tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65645601795146620982024-02-06T22:39:39.301-06:00Brett Family JunctionA place where countless paths collide and the stories, experiences & adventures which are produced. Our life...ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-77230287025580954952013-03-26T23:35:00.003-05:002013-03-27T06:32:51.798-05:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipC-4F74wFc3E826pV2ZwcQR5yh9S2XtzoiBNx6Hh5s_NvUn3DCDcvjhGC6Vh6TS3VrQ8NWbCNKfcnwdJUdjOeMDo_1jJe5ZJPTjPSfnlHZPxkBCh03b-GAbcVWSnf52R-ecCYdVeYBZA/s1600/68103_10200248377798611_781420012_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipC-4F74wFc3E826pV2ZwcQR5yh9S2XtzoiBNx6Hh5s_NvUn3DCDcvjhGC6Vh6TS3VrQ8NWbCNKfcnwdJUdjOeMDo_1jJe5ZJPTjPSfnlHZPxkBCh03b-GAbcVWSnf52R-ecCYdVeYBZA/s320/68103_10200248377798611_781420012_n.jpg" width="303" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><b>What can happen in 2 years?</b></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't believe it's been 2 years since I last posted something on this blog. I've spoken and thought up many posts in that time, and I'm not real into regrets, so we'll pick it up from here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'll give myself 60 seconds to type all the things that have happened since the last time I posted:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sold our house</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Abby in first grade</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Avery in preschool</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">lived with Jen and Brian for 9 months</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Bought a new house</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now live in Savage, MN</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">New job for me at FedEx</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Anna's remaining two siblings both married</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">found a church home - Hosanna in Lakeville</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial;">More of a comedic list:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">i've gotten my hair cut a total of 4 times...maybe</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">we've cooked dinner almost once a week</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">girls have gone to bed before 8:00 (their established bedtime) six times</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I now play softball instead of baseball...that's sad</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>Bloomington to Savage</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">So, we sold our house in Bloomington on April 4, 2012. We had roughly 30 days to pack it up and move it out. I'm not going to tell you that it was difficult or that it took many many late nights, 453 boxes and slightly fewer rolls of packing tape, even though it did. What I will say is thank God for a mild winter in 2010-2011. This past weekend was St. Patrick's Day and it snowed. Last year it was 80 degrees on March 17...yeah we were lucky. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We barely had time to pack all of our belongings up, let alone find a house...so what's the logical move? Of course, move in with a family of three...one of whom is 2 years old, another is 30 and has a home based business in addition to his primary job as a pilot, and the other one was 8 months pregnant (nevermind the other descriptors...4-5 weeks from having baby is all that is needed.) Why on earth did these people agree to let us move in? Why in the world would we want to live here? Good blog material...why else?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Up to this point the only child who had ever lived in this house was Carson. Well, Carson had a lot to get used to, and fast. In the span of 24 hours his two girl cousins set up shop in one of the 4 upstairs bedrooms, his bathroom was invaded by pink and light blue, and maybe more confusing yet...this perpetual sleepover didn't come with any popcorn, staying up late or movies. Not only did he not get to participate in the slumber parties, he was confined, by himself, to his normal room, which was under constant audio and video surveillance...not kidding...nowadays baby monitors could be used in espionage. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Part of the deal for Jen and Brian allowing us to live with them was that I would finish their basement. Yeah, that means that for the first month and a half of this experiment, four adults and three kids were all sleeping on the top floor. We crammed our king size bed into a soon-to-be baby room which already contained a crib, dresser and diaper dumper. Twas more than a cozy arrangement, but man did it beat the hell out of an apartment...and I did get my remodeling fix quenched by finishing that basement</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">One of the other giant sized benefits of living with J and B was their proximity to Abby's school, and Avery's as it turned out. For those who know us it's not news that we aren't the most punctual family in the league. I've got a hunch that one particular couple, with whom we spend a pretty good deal of time, actually will tell us events and meeting times begin 15 minutes before they actually do. Well, it took exactly 4 minutes to drive from our temporary home to Abby's school, and another 3-5 minutes to make it from Abby's school to Avery's. The interesting, and funny, thing to note about this reduction in travel time is that Abby had even less time to scarf down her peanut butter toast on those rarer, but inevitable days when we were running really late. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"></span>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-12441158369238563662013-03-18T21:27:00.001-05:002013-03-18T21:27:15.806-05:00<b>This is an incomplete post from far too long ago...simply publishing for future reminiscing's sake...</b><br />
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<b>Power Shine</b><br />
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My how our little Avery has turned a corner. In a few short months she has gone from simply saying words (mostly when prompted) to talking almost all the time and stringing sentences together as often as she can. She definitely makes some other noises which definitely can't be considered words, even tho they have plenty of meaning in their own right. We'll categorize those noises under <i>terrible twos</i> and do our best to ignore them for now. But I've realized that one of my favorite things that comes with little kids learning to speak is how their words and sentences fit together. They sound like immigrants coming to a new country and learning the language, or better yet, they sound like me while traveling in Mexico and trying to recall my 3 years of Spanish from so many years ago it saddens me to count them. You essentially grab onto the few words you know and drop everything else that should surround those words in a properly constructed thought or sentence. I'm no English major but I'm reasonably sure, "ah cookie?" "ah bailey?" and "ah cup milk?" aren't complete sentences...but that's what I love about it. It's exactly the same as when I'm walking through a restaurant in Mexico and I get a waiter's attention just to raise my shoulders, point my palms towards the ceiling, lift my eyebrows and say, "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">baño</span></em></span>?" Ok, maybe not exactly the same...if it were truly apples to apples I would grab my crotch, jump up and down and announce which number I planned to go once getting to the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><em style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">baño. </span></em></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">So, it stands to reason that since Avery doesn't speak the language exactly as we adults do, she probably doesn't hear it the same either. This couldn't be more evident than with her most recent obsession..."power shine!" It took us at least a a few hours to even figure out what words she was saying and then another day or maybe two to understand what she meant. You see, the Disney phenomena has a strong hold on this family, especially the lone male and the middle sized female. So, when <i>Tangled </i>finally came out on DVD and Blu-Ray Combo Pack (see what I mean?) Abby, Anna and I had already seen it...and become huge fans of it. Little did we know or expect that our not-even-two-year-old would surpass us all in her love for this splendid movie. Avery's TV and movie watching skills probably should alarm us, but being able to plop both our girls down in front of the TV for a bit, and knowing that they'll both do nothing but watch, is a nice ace in the hole. Avery's obsession with <i>Tangled</i> has got to simply be a product of sheer volume and mass. Somehow that movie just doesn't get old, and I agree wholeheartedly. And consequently, it's been watched by our girls no less than three or four hundred...thousand times. Anyway, there's a song which is sung many times throughout the movie called the <i>Healing Incantation</i>. The lyrics go like this: </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Flower gleam and glow</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">let your power shine</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">make the clock reverse</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">bring back what once was mine</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">heal what has been hurt</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">change the fate's design</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">save what has been lost</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">bring back what once was mine</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">what once was mine</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;">Sitting there in the second line of this short song are the words no one in this family will ever forget. At some point Avery starting referring to Rapunzel (the character) and the movie in general as "Power Shine." And since she coined that term, it's filled many of her waking thoughts, and hopefully some of her dreams as well. I personally find it amazing that she would see and hear </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;"><i>Tangled</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;"> as many times as she did, and those two words were what she grasped and remembered. Those who have heard her say it can vouch for it, it's so damn cute you just want to hear it again. </span>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-75476819439178457982011-03-18T22:34:00.000-05:002011-03-18T22:34:07.103-05:00Best Cousins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RdssZ0BKtrHt6R3N4ZCzHJkzP1eD0aPiLH_94M7aYelw0O6JAI7LWPdi3RhSv2jcKHT5tNDpK4CaXVrwGx2AHnSh14uFGwSgEex83HGOFhuFes0CJvNlsivuMGBGPmWYasnyV8QD_0g/s1600/IMG_2138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RdssZ0BKtrHt6R3N4ZCzHJkzP1eD0aPiLH_94M7aYelw0O6JAI7LWPdi3RhSv2jcKHT5tNDpK4CaXVrwGx2AHnSh14uFGwSgEex83HGOFhuFes0CJvNlsivuMGBGPmWYasnyV8QD_0g/s320/IMG_2138.jpg" width="194" /></a></div><strong><br />
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<strong>"Bring a Friend Night"</strong><br />
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I can speak from firsthand experience when it comes to having relatives double as friends. My cousins Joel and Nick are only 1 and 2 years younger than I am respectively. They're only 10 months apart themselves but that's a topic for one of their blogs or memoirs.) So, our proximity in age and in geography, and the fact that they've always been a blast to be around, has created great friendships. So, looking at the whole cousin-as-friend relationship from my perspective as a dad and uncle makes it all the more special. You see, my Abber Dabbers and her cousin Kaylin are separated in age by 1 year, a year that means almost nothing. Since the time Abby's been able to speak in sentences, she and Kaylin have referred to themselves as "best cousins." I know that's because Abby's best friend is Ella and I don't think she could conceive of a way to have two best friends, even though that's exactly what Kaylin is. Thus, they created "best cousins"...eah...works for me. I know the other adults in my family agree...it is so damnin' cute to see the two of them play together. As soon as either one arrives at the other's house or they collide at Grandma and Grandpa's, the energy level spikes. Kaylin provides the spark and Abby: the lighter fluid. It is truly electric when these two are together. They have so much in common in their little girl world and are also different enough that their mojo flows perfectly. It's wicked cute to see them dissappear into "Cinderella's Castle", or down into "The Bayou" with Tiana and company. Some days it's playing house or riding the bus, wherever their imaginations take them...it's a joy to watch them go wholeheartedly. Don't get me totally wrong here either, the fact that they play this well together means would be in-charge grown-ups get a bit of a break. They are really each other's best babysitter. So let me say this to you Dabbers and Peanut, indeed, you two have something very unique...a real treasure. Incidentally, should one throw little miss Konrad into the cocktail, it will soon become a Molotov. That or a flaming sofa outside a college party house...chaotic...fun, but chaotic. I know, that's a strange yet familiar analogy.<br />
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This brings us to the following tale. Being the natural performer and spotlight lover she is, it was not a surprise to us when we learned Kaylin was going to be taking dance lessons. Whether she knew it or not, dance lessons would just be more ammo for her arsenal of performance material. Make no mistake, our Peanut loves the proverbial stage, a Rachel Berry in the making (yeah, that's a <i>Glee </i>reference, what can I say? I like me some <em>Glee).</em> She had been doing the dance lesson ditty for a few weeks when we got the call. Little did we know that her dance studio had come up with the single greatest marketing campaign of all time...<br />
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In one of the cutest voice messages I've ever heard, we listened to Kaylin extend an inviation to Abby to join her for one of her dance classes. It was "bring a friend night" and even though they're cousins, I guess they finally agreed that cousin and amigo es posible. So Abbers donned her gymnastics leotard, along with some other accessories Anna insisted upon, and we took her to dance class for a night. Well, that night has turned into many. No..."bring a friend night" wasn't simply an excersize in friendliness...it was more like a sting operation. "And I didn't even see it comin'!" (- Lloyd Christmas). Aha...I finally understood...all of the tiny ballerinas for a night could choose to keep the fairy godmother's spell unbroken, to keep it 11:59 indefinitely, so to speak. Yes, they could join the class and stay miniature ballerinas...well...forever. So simple, so diabolical...it was brilliant! Needless to say, dance class on Tuesdays has now been added to the laundry list of things the Dabbers and the Peanut have in common...and we truly couldn't be happier about it...of course, neither could they.<br />
