnKQ3HfjbqM/s1600/P1090491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPi9KHLx-jGfQs5aiT1Wgi-i3YokX4HbWkjOyn8gNLN01L_GhdsaB6yBL4n_L0nFkoLGK5UNPzQbKSzLjA-tuqq6OF4_wrVjmhOZ1JWT8Qngtm9NpzqKcQlp8EuHnwKRnKQ3HfjbqM/s320/P1090491.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Circle time</td></tr>
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The classes run 8 AM - 11:30 AM, Monday through Friday, for kids ages 1 to 5. Many of the students attend five days a week, but that was a major sticking point for me. I'm not ready to "let go" that much and let Bailey's entire morning be ran by someone else. Between breakfast, school, lunch, nap and dinner, we'd only have maybe two hours together in the evenings. Not going there yet. Let's give it a few years. Thankfully, Maria was flexible with us in terms of the schedule (and tuition). We pay half of the regular rate (the equivalent of $70) and Bailey goes to school two days a week. We'll also probably take her on "special" days, too: birthdays, water day, etc.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwrLm54-VLblhngmBM2iULTPlJZsKdZvrqTwVo-ziVLtwkqmghhoAFSM1ITgOszGgYX-5LdECha4TZWJCGQ0K6ZTY8Wx2Vl4xMJxvOZrZzSHrFQzne3ROcAl3x0Bbht7bBaZLFREW/s1600/P1090495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwrLm54-VLblhngmBM2iULTPlJZsKdZvrqTwVo-ziVLtwkqmghhoAFSM1ITgOszGgYX-5LdECha4TZWJCGQ0K6ZTY8Wx2Vl4xMJxvOZrZzSHrFQzne3ROcAl3x0Bbht7bBaZLFREW/s320/P1090495.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choo! Choo! Lining up with fellow classmates<br />to go to the playground</td></tr>
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Tuesday and Thursday I got to shadow her in the classroom and I know that she's going to be just fine. The only things that worries me a bit is the fact that all the teachers are English Learners themselves and don't understand Bailey. They're used to the emergent Spanish that most of the kids come in with, and have (probably) rarely had exposure to beginning English. At one point on Tuesday, she said "potty!" as clear as day, and the teacher gave her a confused look. Same with her "play toys?" question and "water?" request. So, it'll take some adjustments, to be sure, but she's a bright kid and (generally) listens pretty well.<br />
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Plus, I speak teacher-eze fluently and will know that when your teacher says you were "sensitive" today, you were a bit of a cry baby, you little stinker! :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871515343909350860.post-14255526160211868522012-07-28T13:57:00.000-07:002012-07-28T13:57:41.993-07:00Back to Paraguay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After a six week stint in California, June 22nd marked our return to reality. So late on Saturday, June 21st, we loaded up Papa Dave's truck with our luggage, and Graw's car with the girls, and headed to LAX to start our journey back south. We were anxious about how the girls would do on the flights - as all parents are - but God heard our prayers and blessed us with two incredible troopers. Not perfect by any means, but manageable. We all pretty much slept away the first flight that landed us in Panama and we hit the ground running.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doesn't Brandon look excited about our trip?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How they spent five of the six hours<br />of flight time</td></tr>
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The agent that checked us in at LAX saw that we had a five and-a-half hour layover in Panama and recommended that we leave the airport and see some of the city while we had the time. We didn't need a visa to leave the airport, we already had our boarding passes for the second flight, and the only "hassle" would be having to fill out the immigration and declaration forms. Not a big deal. So we did! </div>