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<br />
<strong>Hidden junk inside this hidden gem</strong><br />
<br />
Last Fall we made the decision to put our house on the market. A decision reached not without some heartache, but no time for that now. This is the second time we've had a house listed and all the joys of being "on the market" came rushing right back to us. I could fill a book with funny and annoying stories from our past few months of showings. However, one day and showing in particular stands out. It was just last weekend and we had been in Mankato celebrating Anna's Grandma LaJune's 90th birthday. From Mankato we headed out to the lake for a day of fun and relaxation with Anna's side. Well, the dreaded showing call came as we pulled in to the driveway at the lake. A showing from 5-6pm? Sure, why the hell not? We're only an hour away from home and having left in a hurry that morning, the house looked more like a frat house than a single family. The only reason we agreed to the showing is because I had to head back to the metro area early for Pitch 2 Pitch (P2P). (I've been teaching baseball clinics/practices with P2P for the past few years in my rare spare time). So, I would simply have to head home early, tidy up our abode and get out of there before 5:00...sounded simple.<br />
<br />
I arrived home at 4:18 exactly, so I had just over 40 minutes to straighten up our entire house from top to bottom. I suppose if I was female I would have spent the hour drive home thinking of my strategy for attacking each section of the house. Well, I'm a guy...and the "wing it" concept is simply woven into our DNA. I figured my plan was effective enough, I worked from bottom up, starting on the basement, moving to the middle level and finishing on the main floor...which contains the kitchen, our bedroom, and is basically the catch-all for random things throughout the week. In other words, my chosen plan of attack wasn't exactly spot on. For the first 10 minutes I was delusional enough to think I had a chance to get it done. Then, minute by minute thereafter I realized I had about as much chance to get that mess picked up before 5:00 as the Timberwolves do to get me to come see a game this decade. <br />
<br />
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<br />
I got to the main floor with about 6 minutes to deadline. So what did that mean? No more putting stuff away where it belongs, time to hide it. The dishes from breakfast sitting next to the sink...can't put you guys in the dishwasher because, just my luck, the dishwasher is clean? I guess you get shoved under the sink and covered with a dish rag. Anna's clothes left on the floor/bed: crumpled into a ball and kicked under the bed, literally kicked...I was laying on my side and essentially horizontally stomping on her clothes. (Sidebar: what else is under there that I should have to exert that much force to get a few ensembles to fit under the box spring?) The bottom line at this point...if it had a door, something was getting hidden inside it. Avery's lucky her puppy didn't end up in the freezer. I definitely realized a couple things during this debacle.<br />
1. Anna does a bang up job keeping our house clean and tidy all week<br />
and<br />
2. you can't replicate vacuum lines in the carpet using only a spatula<br />
<br />
I ended up leaving the house at 5:07 thinking, "thank you, potential buyers, for being late...now you had better show up!" As soon as I got in the car and pulled away I sent two texts. One to the Easter Bunny saying, "you've got competition" and another to Anna, knowing she'd beat me home that night, saying, "enjoy your scavenger hunt, nothing is where it's supposed to be, ha." <br />
<br />
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<br />
<strong>Can I get some of what you're smokin'?</strong><br />
<br />
If you've sold your home in the last few years you probably know about the showing feedback one receives after someone has viewed your home. For those who aren't familiar with this procedure...it is now a common practice for the buyer's agent to fill out a short survey with the buyer's general impressions on the home they walked through. It asks the buyer to rate the floorplan, interior, exterior and price, then allows for further comments. Anywho, the survey is then sent to the listing agent and passed on to the homeowners. It's very nice info to have and certainly is appreciated. Of course, just like the real world where people move at different paces, the real estate industry is no different. One can expect to receive this showing feedback somewhere between say...an hour after the showing and...never.<br />
<br />
Well, for those who know my wife, it probably comes as no surprise that, to her, the e-mails containing showing feedback are like crack. I swear her sense of sound is heightened in the hours following a showing. Her ipad will make the new message ding and she's there, like white on rice...it might be feedback! Avery staggers out of her room, her diaper half buckled, and having just used Slinky Dog to repel down the side of her changing table (still not sure how she does that). Meanwhile Anna's caught up in another groupon e-mail wishing it had just been the feedback she so longingly yearns for. <br />
<br />
Just last week I overheard her on the phone with Re/Max trying to get them to implement a new policy stating that everyone who views a home at an open house must fill out a feedback survey. I'm guessing it didn't work since I later saw the first draft of a survey she created on her own. Next thing I know I'll be forging and mounting a cookie dispenser on one of those ballot machines from our local precinct. I can see the poster now, "Fill out the survey and get a thin mint!" It wouldn't be the first time girl scout cookies are used for pure evil. Wait...umm...Abby, Avery and I have been watching too much <i>Phineas and Ferb.</i><br />
<br />
But seriously, Anna loves those feedback e-mails. <br />
<br />
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<br />
<strong>The Cakes 'n Coke</strong><br />
<br />
There's no way I could wait a whole lot longer without telling the tale of the one and only Davy Cakes and his friend Jack Daniels. If you've ever spent a night playing poker with the youngest Konrad, or thrown dice with him on a craps table, you know he's a Jack and Coke guy. But, on the last night of our recent Tahoe ski/gambling vacation, he took it to a whole new level. After spending about 3 hours soaking and drinking in the resort's hot tub, Joel, Willy, Brian, Tyler, Cakes and I did exactly what we shouldn't have done...head to the casino.<br />
<br />
We wound up at the Crystal Bay Club Casino. We found our spots at the craps table and placed our drink orders with the waitress. Well, I was a few spots away from Cakes so I didn't quite catch the details of why his drink order was so confusing, but I know Cakes was forced to say a whole lot more than, "Jack and Coke please." I didn't think much of it because my Captain Coke order was simple and straightforward...and was delivered in that same manner. We went on playing and drinking for a while and of course, there were no further issues with David's drink order...because it's impossible to confuse the universal "I'll have another" hand gesture. (If you're doing it right now don't feel weird) Anyway, the craps table goes cold and we all split up. Later Willy and I find Cakes playing Blackjack and decide to hover for a bit.<br />
<br />
It was somewhere after this point that I learned, much to my amazement, that Jack Daniels is not on the "free booze" list at Crystal Bay. At last, I knew what the confusion was earlier. Cakes was being told his favorite whiskey aint free here. What ensued is one of the reasons Cakes will go down as a legend in my book, already at the ripe young age of 29. So he says to the waitress, and I'm paraphrasing, "I don't care, I want a Jack and Coke." She retorts that she'll have to charge him for his drink and he gives her the A-OK. Of course he's thinking, "What a hole this place is!"Another anecdote that helps to illustrate this casino as the Hardees of the North Shore is fact that this same waitress continued, the entire night mind you, to call Cakes' drink a "Daniels-Coke." <br />
<br />
In honor of March Madness let's do a game reset, sponsored by Allstate..."are you in good hands?" asks Pedro Cerrano/President David Palmer<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0kY2auAweRbQVi4bA0oPqTxnGJgcmrpDVKPxCtklz4PZUzpimcmGMo-Fo8N-aCkehtl4OG9Fnw8QpzpWtrifcSVVngZRnJartRFkFA6ogUxJPszjwY_Ac6TnEOcqkOxgyCteXNRGzf0/s1600/pdvd_004bmp-724091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0kY2auAweRbQVi4bA0oPqTxnGJgcmrpDVKPxCtklz4PZUzpimcmGMo-Fo8N-aCkehtl4OG9Fnw8QpzpWtrifcSVVngZRnJartRFkFA6ogUxJPszjwY_Ac6TnEOcqkOxgyCteXNRGzf0/s320/pdvd_004bmp-724091.jpg" width="252" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsuY5XebA77clL2DgwHlU39BCDD7hr6Dq4liChnOxSydjEExPRsd2ZEIwgw1wgrILoe82du79p6cZuWWn4tNfkjgYQDNU95TonsEunej-jGU54EZs_lgFcKqt7qObuXSkGH4M0zNGof8/s1600/david_palmer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsuY5XebA77clL2DgwHlU39BCDD7hr6Dq4liChnOxSydjEExPRsd2ZEIwgw1wgrILoe82du79p6cZuWWn4tNfkjgYQDNU95TonsEunej-jGU54EZs_lgFcKqt7qObuXSkGH4M0zNGof8/s320/david_palmer.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><br />
<br />
GAME RESET:<br />
...in a casino chock full of middle aged men, wannabe cougar women, pinheads, meatballs, no-talent-ass-clowns, and regular joes, I guarantee Cakes was the only one paying for his drinks. So I don't know which is more amazing...that Cakes paid for beverages the entire night whilst the rest of us drank for free, that this rediculous excuse for a casino didn't host Jack Daniels-Old No. 7 whiskey, or that the Jersey-Girl waitress called them "Daniels-Cokes" all night? One thing I know for sure, the official name of a drink you pay for when 99% of the general public would not...is now called the 'Cakes and Coke.'ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-12931957316599671562011-03-01T00:16:00.000-06:002011-03-01T00:16:37.348-06:00The Only True Constant...<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FZLkCwavmzQQSwqZfMEOTtMXVyETDuW00dSb4OAH5xvJxSpnj3FlT0JIQW-yVWHvUgH5RCTYVW4yxp3C-dNBFo6LQytFmiBjlJB94mSBACVYc4sLgAXJkC2Sxs5WUJAAwB5lUjOWWjk/s1600/DSC_7707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FZLkCwavmzQQSwqZfMEOTtMXVyETDuW00dSb4OAH5xvJxSpnj3FlT0JIQW-yVWHvUgH5RCTYVW4yxp3C-dNBFo6LQytFmiBjlJB94mSBACVYc4sLgAXJkC2Sxs5WUJAAwB5lUjOWWjk/s320/DSC_7707.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It has been nearly a year since my last entry and rather than say I'm turning over a new leaf with intentions to blog all the time (even tho it's true), I'll simply hope for the time and, more importantly, the will to stick to it. Quite a bit has come our way in the time since Avery has gone from 9 to 18 months and Abby finally got to see the Magic Kingdom of Disney World. Yes indeed, I feel as if the last year of our lives was much like Avery's mouth at Abby's skating lessons last night...crammed full of popcorn, and so stinkin' stuffed in there that I know there's no way she noticed the box of corn was half as big as she is. My mind was saying, "yeah there's plenty here...let's slow it down ." Anecdotally, it's somewhat comical to note that if my life depended on knowing the length of my 1 1/2 year old's arms, all I would need to produce is a standard-hockey-rink-concession-stand-size-rectangular-box of popcorn. I know the box is empty when Avery's shoulder dissappears inside it. I'm just glad she doesn't know that old maids are almost as good as the puffs of corn. Avery just thinks old maids are who shows up at the neighbors' house every Wednesday with bottles of something sporting Mr. Yuk labels. I just came up with a great idea...(yeah Mr. Yuk t-shirts) and...take home a couple of those popcorn boxes and tape them to Avery's torso once her arms are inside. Of course it sounds mean, so I'll just keep that idea in my back pocket until I really need to cut down on the hurricane effect she seems to have on the toys</div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">in our house.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF6156T98Lv7yItLZIWknYfLHikQbMP-9sQKQYYmKGSwWz1AYoqksSUQ6ZZwi2jwH_3s4kJ4a-GjiLyfZVT_qSkyQJ2BOC58NEYq32V0y_KxwFIA8V41gZIBSEO4os3aOwawuN8HE-ROE/s1600/IMG_2294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF6156T98Lv7yItLZIWknYfLHikQbMP-9sQKQYYmKGSwWz1AYoqksSUQ6ZZwi2jwH_3s4kJ4a-GjiLyfZVT_qSkyQJ2BOC58NEYq32V0y_KxwFIA8V41gZIBSEO4os3aOwawuN8HE-ROE/s320/IMG_2294.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>But back to my analogy...our lives have been as jam packed as her face was. Anna is still at home with the girls and has started a photography business with my sister, bravo! No, "bravo!" is not the name of the business, they named it Buckett Photography. 1 point for figuring out how the significance of the name, 2 points for figuring out the creative mastermind who came up with it. Abby is busy with school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Park night has taken a back seat to skating on Monday nights with Ella and of course there is dance on Tuesday nights with Kaylin. Avery simply obsesses over her battery powered toy puppy and marches to her own beat in regard to sleeping, eating and...well, everything. I am as busy as I've ever been, working retail hours at the TV store my dad and I opened. And that's why they say that the only true constant is change. (ok, so there's the baseline facts to catch me up when I look back on this in the future).</div><div><br />
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</div>As I mentioned, our youngest is now a year and a half. And, as many of you know, along with those length-of-time-being-alive milestones often come doctor's visits. At these visits the first thing they do is weigh the kids and measure their height. Well, Anna and I always try to guess how much our kids weigh. Of course, we have to look at their previous weight and then guess how much we think they've put on. At Avery's 15 month checkup she tipped the scale at 21lbs 4oz. So how much does one guess when trying to figure how many pounds a 15 month old might add in a 3 month period? Well, I can tell you I didn't guess 4oz. Yep, Avery gained 1/4 pound in 3+ months. What? I think my iphone gained 5 or 6 oz in the same period. The other funny part is that if the nurse had come into the room to take us to the scale even 3 minutes later, Avery would have officially gained no weight between her 15 month and 18 month checkups. The diaper she filled moments after returning to the room had a payload of at least 4oz. Indeed, "everything comes down to poo". (<em>Scrubs</em> musical, look it up)</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9zc172eo0aRohBMAUJcpk8-PFar9rkMLpBfi2PRp42rrGXimA9tNRzvReykg3Efz8HuyNYUYsrsdpumbLZIBbX9dw0LvGIx2xqaJLPEqlzj-tz4JCe01TO3kST5l6WvSl9pENSndvrU/s1600/IMG_6946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9zc172eo0aRohBMAUJcpk8-PFar9rkMLpBfi2PRp42rrGXimA9tNRzvReykg3Efz8HuyNYUYsrsdpumbLZIBbX9dw0LvGIx2xqaJLPEqlzj-tz4JCe01TO3kST5l6WvSl9pENSndvrU/s320/IMG_6946.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div><strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Forts Rule</strong></div><br />