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After chatting it up with the customs agent (pregnant girl, due in December, although she looks like she's going to pop any minnute! doesn't know if it's a boy or girl because "it" was covering up it's parts with it's hands) we handed our carry-on luggage to the first taxi driver who offered us a tour of the city. Forgetting about bartering, we paid waaaaay to much for it, but we did get to see some of the city. And being out and about was much better than trying to entertain two kids in an airport for five plus hours.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ58Mb56wkyBNrQNSU_wCwwYw3f-Ak3USaKPTjCKWLEgJEIkIu2wpIatp_zTka6J-HV_XAQFkgZBYKTwQAFTt6-7vVlvaxRuseFkEpTxr0LqEJE9UO4ymK_7D6M52PoVk1WYTr8QFp/s1600/P1090378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ58Mb56wkyBNrQNSU_wCwwYw3f-Ak3USaKPTjCKWLEgJEIkIu2wpIatp_zTka6J-HV_XAQFkgZBYKTwQAFTt6-7vVlvaxRuseFkEpTxr0LqEJE9UO4ymK_7D6M52PoVk1WYTr8QFp/s320/P1090378.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our taxi ride through Panama City</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I kept taking pictures of the terrain so that if our driver<br />ended up being a psycho we could find our way back<br />to the airport. Yes, I'm that kind of crazy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First glimpses of the city</td></tr>
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Boston fell asleep in the taxi, just as we pulled up to the canal. Of course. That said, we were terrible tourists when we opted NOT to go into the actual building that houses a museum and viewing pavilion where you can watch boats going in and out of the locks of the canal. All the information would have been wasted on the girls, Brandon doesn't really care about that kind of thing, and (while I do) I would have been too worried about the other three to have truly enjoyed myself. It just didn't seem worth it. Plus we were hungry and wanted to try some typical Panamanian food.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZroQEaPNJQBMLnUVL2SJDdfnZ6ObR4ZEjbMcdnjcjtQV8G9doEh25knPJXbw326adrdeHBSYVnVe-IvuEkx4mxOoerPORC9Q5D0cP_wwNBBrnwxaOR3PExlz0mpNin_GCqEAuMS-/s1600/P1090394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZroQEaPNJQBMLnUVL2SJDdfnZ6ObR4ZEjbMcdnjcjtQV8G9doEh25knPJXbw326adrdeHBSYVnVe-IvuEkx4mxOoerPORC9Q5D0cP_wwNBBrnwxaOR3PExlz0mpNin_GCqEAuMS-/s320/P1090394.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Power nap!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agua??? Bailey discovering the beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to thePanama Canal<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water overflow from the locks</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandon taking Bailey on a little walk to see the<br />entrance to the canal</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvppxX490b_muaWtkxZ89kAggGJKeCDlfwWz50gh2pq994Dp5fiBXQFU0JgsAXnoqf-WxHK60ei01Wt2bixDP-nhMlNDPIvriwcyajmlz3CFbphvW_qkSfHIQQfS8ngPMQ_1Iiz2H2/s1600/P1090402.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvppxX490b_muaWtkxZ89kAggGJKeCDlfwWz50gh2pq994Dp5fiBXQFU0JgsAXnoqf-WxHK60ei01Wt2bixDP-nhMlNDPIvriwcyajmlz3CFbphvW_qkSfHIQQfS8ngPMQ_1Iiz2H2/s320/P1090402.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_i6RcN6FgI5xJkiFpgvwS7kjmUN91HjbOxRxlUlgxE7QIw2YxP_bzBdPJNlPQRPdQorT8zCmpJiiGXke2ogydKHag9-I0rdDnreWZ3HI92uDAXA5FCyg6HTRs1Jrer78bMMytWqu/s1600/P1090403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_i6RcN6FgI5xJkiFpgvwS7kjmUN91HjbOxRxlUlgxE7QIw2YxP_bzBdPJNlPQRPdQorT8zCmpJiiGXke2ogydKHag9-I0rdDnreWZ3HI92uDAXA5FCyg6HTRs1Jrer78bMMytWqu/s320/P1090403.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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So our taxi driver took us to a mall! He recommended a cafe in the food court for authentic Panamanian cuisine, but we couldn't find it. So we settled for Dunkin Donuts. Hey, if you can't have traditional food, might as well get one last "American" meal in, right? The food court (a two story monstrosity) boasted a carousel that Bailey of course wanted to ride, then we headed back to the airport, having successfully wasted away our layover.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for the carousel </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQJOE1rpELgIx6kxxoK91RtqyD-E3Oxb18xCTMGC3EKsYL6gRchAMOSy3y1d1ocjjmTomb2r_Sy6_WLBmYxgIkHWI0NVEzt4zITKZTPkQ8iWOfzbD3hfskehq23fZXNerrpqNkFfb/s1600/P1090407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQJOE1rpELgIx6kxxoK91RtqyD-E3Oxb18xCTMGC3EKsYL6gRchAMOSy3y1d1ocjjmTomb2r_Sy6_WLBmYxgIkHWI0NVEzt4zITKZTPkQ8iWOfzbD3hfskehq23fZXNerrpqNkFfb/s320/P1090407.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheee!!!</td></tr>