<div>I have no idea how or why it took us so long...but Abby and I made our first real good fort the other day. It all started when we took the cushions from the deck furniture inside before the huge snow storm hit. Normally the furniture would be covered for the Winter, but since our house is on the market we didn't put the covers on as to make the deck look more appealing. Hey, bonus for the girls and me since now we had big cushions to use in some fort building. Well, I distinctly remember building kickarse forts out of couch cushions when I was a kid. So, either I'm a worse fort builder now that I'm 31 than I was when I was 7, or perhaps my definition of kickarse has changed? I'm afraid the previous sentence isn't as rhetorical as I'd like. I thought about it for a bit, tried to arrange the cushions in a fort-like manner...fail. Tried again...fail, re-arranged them again resulting in some sort of maze looking design and then looked on the face of my four year old...fail. I was at a loss, how could cushions have made such great forts when I was young and now be so lame...even to Abby? Whatever, I said forget that and moved on to plan B. By this point I had lost the interest of my Abber Dabbers, so I was determined to make it up to her. I went and found a king size sheet and spread it out. By itself it wasn't big enough to do much with. Luckily Anna said she had a black backdrop that was pretty large in size...bingo. </div><br />
<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTx-nbv49A1qgkX5gTbA62peRDAdLyvaFjJ1h0wz8hHlnElQv7SBdC0VeGPUvCl9ncEIF_LFlLhD8V_0SEKyNbSt1NogCOShJ9LCYgbkc2dQkpkqpmoe_q9WhytNY7yXuZ0fw4H1WWY8Q/s1600/IMG_6523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTx-nbv49A1qgkX5gTbA62peRDAdLyvaFjJ1h0wz8hHlnElQv7SBdC0VeGPUvCl9ncEIF_LFlLhD8V_0SEKyNbSt1NogCOShJ9LCYgbkc2dQkpkqpmoe_q9WhytNY7yXuZ0fw4H1WWY8Q/s320/IMG_6523.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I had this theory that to make the best roof, a piece of cloth would ideally need to be tethered from above and not supported from inside the fort. So, I did what any dad equipped with two garages full of tools, clamps, gadgets and junk would do...I rigged it up. My favorite part about creating this fort was that as soon as Abby saw what was going to happen, I had her attention again. It took about a half hour to get everything just right. I positioned a couple cushions in one spot to keep the daylight out; the roof and sofa did the rest. (I've included a picture for reference).</div><div></div><br />
<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ24jmVrUSbvs473CF_a_7G6D2OCaCJTZ9Ke3bxo3qyHhwaT2zYLXsPCxA1qChWVJFbKXMtofRE7zQqAa3esWnOGhV4IzGZYLrtF5zK6SCTOLRa-2MIYZkg6LMKs2UlJH68rERRjx5dkI/s1600/IMG_6520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ24jmVrUSbvs473CF_a_7G6D2OCaCJTZ9Ke3bxo3qyHhwaT2zYLXsPCxA1qChWVJFbKXMtofRE7zQqAa3esWnOGhV4IzGZYLrtF5zK6SCTOLRa-2MIYZkg6LMKs2UlJH68rERRjx5dkI/s320/IMG_6520.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Abby was pretty excited...and we got everything completed just in time for Avery to wake up from her nap. What else was there to do but get some flashlights, toys and treats in there? My girls and I spent at least a couple hours playing, eating, singing and tickling each other in that fort. In all I think 16 inches of snow fell outside that day, and we hardly saw any of it. But it was a very pretty site when we finally emerged from our princess and puppy filled lair. That was a special day and I can't wait to try it again, of course we'll need to add on next time.</div><div></div><br />
<div><strong>That's Barely Bread</strong></div><br />
<div>I was lucky enough to have a guys vacation in January. A ski trip to Lake Tahoe was on the schedule for the better part of a year and the anticipation was almost as fun as the trip, well not really. But with all the planning, e-mailing, BS'ing about the upcoming trip, it really carried a lot of momentum through the preceding months. You know, that brings up a curious question about us as homosapiens in this day and age. I’m sure we’ve all experienced it, there’s something out there on the calendar...maybe it's a tee time, maybe it's a massage, or maybe it's a rendezvous with Julianne Hough. Whatever it is, by God we can trudge our way through the days/weeks/months leading up to that event no matter what crapstorm life may fling our way. It’s an innate ability in all of us, almost a sixth sense. If the event is something like a 4+ day vacation then that notion can keep you afloat for months. If I’m being honest, I can easily say I go about my days and weeks with a pretty darn optimistic outlook. I honestly can’t remember ever being down in the dumps or even playing in the bitter barn for more than a moment (maybe that sounds far fetched, but believe you me, it's da truth.) But somehow a vacation on the horizon makes even my days better. So my advice: get a trip on your calendar…Puerto Vallarta 2012, who’s with me?<br />
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So, back to Tahoe. My father-in-law (Fred) decided to do the ultimate good <span class="Apple-style-span">man-deed...book</span> a condo in Incline Village and send out the bat signal saying, “I have a place to crash, so boys, buy your plane tickets and let’s go skiing and gambling.” Of course, for those who know Fred, I paraphrased and left out more than a few throat clearings, but the message was sent...and I heard it loud and clear. Staying true to form, there's a chance I may have taken a few liberties with Fred’s generosity.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOajxwMLM1z675oRqD8yQ7tI1CRG7S86xGxLdTe8MZE_rt19Qjo7rCmrG_F_KZk2DZdAXbplqkY9YxOU3Yp_0wRP2XlbmsBXsTemK5ei-ZQmLlZCLWAc5K6iUv7HtjBIh0aFOS8_lZ20s/s1600/2011-01-12+16.28.36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOajxwMLM1z675oRqD8yQ7tI1CRG7S86xGxLdTe8MZE_rt19Qjo7rCmrG_F_KZk2DZdAXbplqkY9YxOU3Yp_0wRP2XlbmsBXsTemK5ei-ZQmLlZCLWAc5K6iUv7HtjBIh0aFOS8_lZ20s/s320/2011-01-12+16.28.36.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I really only mentioned it once or twice while we were there, so it bears repeating. If I hadn’t made the trip and overstepped my bounds on inviting more than my share of guys, it would have been a pretty lonely week for Fred, Brian and Tyler. It certainly could be one of my faults, but I guess I'm just the type of dude who tries to make everything bigger and better...and this vacation was no different. I wanted this trip to be EPIC. So, I figured why not bring the total testosterone count from 4 guys to 8 guys? I mean the NCAA Tournament is now a field of 68. Come to think of it, maybe we'll do a play in game or contest to see who makes the cut for our 2012 ski trip to...TBD. In fact, I think one of the events will be sandwich making. And I can tell you who will not be a judge for said sammy making contest...one Brian Cristallo.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijmqmW-EuEuhYl9C_RJAHgsA_WwDWjvNUx6e932-hTHNdf6RSpsXpadewtoFj-RbI0bN7ZJphU8v9XKNerbfk2dQ2d1neoOERz3Aj7vmWfqRrhBOBKNgKOoQSvZxKWR_Y3lkhIYRRS45k/s1600/2011-01-13+14.59.17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijmqmW-EuEuhYl9C_RJAHgsA_WwDWjvNUx6e932-hTHNdf6RSpsXpadewtoFj-RbI0bN7ZJphU8v9XKNerbfk2dQ2d1neoOERz3Aj7vmWfqRrhBOBKNgKOoQSvZxKWR_Y3lkhIYRRS45k/s320/2011-01-13+14.59.17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div>You see, my bro-in-law Brian and Fred arrived in Tahoe 3 days before the rest of us did. They got in some skiing, gambling and general merry-making before the amplitude was to be increased, and increased mightily. They were nice enough to do some grocery shopping before we arrived and picked up a gross of bread, a mass of meat and let's not forget, a heap of banana chips. The plan was to make some sandwiches to bring and eat at the mountain and avoid the $15 hamburger. Our first day brought us to Northstar. I made my own sandwiches the night before, prior to B's announcement that he would take charge and make sandwiches for everyone for the following day. He was walking around the condo taking orders, yes to this, no to that, "you want lettuce guy?" was said 7 different times. I'm here to tell you, it was a wonderful gesture.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwmFMODFiUh1EEa9l0pZiKw9fjDQAG8PGqNxNo8TJq-oPJRrTaDqEJCzXfUz5chuA8iXpMOQ3oKe0yCX27ZzleWX9G7jmNAEriVsElK1vBhUJy01iMhSXCWFPTVnGtIbO-ZhqBFsGH2k/s1600/2011-01-14+09.31.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwmFMODFiUh1EEa9l0pZiKw9fjDQAG8PGqNxNo8TJq-oPJRrTaDqEJCzXfUz5chuA8iXpMOQ3oKe0yCX27ZzleWX9G7jmNAEriVsElK1vBhUJy01iMhSXCWFPTVnGtIbO-ZhqBFsGH2k/s320/2011-01-14+09.31.27.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Anyway, it was about lunch time the next day, and the 6 of us who arrived on Tuesday had just enjoyed our first morning of skiing. Thus, we had no idea what type of effort had been put into the lunches of the previous few days when just Fred and Brian dined together. So, we moseyed over to a table outside the chalet and whipped out the sandwiches from my pack. It was pure bliss...8 guys sitting around the chalet on a sunny day eating lunch, BS'ing about that morning and looking forward to the bulk of the trip still ahead. Only because I had made my own sandwiches and am clearly not the team player Brian is, I had to say it, and had no problem pointing out his one fatal flaw in sandwich creation. I do believe it was Johnny K who was first forced to endure the butt end piece from the bread loaf on his<span class="Apple-style-span"> PB&J. Then a</span>nother appeared, perhaps even on Brian's own sandwich. Between the bickering and insults it was at this point that I lost count, it may have been 2 or 3, but no matter the number it was too many. I mean c'mon man, the end piece is all crust. Not to mention they're about 3/4 the size of the rest of the loaf. You'd need to go Kobayashi and dunk it in a glass of water to soften those pieces up. AND, AND there was an entire loaf of bread still back at the condo...so it wasn't as if these were the last two pieces of "bread" on the block. Looking at the bright side, at least B didn't double butt somebody. So, much props and thanks to B for making 14 or 15 sandwiches...but leave the butt in the bag...and be ready to go at 8:15 next time... </div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-13199818096986110902010-04-11T20:41:00.010-05:002011-02-16T16:33:53.090-06:00Long Overdue<strong><span style="font-family:georgia;">I'm not going to pretend I've dissapointed any loyal readers, altho I've heard that this blog has been perused before. But, it's a sad state of affairs when I haven't posted a single entry in almost 1 calendar year. Sorry to my wife and girls. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:georgia;">I was working on the post below about 10 months ago and never really finished it...so I'm just publishing it as is. So, now I'm caught up on general blog housekeeping. I forgot how much fun it is to write this damn thing...so I better get to it. </span></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:georgia;">You say Priv-acy I say Prive-acy (written in April 2010)</span></strong><br /><br />It's a pretty well known and agreed upon fact that parenthood brings spoils of rewards. They come in all shapes, sizes, flavors and colors. <span style="font-family:georgia;">How</span> about the seemingly mundane sentence our Abber Dabbers throws at us all the time, "Mommy/Daddy, guess what?" More times than not this question is followed by a fun little fact about Avery or something she is showing off about herself...hell sometimes we're entertained with a story about a twosie (yeah I know it's a theme). Then, every once in a while, all she says is, Mommy/Daddy, guess what...I love you." This is but one of the countless treasures we are blessed with because I'm a daddy and Anna's a mommy.<br /><br /><br /><br />Fewer in number, but often times just as enjoyable to ponder are the things taken from us because we've chosen to reproduce. The one that struck me most recently is privacy. I have really always considered myself an open book, and what's more I genuinely prefer being in the company of others almost all the time. But who doesn't love some privacy every now and again? Certainly there are some places you never expect to get any privacy...the kitchen, the family room, the back seat of an '86 Buick Regal. However, once you're the parent to a 2-3 year old every square foot of your house is fair game. About a year ago Abby started to play the game where she would come in and turn the lights off on me while I was in the shower. Of course I would act all surprised and hoot and holler...it was a fun game. And you know, it never really dawned on me that this barrier of privacy was broken forever until last Monday morning when I was showering. I was in mid-snot rocket when the unmistakable sounds of two frolicking little girls came bursting into the bathroom. I pulled the shower curtain back and poked my head around the side just in time to see Abby and Ella chasing some balloons and each other into the bathroom. Yeah, balloons, little girls screaming and laughing...the only thing missing was some cotton candy and a skee ball machine. The funny thing to me was the look of surprise on their faces when they heard my voice and saw my face peeking out from inside the shower. As far as they were concerned I was interrupting their play time. I think I even heard Ella mutter, under her breath, "Next time you should knock AB guy."<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>How can they call Rice Cereal...cereal?</strong><br /><br /><br /><br />Avery is now at the stage in her life when she ingests a very steady diet of formula in a bottle, baby food, and rice cereal. I can think back to a time, before Abbers was 6 months old, when rice cereal was completely foreign to me. I'd be totally fine going back to that state of mind. You know, I really think Gerber ought to replace the word "cereal" with "mush" or "meal". Once you've had Cheerios, Raisin Bran, Lucky Charms, Boo Berry ( I could go on forever) it doesn't seem ok to call the stuff Avery eats every day "cereal" as well. Rice Mush or Rice-Meal sounds much more accurate and doesn't risk getting one's hopes up when hearing the name. Either that or the powers that be need to change the word we use for Trix, Golden Grahams and Apple Jacks to something else. If the white mushy stuff stays cereal then Wheaties can be called Ceunreal, or just plain Awesome. "Hey wanna have toast or a bowl of awesome for breakfast?" When compared to Rice Cereal, a bowl of awesome is perfectly apropo.<br /><br /><br /><br />Little Aves had her 9 month doctor appointment yesterday and Dr. Segedy, who is sensational, officially extinguished the consumption of rice mush in this house. Anna mentioned that Avery was showing less and less interest in it and he said drop it like a bad habit. Out of the corner of my eye I swear I saw Avery do a little fist pump a la Tiger or Derek Jeter...hers was somewhere between the two of them.<br /><br /><br /><br />I'm sitting here asking myself how my babiest girl is already 9 months old? Her personality is starting to really show itself...along with her teeth. She is currently cutting at least five new teeth, napping for an average of 90 minutes per day, and somehow staying happy. Perhaps it's her new found sense of mobilization. She is finally crawling at a significant rate after threatening to do so for about a month and a half. As with so many milestones for children, this one will be a double edged sword as well. I suppose if Avery lived in the 1400s she would have given Columbus some real sound advice. Considering she doesn't see the edge of the couch, the bed or anything else, I highly doubt she would worry about reaching the edge of the earth. I imagine her advice would go something like, "Flat Earth, round Earth who gives sh...green-turd-filled-diaper? Even if you do reach the edge of the planet just be a man and keep going, there's always some kind of cosmic force there to catch you anyway. But beware, said cosmic force really enjoys kissing what he or she saves."<br /><br /><br /><strong>Anna turns 31</strong><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It's about time my lovely wife gets a little ink. What a tremendous wife, mother and person I married and created. Well, she was always a great person, but without me she wouldn't be a wife or mama, so any happily married guys with kids let's tip one back for...well...ourselves. But seriously, I could think of no better way to tell Anna how wonderful she is than by throwing her a huge surprise party. Glad it was my idea...(yeah, it wasn't). At least I can say I organized the whole thing (I'd be lying) and prepared a majority of the food (ha). The only thing I can take credit for is lying my knickers off to keep this thing a secret...the glory really belongs to our dear mate Melissa K. Rock solid planning, scheming and brainwashing are all in a days work for this lass.ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-87025291123272243832010-03-30T09:30:00.000-05:002010-03-30T09:39:57.734-05:00It's Only Natural<div align="left"><br /></div><br /><p align="left"><br /></p><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71F__nU2izgvwUFatE5xOInC9t7g8rOJ-ol5uIxIYUc7eBIvjUD07F-coeKdXQ1nq-4LbnjNnUpIUmI6dRX-mAyOLYfULH79uAWcAEUhxYXJ5JJ0383syV4Q49SVb5Cd9vrxTWRAUfAQ/s1600/IMG_4145.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453903124248851218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71F__nU2izgvwUFatE5xOInC9t7g8rOJ-ol5uIxIYUc7eBIvjUD07F-coeKdXQ1nq-4LbnjNnUpIUmI6dRX-mAyOLYfULH79uAWcAEUhxYXJ5JJ0383syV4Q49SVb5Cd9vrxTWRAUfAQ/s320/IMG_4145.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">From where I'm sitting a pond in winter looks best only one way...with a little off the top. Yes sir, every backyard Minnesota pond ought to see some shoveling and skating during the course of a winter. Of course one can take anything too far, so from where you're sitting Johnny, Benny and I may have looked like absolute lunatics...on ice. In the weeks leading up to the prestigious Quad City Boot Hockey Championships we certainly did pull out all the stops to have JK's backyard rink ready. Flooding? Yes, flooding (after a couple mishaps a season before) is now a piece of pie. But what if the rink's superintendent decides to drill a few 3 inch holes in the ice before the snow has been cleared off for the first time? Well, the pond water comes out of those holes and combines with the surface snow to create, well, pretty much the biggest pains in the pooper one could imagine for an ice surface. So, we did what any creative, resourceful, ambitious 30 year olds would do when faced with a deadline. When I said we pulled out all the stops, in this case "stops" meant, backpack leaf blower, propane powered flame thrower, chain saw, hell we would have even dropped trou and made like the smallest little piggy if we thought it would have helped. Well, after many hours of effort we did get the ice in a playable condition. It happened just in time too...just in time for the gigantic Christmas snow storm and the great thaw which ensued. By the time our big tourney came around, all our work was buried beneath 4 new inches of perfectly smooth ice. I guess that's what you get for not procrastinating.<br /></div><br /><div align="left"><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453904721129988754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnkbQe-yRin83EPBllYAxGTRgmiTz2vRshq0pEyl2NJYgELsc6QJjdhux_vFgOt2TAq3qyEggtOjfsvuV3JR6Pw6AkZcVhht4kjXhukVTGoVNWjmvv_Cz3bifFjFIfUwfjEkFghU1Ci60/s320/IMG_4121.JPG" /><br /><br /><div align="left">Unfortunately, as I write this, the rink sits in a state of ruin. If it were a pinball game there would be a sign taped over the quarter slot reading "out of order." So, another year of boot hockey and backyard pond skating for the kiddies is over. A monumentous sized thank you is owed to the Konrads for hosting, readying and giving...all things, all the time. If it weren't for his backyard rink and Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II, JK may have actually slept this winter. Bravo Guy, bravo.</div><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453903377644230690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYXbl4TQ_GXKhFsOrgq4vp-uulJS1Cbuhsj6cfzToYCh_qV0vLJJL8gEiUqXcLG2BW_QJJB1g2tKuZ1Swb9uYMTk2ueN123hLQPcVOzIv1fuHfadHippMInyqZCgO0GKF5V0gLMKy2agQ/s320/IMG_5379.JPG" /><br /><br /><div align="left">As I illuded, the good ol' Metro Area, as we natives like to call it, or what the country folk refer to as "The Cities" was recently the beneficiary of a bit of a warm spell and the snow banks have receded more than Josh Lucas' hairline. Spring is really a wonderful and beautiful time of year...but the weeks at the end of winter and beginning of spring are quite ugly really. I suppose I could coin a new word and call this time of year "Winting" or "Sprinter." A dumb name for an equally wretched looking portion of the year. I mean...look outside, the only snow that's left is covered in sand, dirt and chopped up asphalt from the road...gorgeous. We can now see what is supposed to be grass, but, in many areas, more closely resembles the hair on the head of that certain science or math teacher we all remember. You know, the one who put an overabundant amount of "product" and/or grease in his hair and chose to style it with a spatula...beauty. So, forgive me if the picturesque photo which usually sits atop these blog entries is absent this time. It was either nothing or 2-3 month old doggy dung sitting upon the aforementioned greasy grass (I'd say I got this one right on).</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453901943297347314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjIa42IWg7Tb4anUxkClD5CcLL2Uu3zQ1G1qHSKlNVC_H1YUjC6ktvCRBtB51YciOHCZRIMhB9EgUjpTbW4IKc4HBNf61IqgY7cXdZEVZlX5Y7UQxeI4DjHYA4_APPqghDZXUssf9MUU/s320/IMG_5358.JPG" /><br /><br />Anna and I did just recently get back from a week long vacation in Nuevo Vallarta. John and Melissa Konrad were nice enough to let us tag along to a not so little resort called Paradise Village. I use the term "tag along" not so much because our compadres saw us as inferior travel companions, but because the hotel did. At this place you were either a member or a guest. And, it wasn't hard to tell the difference. It was as if the slender Mexican man behind the check in counter was saying, "I would lov to poot a stomp on your foarhead wheech says 'Tina Tightwad' and 'Peter Penny Pincher' but all I hov are thees one eench thick, indestructeeble teal wreestbands wheech I will poot on you and you can not get off". I have worn the same sort of wristbands many times at various all inclusive resorts...when the wristbands get you everything you want for free. Well the only thing these wristbands got us was a few eye rolls from the bartenders. John and I played a lot of sand volleyball during the week, a lot of sand volleyball. Being that the average daytime temp was 85 degrees, we drank our fair share of H2O. I made the mistake of forgetting I was wearing the teal badge of shame, and I also made the mistake of making every single water run to the bar. Yeah I forgot about the wristband...until I got to the bar. The waiter and bartenders' looks were the same every time, "Oh, Senor Cheapskate Teal Wreestband, you would like more FREE ice waters...what a surprise?" It's a damn good thing they obliged because it was seriously hot and should I have gotten snubbed by the bartenders and really gotten dehydrated and, say, collapsed on the court? I'm pretty certain the hotel employees and members would have taken one glance at my left wrist and said, "Forget it, he's just a guest."</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453901725062228754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy8nhmIq1V32MXj67-qp0BrLbbiwSnlu_nF2ZHAGJxvMRd8F7jFxBbnQBxPgb_Xv2ATcyR0DyehZd4pMcj7VwJLZ3aOvxDwryYlOsfnlT9Wwg3886A2BcbYl-ZGLLGtj2Fu5pA6x4C6ns/s320/IMG_5323.JPG" /></div><br /><br /><p align="left">So after day 2 of sand volleyball JK and I are back at our beach palapa with the ladies and somehow the conversation turns to yours truly bossing people around on the volleyball court...of course those are John's words, not mine. Well, I didn't notice it driving past on the beach, but apparently the tear into AB bandwagon pulled into the station and found three gringos ready to saddle up. I just stood tall, grinned and listened to each of them pour it on. A general conclusion was reached (not factoring my input) which stated I am too serious and too competitive to just play some nice and easy resort volleyball. What can one do when such a decision is rendered? Nothing...you can only go about your business and prove them false. Either that, or secretly wish for a group of four, 60+ year old volleyball banditos to come along and rescue you. Their names were Stan, Niko, Joe and Mac. Yes, they were all above the age of 60 and they all played volleyball together.<br /></p><br /><br /><p align="left">Tournament day was upon us and this resort's version of the Golden Girls wanted JK and I on their team. More amazing than the fact that they were all over 60 is that they were all pretty darn good, a couple quite good. We had a chance to meet Stan a day or two earlier and learn his story. He was laid up in his room for the previous few days after throwing out his back while working out. He spends a few months in Mexico every winter and he informed us that he expected the winter of 2007 to be his last. He has two forms of terminal cancer, according to doctors should have been dead three years ago, has a golf ball sized lump on his chest where the needle for his chemo goes, lives in Chicago and played competitive volleyball when he was younger. So, if you think when Stan's feet hit the court on Tourney day he was just happy to be upright, alive and knocking the volleyball around a bit...you'd be sorely mistaken. After telling a few people what they should have done better, he uttered to me, "Let's play hard, I don't like losing at anything..." Joe and Mac were further down the intensity scale, but still aggressive. Niko was a pompous Scandinavian control freak whose accent I couldn't quite place even as he was disparaging me mere inches from my right ear. He always knew everything, even the score of the game, which was actually nice because no one else ever did. (I just realized that I never made fun of him for serving underhand.) Team Geezer, with a combined age north of 300 years, did not win the free drink which was awarded to the tournament champions, but a consolation prize for John and I was getting to play volleyball with those guys for the rest of...all the live long day.</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453901333511060978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuMX6pv9xvA855mt3vRgsm2EOkQa5P1f_0vp5eRbIN2GX4H-Vgir_bfI4uVsdMv68Wbi08dNNQokmX6dTvDemzevB0H8T5qS14D3GFs6abo4d4dq8x4K93vGEevgKEbqzWNAdnGoS-3v0/s320/IMG_5266.JPG" /> Stan<br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="left">It may sound like I disliked the old guys, which really isn't true. They were very nice people, and a couple of them were just unbalanced enough to allow me to get a full retraction about my so called "antics" on the very same volleyball court. What's the score now Niko?<br /><br />Our Return from Paradise...<br /><br />Not much in the way of Abby and Avery postings this time, but I did notice one very interesting and noteworthy thing about our youngest after we got back to the states. She's gotten a lot faster. Her head turns faster, her arms move around a lot faster, she wiggles and bounces faster. You know on some old tape players how you could fast forward but still hear the voices? Or some tape recorders how you could slow down or speed up the voices to make them sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks...well, Avery is moving around like that. In fact, she sort of moves like a chipmunk. Very fast, very fast, look around nervously, very fast, very fast...and so on. </p><p align="center"><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxnbIfM8hplFqOZk7pFJ9bkrkwWjeMAcBC55s7aj-kgoZ9FymBBOUNiSmvhiOqTyJWqbiYgG-nIsXmEbXAxeg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><br /><p align="left"><br />Funny Abby quote:</p><p>While describing (in Disney terms) how long she was sitting atop the porcelain throne while going twosies one day Abby said, "My poop was inside me for as long as Nemo was lost for."<br /></p><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453903826785691938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgolJqO2LbK5IL3ylR1mtm-TJIm_evXJ5LT5aQUK4RPITYbpdbg1JyxNQcnKTpxTCbVkbZTAPAFhe6pyt1LGbzrM2EdaM4mX2sxrcgqFbKlBguI4EtzmS9nuui1RCdZJPxqGpyEnHTw_kI/s320/IMG_5419.JPG" /></p></div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-54854216650528205012010-01-12T23:15:00.022-06:002010-01-20T23:55:57.939-06:00Jack Bauer's replacement...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YCdxewVP9F0ahsGOuqlNdf9TUbsfUTPI9VBrNFKgre68tCTe78edfUlOJOQAqgN83zRc-QwO_1XU-koSeToqlVGsZfmPXyMBQQUsVUKmE1vJn8Gtzv7XeyOK1g7LJXPP_NDNShumSDg/s1600-h/dx-winter-snow-screensaver.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429066005256335154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YCdxewVP9F0ahsGOuqlNdf9TUbsfUTPI9VBrNFKgre68tCTe78edfUlOJOQAqgN83zRc-QwO_1XU-koSeToqlVGsZfmPXyMBQQUsVUKmE1vJn8Gtzv7XeyOK1g7LJXPP_NDNShumSDg/s320/dx-winter-snow-screensaver.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div>I can't really believe it took 3 1/2 years, but it did. Abby finally got out of her bed without our direct permission. Our eldest daughter must have seen her bed and covers as a comfy prison. After a long night's sleep or an afternoon napper, where was Abby? You could always find her in her bed. No, not in her bedroom, in the actual bed. Since her induction into the world of big girl beds, she patiently waited for Mommy or Daddy to come take down the forcefield and release her from the shackles of pink and brown sheets and pillows. Then one day she'd had enough.