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Minutes after loading the girls into the stroller at the Panama airport, they were both sound asleep. For a few minutes, that is, until we passed through security again and had to unload everything, including our two sleeping beauties. They took no pity on us weary travelers. But Bailey fell right back to sleep once the stroller passed through the x-ray machine, while Boston played on the floor.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UFmO96sgBkQ-2ejX2j1Hx6N0WUTZ3eMdJWyFd34vRwO7P9IZSg7dwCGReGsKlpZdgzMQT-qjyXay-GswTsf8OakBF-7CPaFVecdXrOehhsdlixJ9epN6s8LU2Z9UNu59fDhUAR_w/s1600/P1090409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UFmO96sgBkQ-2ejX2j1Hx6N0WUTZ3eMdJWyFd34vRwO7P9IZSg7dwCGReGsKlpZdgzMQT-qjyXay-GswTsf8OakBF-7CPaFVecdXrOehhsdlixJ9epN6s8LU2Z9UNu59fDhUAR_w/s320/P1090409.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ZZZZzzzzzzz</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-uBewwMQbOpxaaMQKD5ojFuWLPsQcWj-gpGRlFcwr-X23to8GMcoQERAB6FUU9LGQ-VDdDsdBXMtsNkGkcLIQdQqZ-s42q_6xlS6Sg1LSNUiEc7hGBonI8qfkKo8fQpO18fE1RZj/s1600/P1090412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-uBewwMQbOpxaaMQKD5ojFuWLPsQcWj-gpGRlFcwr-X23to8GMcoQERAB6FUU9LGQ-VDdDsdBXMtsNkGkcLIQdQqZ-s42q_6xlS6Sg1LSNUiEc7hGBonI8qfkKo8fQpO18fE1RZj/s320/P1090412.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who needs toys when you have an empty water botlte?</td></tr>
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The flight from Panama to Asuncion was just as uneventful as the one from LAX - thankfully - and we arrived without incident. Tired, yes, but all in one piece, baggage accounted for, and with our patience still in tact. God was faithful once again to provide a smooth trip for our family. And for that we are truly grateful!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon1T00lBWOPnoQUFi4l8JomqI0tCU99OCse4CgDemRfGqELwaGYugEW6iWVrFtr1UhajcwJnz6m3PZqkG6OoVm56YkYmK89QzyLecastbynzVxeesxkg15yR9GbG0hbNaSomGV0e7/s1600/P1090415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon1T00lBWOPnoQUFi4l8JomqI0tCU99OCse4CgDemRfGqELwaGYugEW6iWVrFtr1UhajcwJnz6m3PZqkG6OoVm56YkYmK89QzyLecastbynzVxeesxkg15yR9GbG0hbNaSomGV0e7/s320/P1090415.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best seat in the house! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWz0wWYw8r3HYSaKgUz1ytHy7S1ad1AS048Du5ZyHIedEKfZDi15BNXXsVSvaTkfyp1REJJkcqeNR3pMXLvafNoNVhW8mshq_TvYTx9zCCJ5w8hMVdt2NY_tVlNZXayrcliHQU_qB/s1600/P1090422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWz0wWYw8r3HYSaKgUz1ytHy7S1ad1AS048Du5ZyHIedEKfZDi15BNXXsVSvaTkfyp1REJJkcqeNR3pMXLvafNoNVhW8mshq_TvYTx9zCCJ5w8hMVdt2NY_tVlNZXayrcliHQU_qB/s320/P1090422.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After so many days of playing with Graw's iPhone,<br />she thinks everything is a touch screen!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygigyyiQgbhz4h7dFrDmQeO7aAVWuzy3aTYX2saoKSyCopmeQS9oT6QXa3-IZ-9TE9bidZ8IVpGrbQ8Ef3WfuCuydqXZxxNFzOJE5-xrrGH5u8BzII1A1l2nIbJnJfeKYqha1cKXX/s1600/P1090431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygigyyiQgbhz4h7dFrDmQeO7aAVWuzy3aTYX2saoKSyCopmeQS9oT6QXa3-IZ-9TE9bidZ8IVpGrbQ8Ef3WfuCuydqXZxxNFzOJE5-xrrGH5u8BzII1A1l2nIbJnJfeKYqha1cKXX/s320/P1090431.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding sister while Daddy got our luggage<br />in the Paraguayan airport</td></tr>
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And the best part? Bailey did all of this in her socks! We forgot her shoes at Graw and Pa's when we left for LAX in the middle of the night. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04778249215184632852noreply@blogger.com1