</div><div><br />I can just imagine her creeping out of bed on her own for the first time. I picture her carrying a brown satchel slung across her chest, complete with the whip and brown fedora hat. If she was as clever and resourceful as Indiana Jones who knows...she may have been sneaking out of her room for months? But one early morning as Anna went down the stairs she was met by our little adventurer on her way up them. I don't know who was more surprised. I'm sure Abbers was ecstatic to see she wasn't in any trouble for her blatant disregard of, well no rules at all. We never told her she had to stay in bed...until 4 days later anyway. So, what does a 3 year old do with such a new found freedom? Use it, exploit it and lose it seems to be the natural progression. Well, for the next three or four days Anna and I woke up to our Abbers (at 5:00-6am mind you)...no not to her poking us, not to the sound of pots, pans, toys, talking, singing, doors slamming, none of the logical ideas. Yep, for the better part of a week, she woke up, opened her door, crept up the stairs, came in our room and...hung out. Yep, she simply sat on her arse, and waited (and probably put out the vibe) while never making a sound. I'm thinking she's gonna make either a great stalker or superb field agent, either way the FBI is probably in her future. Of course, it was sweet and adorable and only a little weird. The result: she now must stay in her room until the clock says 7:something. And I will tell you what, she is punctual...I saw 7:01 on my clock everyday thereafter. Then we had to teach her how to turn on the TV.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 297px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429064978731704466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3dZRfa-DanYBFivnYBrcVk0Mw_kEzJ49F6VpWXOUqw3Z1QSevifdjIMhFsfoefnFD8sLn0bMrB9k6IfF9J3ndkN2U87AI6v9AGdAE7ZEF8deV8z_kP_gFG7epyXyX-UUdzhzy_2QCh4/s320/IMG_4079-1.JPG" /><br /><br /><strong>It's about time Avery gets a little pub...<br /></strong><br />We have grown accustomed to our youngest flashing smile after smile after adorable little smile (now complete with teeth...err, well tooth). She truly is a happy baby and oh my how she loves her big sister. She laughs and smiles at virtually everything Abby does for her, with her and to her. However, beneath that darling facade, there is a diabolical side. Yes, little Avery is ahead of her time. More often than not, when Abby is disciplined within earshot of her baby sister, Avery gleams from ear to ear. It's truly as if Avery's stickin' it to her big sister already. I knew I liked this kid. I suppose it could mean trouble for this guy because I honestsly figured any sibling rivalries wouldn't begin for a few years. Imagine that, something else I got wrong about girls.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429065168202487890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUk5IHVizFKoBkVejlnEwFeVuT6tc_6ZnZwldndNFG5ofkljJLuMiRH3a-KtbYqcRV80hRK8sdQXVOp4wnZc_0xmGsiu5Qywiyz2vJkn3SDxKBjYPBpldhW1MA6BsMkmt8_19i0Q5YsI4/s320/IMG_4068.JPG" /><br /><br /><strong>Pondering the Perils of Parenthood</strong></div><div><br />There are a myriad of things one can expect when starting down Parenthood Lane. The first few things that come to mind are diapers, bottles, sleepless nights, trips to the park, brainwashing, the list goes on and on. There are an equal number of things one could never foresee, even with Miss Cleo on retainer. This list includes being completely willing to use your hands and clothes as tissues and toilet paper, trying to wholeheartedly give voices and personalities to Disney Princesses and Barbies, seriously considering DVR'ing Keeping up with the Kardashians (wait, that has nothing to do with child rearing does it?). But perhaps the most bizarre phenomenon I've stumbled upon are the rogue children sprinkled across every park in the southwest suburbs.</div><div><br />Let me explain. You take your kid(s) to a busy park one evening. Everything seems normal enough, no full moon, el nino is several months away...it's regular. You are physically ready and mentally prepared to play and look after whose kid(s)? Yeah, your kid(s). Not five minutes after your feet hit the wood chips and you've grown an extra appendage. You got it, it's this park's rogue kid! "Watch what I can do." "My name is Biff." "C'mon let's go this way." "Do you like my Willie Nelson tattoo?" These are the things that come out of this kid's mouth. It's a bona fide ambush and you are a sitting duck. Smile, chuckle, try to be cordial, what else are you gonna do? But your new conjoined twin doesn't pick up on social cues...astonishin</div>g, he's 5. I don't mean to imply that this child is nasty, or ill-willed at all...he's just really terrific at invading your personal space. Whatever combination of parents junior has are obviously not cutting it in the attention department. And whether they know it or not, they've been spiking his sippy cups with shots of creepy.<br /><br />So, you turn your focus back to your kid(s), but a thousand questions are running through your head. Where are Biff's mom and dad? How many other people has he beseiged in his career? How many cans of Red Bull has rogue boy shotgunned today? Does he think I'll want to play with him more because he is steamrolling my daughter on his way up the rope ladder? Why does he smell like a hamster cage? The funny part of the entire episode is that my kid (3 years) thinks it's as weird as I do. Most likely the really funny part is what I don't notice...Frodo's parents laughing their arses off on a not-so-nearby bench.<br /><br />This brings me to a story of one special roguester we met at a park near our house. We refer to him as Spider-Man kid. Not because of his prowess on the monkey bars, not even close, more because he was wearing a Spidey t-shirt and calling himself...well...Spider-Man. He was as aggressive as any rogue kid I've seen. Maybe 5 or 6 years old...dude was all over the place, seriously bonkers, like Robin Williams on a talk show. It was also obvious he wasn't..entirely..there. Poor kid's mom did come over after awhile to run some interference for us, or at least give it her best shot. From the looks of it, he had already eaten her for breakfast that morning. I gotta give her credit though because he looked hungry and she must have looked like a corn dog smothered in chocolate chip cookies to him. In case that wasn't clear, she didn't stand a chance.<br /><br />The highlight of this chance encounter came 15-20 painful minutes in to his interrogation of us. At one point, after answering 30-40 of his questions (Anna is so nice), Peter Parker's proverbial bulb lights up and he asks my wife the following: "Can I hold your baby?" At this point Avery is about 120 hours old, as if that matters. What comes to my head? Well, the kind version is, "UMMM, we'll pass." I turn to Anna and I didn't quite recognize her. Probably because she suddenly looked like a guard at Fort Knox. That and the face she wore looked like she was asked to give the square root of 589,658.23, without using a calculator. Spidey waved, with both arms, as we moseyed on home.<br /><br />If you haven't experienced this playground wonder, it's only a matter of time because...they are everywhere. </div><div><br /><p><strong><br />Short Abby story:</strong> </p><p>Abby was very excited when Anna picked her up from the health club daycare this evening. She told her mom, "I talked tonight." Definitely pat-on-the-back worthy for our shy Abber Dabbers. The teacher from daycare corroborated Abby's statement. Apparently Abby told her teacher that her daddy is funny and I tell her jokes. When prompted to tell a joke she learned from her daddy, Abby said, "Why did Tigger stick his head in the toilet?"<br />Teacher: "I don't know, why?"<br />Abby: He was looking for Poo(h)"</p><p>AWESOME</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429065074893261186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNuHLEDS2TbmbrNH8eM-7c2p4ywR_GlUb74_iittVK6MlZqHb7OWrC251dL7OYKv6_da_CIX3POUP8qsRkAWZuscQIrs4rfqhML9cuOyWk-mPW5GaHZUo_AH3wR3VdfbEO9rSXn-2wyw/s320/IMG_4073-1.JPG" /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-1484362509678568862010-01-03T20:49:00.017-06:002010-01-06T16:04:38.057-06:00Maybe a resolution will help?<div><br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 228px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423749800164309106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ1cwSe_wuM9OXBSbS3zlmiQuZD3ZHUb8_iCwfjHbaQM_yzNP2WI_b_V_gXeCEi9ReHMnmOMyVic20gI7dYeSC2BvLZ5_chU_tkswi05ywT1IA0fFGlWiVazsKyufvTXi0z1xyfCxJps4/s320/christmas-tree-inside-the-house.jpg" /> <div><br /><div>There are really only two options when posting one's first blog entry in almost 11 months...try explain the events of the remainder of 2009 or simply pick it up from here and hope readers can catch on. I am going with the latter (I assume the extensive audience this blog reaches will understand). </div><br /><div>What would a new year be without some well intentioned resolutions to screw up? I've never been one to give much weight to making a betterment pledge because there was recently a one digit change to the date we write on our checks and signed documents. But for whatever reason this new decade actually feels like something. Maybe it's because we <em>are</em> in a new decade? Maybe it's because I've never before been 30 when the calendar turned over? Or maybe it's the "pine mouth" I've been experiencing for about a week...it definitely makes the new year taste different.</div><br /><div><br />In any case, I'm declaring that resolutions are in! Blogging more frequently is definitely my most challenging goal, but I'll do anything for my fans...and by "fans" I mean daughters. When they are old enough to read these entries about their family, I'm hoping they don't start to wonder why Daddy got dumber after he turned 30. You see, since venturing in to the nail bending business I have not written much of anything and it seems I have used only the construction side of my brain. Whoever said, "if you don't use it, you lose it" was right. So I'm also declaring that monosyllabic expressions are in, at least for a month or two.</div><div> </div><br /><div>Well, Christmas came and went faster than Abby's smile while perched upon EP Center Santa's knee. I think the only reason she even went close to him without crying is because Avery was on a collision course with jolly old Saint Nick too. This particular Santa photo parlour employed 3 elves whose jobs were, take pictures, collect money and keep any sparks or easily combustible materials away from the big man's beard. I mean, if all you do is snap photos wouldn't you be ready to pull the trigger at any time the kids on Santa's lap are smiling? Well, camera elf was not exactly Johnny on the spot. And wouldn't you know it, Abby was all smiles...for about 23 seconds, then, for Abbers, it may as well have been a picture from the early 1900s. I've often wondered why, in old photos, nobody is smiling? What's with that? And just as interesting to me...when did everyone decide, ok, let's try to not look like we're in the middle of the bubonic plague. Perhaps it's about the same time people started to care about hygiene and began to brush their chiclets? Anywho, Abby stonewalled real good for the duration of our Santa visit and camera elf captured, count 'em, zero smiles. Honestly, the picture is more memorable this way anyway.<br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 229px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423504227797143778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrujMflWQVWXt3CBLX7x-9W_AdH2hgDTRdbYrP2jvfKi-MxkV5BNCXnToXqrLGknMIt1F4nvwP-8gnVvx6h3QDGJb26-wmLTpxpGqT2devOa4s2mizcMtrq57xK4UhFc499VMqhGnIcU/s320/Abby+and+Avery+w+Santa+2009.jpg" /><br /><div></div>I seem to recall comparing Abby's gift opening technique last year with a well known US Swim Team backstroker. So with the XXI Olympic Winter Games set to get underway next month, what does this year's present thrashing compare to that we may see in Vancouver? Abby was definitely Bode Miller, not because she quit the US Gift Opening team and took all of her presents back to her RV and opened them alone. No, she was carving her way through gift after gift, sometimes on one foot...it was hard to keep up with her. Avery would be best compared to someone in the same discipline, only someone who wrecked and now just sits and drools. Of course, her wide open, gorgeous baby blues are tough to replicate. I think maybe my favorite thing from this Christmas was this little high pitched, excited, mini-scream Abby would let out when she opened something she was really excited about. I really didn't appreciate the joy of giving until I witnessed the excitement and Christmas magic present in the eyes and soul of my oldest little girl. Yes, this Christmas was stocked with plenty of presents, but more importantly, it was filled with family, friends, laughter and wonderful new memories. Merry Christmas indeed.</div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423750014910231794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24IhIjt5aYIxdWejIl_7lERFrpFMw0eZEqqW3ms4aSa_MdYhqFzUj31pIsDrM7wRAdeFv_w8_V-TgkO2OMPdd1lf-KhmF7ZcKbCkhuHZKsoBoxows0FmCqpMOevY60L6bbxjtSI-JZUY/s320/IMG_4017-1.JPG" /><br /><br /><div>Speaking of the bippidy-boppidy-boo properties of the Christmas season, there was certainly some Christmas mojo going on at our place on December the 12th. How else could one explain the 9 or 10 liters of booze we crushed that night? Our 35+ guests walked through the front door, entered the boundary of the kitchen and never left. I had to bob and weave my way through the crowd simply to reach the fridge to get more ice for the 300 drinks I mixed. At one point the lady of the house was recruiting, with fervor, people to drink red bull vodkas...just because. If you weren't careful you might have found yourself competing in a game of (pull the lever) CandyLand, in which shots were levied to the losers. There were yule tidings abound, one in particular came in writing..."Merry effin Christmas, Jesus." That was a first for this guy. It was easy to hear the music and difficult to hear conversations. It literally felt like being at the bar, glad that shipment of urinal cakes came in the previous week. There are 3 things I will say in summation: </div><div>1. everyone was in the mood to have some fun...</div><div>2. every conversation led back to Tiger Woods...</div><div>3. some people just don't appreciate an authentic re-creation of the pyrotechnics at the Vegas club Rain...</div><br /><br /><div>I will also add a few good party tips:</div><div>1. torches are great for a. starting fires, and b. prematurely ending parties</div><div>2. Usher played three times in a row, four different times does, in fact, constitute good song variety</div><div>3. every good shindig sees someone get their hair burned</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 253px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423750545440927522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4f4K30kFZVbBMaRXPUrSV_uQnP9GVYeWxzhV0KSmfTmIRXGImQPG7uGHlD_3KhORnJ4ETC13YWNYDxpzjf2y_muamxtod7ze0dN0bovfV_GBYqVZ7hF9MEVrHeo0Xe_tLe4OF_46_Ns/s320/Palms-rain-entertainment_clubs_01.jpg" /><br /><br /><div><strong>Story from 2009</strong></div><br /><div>While Daddy is showering, Abby loves to come in the bathroom and turn off the lights. Well, she came in a little late one day because I was hopping out wearing...zippiddy-doo-dah. She stops short...stares...points...and asks, "Daddy, what are those things underneath your peanuts?"</div></div></div></div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-16431553996187433512009-02-23T23:25:00.009-06:002009-03-15T22:38:37.020-05:00Do I hear Shakespeare?<div><div>[This entry is about 3 weeks late due to many extenuating circumstances. Getting laid off, contracting a computer virus I still haven't gotten rid of and some laziness. So, the following events are no longer real time.]</div><div> </div><br /><div>This entry will start out in the present because I just went in to Abby's room to get her up from her nap and...was promptly kicked out. The bouncer wasn't very nice either. I can't believe it, Abbers would rather stay in her bed than get up and hang out with me. So, I guess I'll journal about it...yeah, no I'm still straight. I will simply take it as a compliment and that she adores her new room. More about that in a bit. </div><div><br /><br />So what does she do in there when she's not sleeping? For as long as she's been able to make sounds Abby has talked in her crib/bed. Before she goes to sleep at night, after she wakes up from naps, and sometimes even in the morning...she talks. Not only does she talk, but she sings, makes noises, does monologues, anything she can do for entertainment. We've always had the monitor on and can hear the sounds emanating from her room and I've always wondered what's going on in there? I sometimes imagine her like Peyton Manning standing at the line of scrimmage (her crib rail) pointing (at her stuffed animals) and yelling out an audible. Puppy you go out and up; Baby Jaguar-sideline route; Mickey, you're the hot diggity dog route...Dora butterfly, Blue forty-two, Swiper eleventeen set hut! Sometimes I think she's putting on a Shakespeare play in there. Other times I picture Abby standing in her crib conducting a symphony of color, sound and light. It's like Woodstock or Lollapalooza, that is until Mommy or Daddy opens the door. I'll literally open it up really quickly to try and catch any piece of the concert. Perhaps the biggest reason I think she's producing some type of performance is because anytime I've popped my head in there she looks at me with a mischevious stare as if I've interrupted something. All the stuffed animals hold up their bic lighters and aim 'n flames behind my back just waiting for me to leave so they can witness the encore. And sure enough, as soon as the door latches behind me it's off again to never never land for our Abber Dabbers. I truly hope I am not alone in my imagination of what goes on behind closed toddler doors, but it wouldn't be the the first time I've been on a solitary island with my crazy thoughts...</div><br /><div><br />All of that brings me to the moment I just experienced. I walked in to Abby's room to get her up from her nap and was greeted with the aforementioned blank stare. I had missed another show. For all I know it was her year two of life opus. I'll never know. But I do know that this was the first time she actually snubbed me. In fact, her little "I'd rather stay napping than get up" bit almost got me in the dog house. Anna woke up from her nap and while I was typing away here she went in to get Abby. When she noticed I was home and was, of course, goofing around on the computer instead of attending to our daughter, she gave me "the look." Anyone familiar with Garage Logic will know what "the look" is. In fact, any guy who's married or who has been in a relationship for 72 hours will know as well. Anyway, I quickly talked my way out of that one by informing my wife that I had been brutally rebuffed by our 2 1/2 year old. </div><div> </div><br /><div>So about that new room of Abby's. Well, things have been hectic in this Brett household as we are preparing for the July arrival of the 4th member of our family. We moved rooms, Abby moved rooms, our office moved levels and Abby's old room is now vacant. We acquired some old furniture from Grandma Barb and I picked up another project...re painting and finishing two dressers, a night stand and a bookcase for Abby's new room. Where do I find the time? Well some time has certainly been stolen from this blog, oh well. But really, time is something I've had a lot of lately. I've been working for myself going on three weeks now. I've decided to go out on my own doing anything and everything home related. So, for whoever may be reading this, here is my shameless plug: spread the word to anyone and everyone who may need a new deck, a finished basement, painting, bathrooms, tile work, windows, doors, you name it. Ok, I feel cheapened, but what the hell, it's my blog, like six people read it, and I'm related to all of them one way or another...ha.</div><div><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313623014130811330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Qm7i9LBD9I2Ki2ZVWEETupyMbPXtO-SXe0Xxc30tBWj81QzYr4W5mM4XVkAW52Zw7XxyCT0ndLSEbKOXU1A4y86trH6rRuPGiBi_y3MSuZBSMFZ6vMFk9wUP5XigNOaEvmV_86E-KXY/s320/IMG_0451.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>Anyway, we finished with all the room switching and Abby is officially in her big girl room and in her big girl bed. Wow, how did she get to be so old? She now says her favorite store is Target, well she says "Tahget" and since she has her mom's taste in stores and says the name like a mobster, I'm hoping she'll have my taste in movies and she and I will be watching <em>The Godfather</em> sooner rather than later. She also loves to come with me to Menards and Home Depot. Everytime we go by the paint department she makes me stop so she can get a color sample to bring home to Mommy.</div><br /><div></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313622853135463186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGuX2C0skVrJ8Uexj0YNI1JzjwYj1LfpDcRp_X0rS50FGiXzE7FsMQr2TfaewKstfotrJgznXlZVd4U_hTB4TfxozgAWVo15wlq8kZUdBoA-PfjvWDYm-c_LIf5wwPtZffnV8reGO6FUc/s320/IMG_0449.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313622768266620338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNrfaZQboPnhB-VmRlJi9rJSHpCHLqU8vt9h5O9GD4S9_hrNbxUiovnvbj5Q-uXqVq9ghcoLMCXKHQXi7wCepBFP8daBfFef6XJ00dTDxwSraYy_yEh734-fTQFnjoqcxagzJqNkZNcI/s320/IMG_0448.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>During one of our most recent trips, with Mommy, Abbers and I went down the tile section and she spotted some yellow sponges. I didn't notice that she noticed them, but when we came back down that aisle a few minutes later we stopped paying real close attention to her. We were looking at tile and this and that and before we knew it we looked up and saw what, to us, was both hilarious and amazing. Well, Home Depot has these black bumper type poles in strategic areas so their displays aren't dented or run over by runaway carts or fork lifts. One would never really notice them or pay them any attention. That is, unless you're 2 1/2 and they're just about as tall as you are. We looked up and saw that Abbers had stealthily crept around to at least seven or eight of these black bumper poles and adorned each of them with a nice fluffy yellow hat. Anna and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. Abby was happy to see we didn't care about her little sponge distribution project and let her continue spreading golden pourous rectangle cheer. Maybe the cutest part of the whole thing was that she went about her business as happy as a little beaver sucking on a dum dum the nice lady who worked in the floring department gave to her. The only side effect is that now everytime we're in Home Depot she asks where the suckers are...</div><br /><br /><br /><div>I think my entrys have been pretty rant free, but that's about to end. Anna and I have been looking at various tile for a backsplash we've been meaning to do for awhile now. We recently ramped up our search and have been buying samples to bring home and test out. Well, I have ordered samples of hardwood floor online before and things went great. I suspected that would hold true for tile as well. At least I was hoping as much since I had found a great looking copper colored pillow tile online which I wanted to see in person. The tiles are 4x4 inches and one square foot costs about $11. So the company said I could get a sample for $8.98 and they would ship for free. Great deal I thought. So my package finally came and I open it up to discover one, count it one 4x4 tile which is chipped, scratched and generally beat up. Nevermind the fact that if I decided to actually order this tile to put up in my kitchen I couldn't use the one tile they sent me because it's crap. I do have a problem with that. But I paid $8.98 for a sample of tile. A sample of tile that costs about $11 per square foot...and do they send me about 4/5 or 9/10 of a foot? NO, they send me exactly 1/9 of a square foot. What is that? I'll have to write another entry dedicated to concept of "getting it" and when I do DekoTile.com will certainly be on the list of people and/or companies who do not "get it"!</div></div><br /><div><br /><br /><div>This weekend we went to the Minnesota Zoo with Johnny, Missy, Ella, Jen and Brian. It was pretty darn cold outside so we decided to stick with the inside exhibits. Probably a wise decision since Ella was just getting started with her pink eye medication and Abby stumbled upon some sort of illness sometime that morning. Overall the zoo trip was uneventful. It should be noted that I think Abby's favorite part was the "money game". Yeah, the one where you slide coins down the slide and travel around and around the giant funnel before plopping down into the donation bucket locked below. At least fountains and wells implore the kids to make a wish before throwing all that change our new president sees so fit to lead us towards, into the water. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I have the right definition of "change". But I digress, aside from the "money game", the bird show we saw was likely the highlight. The dolphin show was the main attraction for our group, but that promiscuous sea mammal got knocked up and is out for the rest of the regular season. We'll have to hit up Como Zoo this Spring to compare...</div><br /><br /><div>I'll end with another good Abby quote, </div><br /><div>"Daddy these pieces of licorice are little like me."</div></div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-24598878806067523212009-02-06T15:53:00.002-06:002009-02-17T00:40:40.597-06:00Anna and Rocky LaPorte<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkSAm3NBqW-DD7A6CZhO7COJct0U2Ozvw7ooeZcAhqC2Id6kQE21uowN5GTsF0MC7qGfl5oig54cbLdlNQtCaVs9QJtObWsp_7de8fhY9q4EntecQKTh1kIyNQiUaQ_-rI_SBUxByrc0/s1600-h/IMG_0422.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303650092664991458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkSAm3NBqW-DD7A6CZhO7COJct0U2Ozvw7ooeZcAhqC2Id6kQE21uowN5GTsF0MC7qGfl5oig54cbLdlNQtCaVs9QJtObWsp_7de8fhY9q4EntecQKTh1kIyNQiUaQ_-rI_SBUxByrc0/s320/IMG_0422.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><div><div><div><div>My wife has been wondering when she will get her pub on this oh so popular of venues to view the written word (can you hear the sarcasm). Well, she need not wait any longer. This story must not be suppressed. </div></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>So, one night a couple weeks back Anna tells me she received a DVD in the mail. She had taken a call from a market research company asking for her opinion on a new sitcom. She was supposed to watch it on a certain night because she was going to be called the next day to answer questions about it. I figured Focus Market Research is letting people get paid to do research in their homes now? And, all you have to do is watch some tube? Not bad. The timing worked out so I was able to have a front row seat for the DVD viewing. Anna was told she would be watching a new sitcom that may or may not be picked up by one of the networks. We pop in the DVD and the curtain draws on <em>Rocky LaPorte</em>. I liken the ensuing half hour to watching <em>The Hills.</em> Meaning,<em> </em>I don't really want to watch it, but some sort of unseen tractor beam makes me sit and follow along. Rocky LaPorte is the name of the guy in the show, a la <em>Seinfeld</em> and the <em>Drew Carey Show.</em> Well<em>,</em> Rocky doesn't so much look like LC from <em>The Hills</em> and his show is a lot like <em>According to Jim</em> but without Courtney Thorne-Smith and the gal who's married to Brad Paisley. It<em> </em>does, however, have the guy who Drew Barrymore's character is supposed to marry in <em>The Wedding Singer</em> (you know, Mr. Gulia). So, I don't know who's counting but that has gotta be enough strikes against this show for one or two K's already.</div><div><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303649050824003586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 231px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLvWueaxjUfEuUi37rPUp7J9T2jUnkKW26ZweSrz3KeiGS_aeBL6hnrtaccsWCKGNf4KEXrvU1PVy9zCDN-Ks_ButHMT5j7WJeUxMsE20Q_y-KxxaBC-O0kI-Am-wM6sQjN9UExgZSSc/s320/rocky-laporte-headshot-colo.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>Now I did, indeed, say 30 minutes. Oh yeah, the first commercial break comes and, by God, there are actual commercials we have to watch. "They" have removed the fast forward option so it becomes pretty clear that the purpose is to pay attention and potentially evaluate the commercials as well. It is at this point in the evening when I learn this little experiment is being done pro bono. That's my wife, she's a giver. I am not "them" so...fast forward to the next night: The phone's a ringin' exactly when they said it would. We ignore it the first three times it rings not remembering Anna's phone appointment. It's clear <em>Rocky LaPorte</em> left a lasting impression eh?<em> </em>Anna finally does answer and finds herself waist deep in the most snarly of thickets. Answering question after question about what?...yep, the commercials. Bless her heart, Anna thought she would be giving her opinions on what might be the next <em>Friends </em>or <em>Seinfeld.</em> Instead she spent an hour plus on the phone critiquing 30 and 60 second TV spots. Perhaps the best moment in the entire saga came the following week when, after taking a few jabs from me, she attempted to explain the scenario to her sister Steph. In her best "whiny-victim" voice Anna groans her way through the lead in to the story, sending every impression that she was bamboozled in to this. If I hadn't been there to call BS Steph would still believe her sister to be the victim of what could have been known as the "<em>Rocky LaPorte</em> Ploy<em>".</em> Funnily enough, one of Steph's friends got the same call Anna did and immediately saw right through it. This news was met with the sourest of looks from my bride. It's one of the things I love most about my wife, her trusting and innocent spirit. You could do business with her simply via a smile and a handshake...something I think we all miss about the world we live in today.</div><br /><div><em></em></div><br /><div>One of the themes of 2009 thus far has been our Abber Dabbers blazing a path towards becoming a "big girl". She's completely done with diapers, she plays games on the computer, she has her own camera and "iPod" and even more impressive, she's now clogged a toilet. I'm sure she'll be thrilled at the mentioning of this feat when she's older, but please, I can't think of many better ways to show you've arrived at "big girl" status than to have to call in Mr. Plunger to take care of some things. She got done, lit a match and said, "That was a doosy of a twosie."<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303649204193688242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 164px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtezdHEqvITQvemdCAZ-EJhitXGxl7papn1Q3cej-JaznhwoEriFTSG7xZS4-Tx-5Y8xsDddCYuWOm3cwP4ybl3ftEo5EeAWntEvtWzTYGwlAL2_A6zpUOJTqi0KqM0cvinY2oGjqfs5c/s320/Abby+swimming.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div></div><div>Swimming class is in full swing again and Abby loves it. She and Anna go every Wednesday with Missy and Ella. The reports are always good. All four gals like the water because they keep it at about 89 degrees. I went last year once and, it was awfully nice. The schedule is setup so the geriatric group has their pool time just before the munchkins' turn. I suppose they may have the water heated up for those two groups so the kids actually swim and so the elderly women don't...well..."freeze" and shatter something. I remember hopping in the pool the one time I went last year and it seemed so fresh and fragrant. I didn't realize until now that it was likely a combination of Aspercreme, Ben-Gay and Chanel No 5. That potent combo of ointment and eau de toilette was like having built in floaties...absolutely magical. It truly is funny to see the elderly women exit the pool with the kiddies waiting in the wings. Watching the expressions on their mugs as they walk by the little ones really tells a story. At least it does to me, but I suppose I may have a more active imagination than some. Some women look excited, some look annoyed, others have the look of actual anger, and then at least one flashes a look of bewilderment. My mind runs on and on...<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303649136124399602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 177px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherIrCDt6o2gc5GC-EEhIHdiNCAUowDm5kIGnw-3UpCdaSaawpNCRqQK-kCTx4To1dwWR5Br9jEF9PTgFyIc4xgXWwq_c-DmAou8KycMo6AtSeWh5jAQkYPUbJ1VdXq7iSot753nORCEk/s320/Ella+swimming.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><div>Time will tell if Abby's going to become a swimmer. As far as Olympic sports go it's pretty good. It sure beats gymnastics or figure skating since once you hit 20 years old in those sports you're already washed up. I can hear Anna's voice in my head right now tell me that our little girl just started sleeping in a big girl bed, so we don't need to think about the 2024 Summer Games or 2026 Winter Games anytime soon. Not a bad point...</div><br /><br /><div></div><div>Well, we just got back from Ella's birthday party. Anna, Abby and I were the last to leave, and out of the Konrad and Brett families, I can pretty much guarantee that I'm the only one who's not currently napping. Abby had been waiting for this party for a very long time (in her world anyway) and it finally came. It was clear she was physically able and mentally prepared to shine. In fact, as the party wore on it became quite clear that Abby was determined to steal Ella's thunder, and probably her lightning too. </div><br /><div></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303649360134838210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQk0AwQnqMk9wC6DlEtoyfPbdCTMjJzpsrCFPUvmNa7_DU2wZxnEuqHCsF-oIF6EX9lxoUwmwdzQYPhqg151OU2fbByOQF9kYJgBFyxMnGASzsRiqqWOsKI-hlcNE_s2u-lqYTwvYGXo/s320/DSCN0255.JPG" border="0" /></div><div> </div><div><br /><div>Ella was, of course, the first contestant to attempt to pin (stick) the tail on the donkey. She strapped on the red paper mask (which I am not ashamed to say I stole to use as the foundation of my 2009-2011 Halloween costume. That's right, this one is gonna be so good it will be worthy of a 3-peat...more details to come). Anyway, Ella's tail hit the eye/ear region of the two dimensional paper donkey, a pretty solid benchmark. When all was said and done it was obvious the other kids understood the concept of point shaving or "throwing" the game. Ella's cousin Serene is almost three years Ella's senior and could have easily snubbed the birthday girl by placing her tail inside Ella's. Serene, in the true spirit of family, placed her tail by the hoof keeping Ella in first place. There were many other would-be challengers, Cole (4) fired wide left with his tail as it landed closer to the bathroom than to the Ass's ass. Carli (1), Allie (almost 2) and Leyna (5 mos) bowed to the birthday girl as all three DQ'd, either because they declined to participate in honor of Ella, didn't want to wear the mask, or, in one case, simply was too young to even really hold up her head. Finally, Riley's attempt was clearly an intentional botch job as the tail sticker, which was stuck to his hand, could have just as easily been a piece of poo the way he was flinging his hand up and down. Props to all the kids...well, all except our Abbers. Not only did Abby not purposely miss on her attempt, she cheated...and won. Yep, she creeped towards that wall where the donkey was perched, leaned in to stick her tail to the board, ever so slyly pulled the mask down, and slammed her tail sticker right on the donkey's butt. It was as if she had been planning and practicing it for three months. I was equal parts ashamed and proud...sorry I can't lie...I was all parts proud.<br /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303649279906580482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfj-xbzCkvPXGRmmEViO7e78g5mQNIExLd1BfJGryNdwvDulVyWCeRaHkbeDivxm_U9iPqWRHRW4_6uAUxaRKdYZdh8sY328e6Ub8NWtzedX49Zzl1TfGTfjVeUaYVdDJ9_jCelU7Ga8/s320/DSCN0247.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>The next incident wasn't quite as brash, but that's not why I wasn't proud. Her next offense was not something she would have learned from me, but rather Ella's daddy. It was a little more than half way through gift opening and many people had already left to get home for nap time. Ella had just finished unwrapping her gifts from Abby when Missy prompted her to give Abby a hug and/or kiss to say thank you. In my daughter's defense, Ella had already hugged and kissed each of her departing guests (she's a very friendly girl), and now was jonesing for some more action from Abby. Well, Abby gave a couple subtle clues that she wasn't having it, then followed those up with a not so subtle hint...she sneezed in Ella's face. Ella was humiliated...err wait no...a cake/snot/saliva filled sneeze couldn't stop her. She kept on a comin'...what a dandy that Ella is. </div><br /><br /><div>As if Abby hadn't stripped the spotlight from Ella, as it was time to leave Abby asked if she could have a balloon to take home. "Absolutely," said Johnny, "What color do you want?" "Dora" she said. Out of the entire arrangement of about eight balloons, Abby wanted the unique one at the top which was clearly meant for the birthday girl. She settled for lime green. Was it because she finally understood it was Ella's day? Maybe. Or maybe she really wanted all of the lime light for herself? Either way, if the below picture is any indication, Ella didn't care one bit...<br /></div><div> </div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303649728020896658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPrqEnW0AWge4m5Rl8jlH59CLO9SX8Y_Sa4ziNrO-HgIZhYwNj5x5qcUFnS9kpj3f3otIhyz-zwL0hEZuYyM1p17-eHrDV_RzHJGvGzhppPlhXCetU_7xDzCFyZZVM5B00sVvqkcjlNo/s320/DSCN0294.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div></div><div>Big Finish: recent Abby quotes </div><div></div><br /><div>We were driving in the car when a tow truck pulling a car drove by and Abby said laughing, "Look Daddy, those two cars are stuck together."</div><br /><br /><div>After I asked her if she could please pickup a couple of her toys she said, "After I'm done listening to this song I can." </div><div></div><br /><br /><div>I was putting her to bed for the first time in her big girl bed and we were discussing how we said she doesn't need binkies in her big girl bed. She had already told us 25 times that she wanted to sleep in her big girl bed and was adamant about it...</div><br /><div></div><div>Abby: "I want binky."</div><div>Me: "Remember? We said no more binkies in your big girl bed?"</div><div>Abby: "I want my binky."</div><div>Me: "C'mon sweetie you're a big girl, you don't need a binky in your big girl bed."</div><div>Abby (getting sad): "Binky"</div><div>Me: "Abbers I know you can sleep without it."</div><div>Abby: "I wanna sleep in my crib"</div><div> </div><div>I caved and she got her binky...</div></div></div></div></div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-87527298298836879232009-01-29T23:49:00.001-06:002009-02-08T23:22:23.971-06:00A First of Many<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9SkzMuVdrVGyCKDfeBl8S0pL_hIc5zs96-s31PPbGK85S1AfdGLNGIcw4wk3VVFYw329nY3aX9N5jIWxOiKKUwvofv2JhKxc_0vFtcuCzQ8iuSIELGFhxsSICYFcPqAlmO5Nqk5RTW8/s1600-h/IMG_0126.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299932916416324210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9SkzMuVdrVGyCKDfeBl8S0pL_hIc5zs96-s31PPbGK85S1AfdGLNGIcw4wk3VVFYw329nY3aX9N5jIWxOiKKUwvofv2JhKxc_0vFtcuCzQ8iuSIELGFhxsSICYFcPqAlmO5Nqk5RTW8/s320/IMG_0126.JPG" border="0" /></a> <div><div><div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>Anna and I were lucky enough to have MLK day off this year. As it happens, the day before, Abby had worked a double shift at IHUSC, kind of like IHOP but this is the International House of Sippy Cups, and was picking up a shift that evening for one of her inner city peeps. In other words, she had the day off too. Better still, Grandma and Grandpa Polzin were with us, and everyone knows they don't have day jobs. So, we decided to take our first trip, of what I imagine will be many trips, to BIG (Bloomington Ice Garden). It was truly a pleasure to strap 'em on my little girl. Her sitting on the bench with her tiny legs dangling and me down on my knees putting these humongous size eight skates on her feet. The smallest skates available were still too big for Abber Dabbers. But we all tightened our boots and made our way onto the ice.<br /></div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299933028495934498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgL6Mh_MjFVQN9mMqWG6bmRL_aohshePidfZYqIxnzQZO6tXdUddUy1IDZHqVgPO_39xv9-I_3v15hn0W7lLwRD-ZLyhFpP6ha7Pm6NGsxxSkSHM9tf1p30UHNg6NJNmKwYCDgAzsE59o/s320/IMG_0142.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>Some may be aware of my self concious feelings about my skating abilities. Having grown up in the land of the Jaguars and as a wee lad being stricken with arthritis in the ankles, I was way behind from the start. Well, I do alright now, but I'm glad Abby has her mom to teach her skating. It should come as no surprise to me that everytime I mentioned taking Abby skating outside Anna would snicker. She was a figure skater you know. And I ought to have known that figure skaters don't like skating outside. Maybe it's the cold air that engulfs you on an outdoor sheet? Maybe it's because she's too good to put up with the bumps and imperfections found on Minnesota's pond hockey rinks? Or maybe she just wanted to give Abby the best skating environment possible. Whatever the case, Anna felt right at home on BIG #3. I swear she kept looking for the token snooty French judge somewhere in the stands. Abby did great, well, great for a two year old who has only been in skates once before. We all had fun but if it weren't for the skating aid Abby could hold on to, her mom and dad would have been shaped like candy canes for the rest of the day. We did a few "father, son, holy spirits" for that PVC miracle.<br /></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300150772868338562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDOd_cso-0p6pOsVqA41t1lJAKiYnPWcEs1wq6k4o2Oijt_1YEIcMWSkzBvC1EDKDW_mASpnoMo1gMgpSE3QU8JE7yTkmjQESHxLQBjCTAxr0eUN76fJtZTP-fIA64EFI3xEuIiO7WRY/s320/IMG_0121.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p>It's awfully strange not having an on-going project at home. I built some shelves in the bomb shelter recently. Is it strange that I get a lot of enjoyment out of having a shelf to put things on? I know 10 years ago my mom and dad would have never guessed I would say that and be even half serious. I guess I should take back that comment about no on-going project. I am working pretty diligently at getting a good 2 - 2.5 miles out of these chicken legs everyday. Then add to that a pushup and a situp. The other day Missy told JK he was looking a lot trimmer. It was really just that I was sitting next to him and I'm looking alot more muscular these days. I guess one might say that my arms have stopped looking so much like Harry Potter's and have crossed over into the Conan the Barbarian realm. I'm sorry, Conan O'Brien...that's right.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299929314006835794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmiX5pxhinHLah0DLHLQK1VzVVMK2NTojB6eibxcD7SlgN4sMZ2NZPMm5AoCuidowvkzu8HTd7ncEVPEUaGDtwcKA5-pKFwRtBY7BgcLTJNFuVtVDC94PsJkVXXtCPX4hftYVhWv2qbA/s320/IMG_0303.JPG" border="0" /><br />Many people probably are aware of Abby's former penchant for picking her nose. I say 'former' because I'm happy to report that she has completely stopped picking her nose for no reason. You guessed it, she's moved on to digging for a purpose. She is still unable to properly blow her nose. We hold the Kleenex up to it, tell her to blow...but the tissue flutters down by her mouth. Call me an optimist but everytime we try it I think this will be the time she actually pushes air out her nose. This is something I will be cataloguing over the next several months...to truly find out when a toddler learns how to blow his/her nose. Once Abby does learn it, we'll quickly move to the snot rocket. Per usual, I'm an excellent teacher, just have Anna farmer blow for you one time. Anywho, back to the nasal excavating. Abby's new thing is to bring me "boogies" which are perched atop one of her fingers (usually the pointer, as one would expect). Reflecting on this new trend makes me think back to all the days of remodeling and house projects whilst I was perpetually wearing my "work clothes". Yes, "work clothes" for me mean something very different than for most guys who have e-mail accounts. When it came to my little girl, those clothes were basically used as a napkin, kleenex, paper towel, etc. I guess I shouldn't be surprised now since she's simply taking her new boogies to the old boogie receptacle. So, I do what any dad who loves his little girl would do...I round them all up and save 'em. No really, I take the boogies from her. I'd rather she wipe them on my hand than on the sofa or wall. But, as of yesterday I am directing her to the bathroom to get toilet paper as often as possible. Why? Well, we were sitting together playing Dora games on the computer, her in my lap, when across the top of the desk comes an uberboogie. I'll spare everyone the details about color and size, but the placement was simply not favorable. I had to explain that boogies go on toilet paper or kleenex and then in the garbage. I mean c'mon Abbers, that cute, not-so-little boogie could've spelled the end for our mouse.<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299928926032587410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQs3Kd0rfr_6M44RmksBMz3a-GOMzFkv6ZeMXMAMRezy-3ezzUxR93abP-aGueCm7GlMfGn2RoSA-_SyAfz8iHdo2ywxPxvfSJTfgP7C36JvkOCHW4skJPfEZQzWTqHCj9UuKcLGDNDVM/s320/IMG_0276.JPG" border="0" /></div><div> </div><div><br />The boogie story aside, it is definitely becoming apparent that our little Abigail will be a girly girl. She received many Disney princess gifts this Christmas. Let's see, underwear, shirts (not blouses), lip gloss and of course, a princess dress she got from Stacey and Mark. It came complete with dress, shoes, tiara, and a wand. One recent night she decided to put on a nice dress up show for us. It should also be noted, since the pictures are posted here, that there's also a good chance our sweet little girl will surrender to the temptress known as gangsta rap . L'il Prinsess (spelled wrong on purpose) might make a good pseudonym. Her first single will likely be called <em>Killin'</em> <em>Boogies.</em><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299928277878081778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUO4u95GirvVcCZYFRHEwkD4scAgkSHbvU7YqiP8S_9bOnACzBpJEyYrpfzLyzO8XjaMBbH0mJD_52NGeKTlhh1CChkwRCyycJUf1P-Be6blve1abtIU5v7ytSbk5UjqrlmVwe1JNs3CI/s320/IMG_0177.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><p>The two best Saturdays of the winter have passed and I'd love to say we're still on top of the boot hockey world, but I can't. We weren't able to bring our regular team to Annandale to compete for the Clearwater Cup and we suffered because of it. We went in as the two-time defending champs and left with...two losses? Say it aint so. The following weekend gave us another opportunity to win a different championship. JK's rink was finally going to be put to the test. The Quad City Championships were coming to the Konrad pond. It just so happened that a fellow member of the QCC, Cooper (or Weekend Warriors), had won the Clearwater Cup the weekend before. This would, no doubt, setup one of the best QCC competitions to date. It also solidified a budding rivalry that won't be put to rest anytime soon.</p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299930647913561762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bWdSpRhM7UwTOikDrIyjweblKo7-pi3_prspYymgIfh27j5gtYoCk2lUuxlsXq8UhTjdA8opriizCZaRZhGuNaspV0jPVPDT3LwyHv3CdD5fG3QVUxp5yjfr01o_gIBLARJkw4Jh60M/s320/IMG_0307.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><p>Good vs. Evil, Cops vs. Robbers, Smurfs vs. Gargamel and now, Jefferson vs. Cooper. In all, we battled the Hawks four times, splitting the first two. They made it to the championship game undefeated so in order to defend our QCC trophy, we'd have to beat them twice. We won the first game in OT. Then surrounded by the capacity crowd, 5 people, the Jags sealed the W with a convincing win in the "if" game. Cooper was outstanding all day. One wonders what the outcome may have been if they'd had their tall, large-domed teammate there. The tournament was a huge success and many props go to JK (and me) for making this installment of the QCC so much fun. </p><p>The next post will come soon as there is plenty to share about Anna and her stint as a critic...</p></div></div></div></div></div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-56214614011477153132009-01-13T16:22:00.000-06:002009-01-29T23:48:25.706-06:00For Abby, 2009 comes with a roof<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0UuyxcYc85vFgitBd67YvAmJHhmNZ0BhL69wWiDlV1lBKW2OD-WfyoixKkdmS5-1empNQnG9SyzsZIE5DiXBCn8xrC5-I6fZnM-nK5hDD2HZDjlggcVi7Aqwf0njvSx8odPQrLf7iE4/s1600-h/Untitled-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296959288502521570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 227px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0UuyxcYc85vFgitBd67YvAmJHhmNZ0BhL69wWiDlV1lBKW2OD-WfyoixKkdmS5-1empNQnG9SyzsZIE5DiXBCn8xrC5-I6fZnM-nK5hDD2HZDjlggcVi7Aqwf0njvSx8odPQrLf7iE4/s320/Untitled-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div>Abby loves a good birthday party. Well, let me say that her Mommy has taught her that birthday parties mean one thing for sure...CAKE! We spent the first weekend of 2009 in Iowa for Ethan's birthday party. Joel is my cousin, and Abby and Ethan are our kids. I have no idea what that makes them to each other, so I'm going with cousin. Joel is cash money, just read his blog and he'll tell you (<a href="http://ethanrobert.blogspot.com/">http://ethanrobert.blogspot.com/</a>). We're a lot alike, hilarious, good looking, good at everything, full of crap, you get the idea. Joel is the reason I have created this blog. He started writing one for Ethan and I finally find out about it almost two years later. Great idea bro!</div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291398488996658930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWm7F10Ru122mG34xgsV_YuVyQzjxjqBONXvIOTaeNZeub0QXr0wqWBN4_a1jXD6I0qQYyclCUQKdcKQ36_IGtrv1h8bMnp5tqhpzaVrPDkPRF5TIb4dYwfZc6OZySr9UqkgVH5mx9Y8A/s320/IMG_0086.JPG" border="0" /> </div><br /><div></div><div><br /><div>So, back to CAKE. As noted in a previous post, Abby now fully grasps the idea of helping with something the adults do so it gets done quicker and we can move on to something she wants. Well, I like to think we still have an intellectual edge over our two and a half year-old daughter. So, we ate lunch at Ethan's party and Abby found out cake was next. But, we told her she had to help clear all the plates. I'm not sure whose idea it was, but it was brilliant. Abbers gathered up every plate she could, one at a time, and brought them over to the garbage bin. She even asked for a few plates from people who weren't finished eating. That's my girl! It was awfully cute and took much longer than if she had just sat there and we cleaned up the plates. Elmo cake was served. Amazingly, especially with Joel present, the facial portion of Elmo's cake was never eaten. It did look like there were two or three dozen stab wounds from a fork, but that may have been an illusion.<br /></div><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291398369941829266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ruxEIW_fl-Lp0Mi6o8wiAEoDzik9GGm2qgpC3rGXvTs8Tid8DloHLUNwjf6t8eFdvl78Uaru5pWnJbz9YNTEfId7rvhFwX0rOzOsgR6GsE-S_FytWebFhWhpDmZuxGfmptP3I_xpSc8/s320/n1507213701_129791_348.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div>That day finished with a trip to the frigid hotel pool. The equator line had to be breached with a jump, a slow trip down the stairs would not work for this swimmer. So, you know how the water is cold right away but then your body adjusts and everything is peachy? Not so much with this pool. I never warmed up, neither did Abby. So, what should have been a nice leisurely play session in the pool turned into Daddy carrying Abby around the giant tub of room temperature water...most times in a hovering position. Abby finally had enough and plopped herself down on the side of the pool, not even her toes touching the water. She stayed there and played with her cousin's cousins (or something like that) for a long time. She had a blast. It was a good trip and an important one since we won't be seeing Joel, Kari or Ethan until next Christmas. They are moving to Australia for a year...wild!</div><div></div><div><br /></div><br /><div>We all got back into our normal routine the following week. More snow, more cold and the beginning of our Fitness Challenge. As a family (including the Polzins) we've decided to make this the year that we turn our exercise and eating habits around. My goals are running and doing sit ups and push ups, eating healthier and cutting down on soda. Also, Fred, the father-in-law, Johnny K and I are going to take on and destroy the 26th Annual Elysian Rookie's Triathlon. "Rookie" in this sense means it's a mini-triathlon. I'm currently at a loss for how I will train for the swimming portion of the event, but JK does have a pond in his backyard. It's not the CUBE, but the water will probably be warmer than the aforementioned pool. And if I get into any trouble I can imagine my daughter opening presents on Christmas Eve and go to the backstroke. </div><br /><div><br />I decided I could run outside easy enough. Day one, wake up at 6:30, run on the street, in the dark. Day two, run on the street, in the evening, in the dark. Day three, run on the street in the daylight. They all sucked. Day four, watch PTI while using the elliptical, IN MY HOUSE. The elliptical wins, and Tony Kornhesier & Michael Wilbon have awesome jobs. NOTE: I hope to make myself sound like less of a weenie by saying the running conditions were downright dreadful. Every step was on slush, snow or ice. No me gusta.</div><div> </div><br /><div>Abby continues to use her creativity skills to surprise us. One evening a couple weeks back she decided to help her friend Ella up on the couch by lifting/pulling her up...by her hair. She also now hears noises when going to bed. The heat coming out of the ceiling diffuser, the faint sound of the TV in the next room and, of course, "the choo-choo train behind my curtains". She is, no doubt, referring to the trains that come by at every hour of the day and night, on the tracks which flank the Minnesota river, a mere stones throw from our back yard. Her imagination and awareness has necessitated a new crib apparatus every time she goes nuh-night...a roof. The roof is constructed out of the finest materials we could find, the Dora blanket Kjelsey and Uncle Nick made her for Christmas. This all started in the hotel room in Iowa. The friggen heater in the room short cycled itself all night. It would stay off for 30-45 seconds and then come back on for a minute and a half. So, Abby got spooked and needed a lid on her pack 'n play. I can't really fault her since I've been thinking of a way to build myself a fort that surrounds my bed ever since, no girls allowed.<br /></div><div></div><div> </div><br /><div>Hearkening back to the days of our youth with that tree fort 'no girls allowed' reference is the perfect segue to the next topic...pond hockey. We may never know if the rink that now sits in the Konrad backyard was part of a secret, diabolical plan by the man of the house. And now that it's been brought up, Melissa will find out. Truth is, the only ones who care to know probably are missing a Y chromosome. Ironically, their distaste for pond hockey does not translate to the very popular (in my home) dome hockey. Maybe it's because "Super Chexx" contains the double XX that makes them feel at one with the arcade game?<br /><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294626643096593138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2gcDiTGsmrqC6xf7RfSpIOMSXmsV26SUvsd9syJGAByBv5CWmKVYA-opJezqNfRFrW0z7VkiqBlSeXbZlQp7Ci-QiSRJcRqp6w13WgIza2bk1B_UoNdilGJHBxV0gVnxeTZYkb5Vhfc0/s320/IMG_0153.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>As if our boot hockey dominance wasn't enough without a rink to hone our skills on. The Konrad Ice Basin is magnificent. It's roughly 95' x 55', equipped with two regulation size nets, shin high boards, minimal frozen goose dung and soon to come...snow fence and a custom ice logo. It's obvious this is a labor of love. How else could you explain how, one recent night, the rink's owner/superintendent shoveling the snow off all while battling a splitting headache, crappy gloves and 20+ below zero temps? Ok, it's probably just his fancy new shovel. </div><br /><br /><div>Yes it's a beautiful thing but a frozen pond doesn't need mere shoveling to turn it into a rink. I'm sure every Minnesotan knows how to get an outdoor ice surface in the best shape possible...flood. JK figured luke warm water was his best bet. So, I knew his plan was to run a hose from his laundry tub out the window and into the back yard...simple enough. Then my phone rings. "Guy, you should see my laundry room right now," speaks the panting voice. He goes on to explain that he got the hose hooked up to the faucet, threaded through the window and was standing on the ice, hose in hand when the water stopped flowing. Well, if you get the chance to take a look at either of our laundry tub faucets, they are a bit different than standard. Both JK and I went with the upgraded model in which the faucet is connected to a hose that pulls out and retracts, much like many kitchen faucets. [Seriously, look into getting one, they're made by Glacier Bay and you can get them at the depot. There's really nothing better than these faucets for cleaning out 5 gallon buckets and just your general all purpose laundry tub usage.] But, I digress. Leave it to Konrad to find the one fault in these faucets. I now know the story first hand as it happened again a couple nights later as I was there helping him flood...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The water starts out flowing like the drool on a teething toddler. Then the hose loses it's air and seizes up, causing it to go flat, stopping the water flow, annoying right? Especially when you're out in the cold standing on a frozen pond. Now, the other feature of this faucet is that it has both a stream and spray option. The stream comes out of the threaded spigot area, the part that is connected to the hose. But, the tiny spray holes are outside of the threaded area. Well, guess where the water goes once the hose seizes up? You got it, shooting right out of the tiny spray holes, mind you, at a pretty solid clip. Imagine this happening in your laundry room while you are standing outside on your homemade hockey rink, 200 feet from the sink, and without a clue as to what's going on. It was only after he had soaked Lord knows how many towels, trying to dry the floor, that Johnny boy called me to fill me in on this latest of our follies. What can you say besides, "Awesome"?</div><br /><br /><div></div>Remember how Abby likes a good birthday party? Well, Ella's birthday is coming up. So when the Konrails were over one night, Abby got involved in a conversation between Missy and Anna about said party. They were talking decorations, guest list, menu options, you know...drilling home these party planning basics into my Abbers. She'll be glad she gets that lesson repeated to her from those gals and not this guy. Anywho, what we didn't realize until John, Missy and Ella were leaving is that Abby thought Ella's party was that night. When she found out we weren't going home with them she started crying. Poor little thing thought she wasn't going to get to go her friend's party. So now she's on the lookout everyday for her invitation in the mail. Sometimes she's so cute I can barely stand it. Let's just hope she doesn't again re-write the lyrics of the oh so famous song to, "It's Ella's party and I'll cry if I want to." </div></div></div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-46808578061755715302009-01-06T12:34:00.000-06:002009-01-16T13:48:15.841-06:00Oh 8 turns to Oh 9<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN75tCG0OCAENSA2NieSHa9m187Qc_JcvLBrfrmd0oRYgaUfHu3Hn5rXWLrGtEGbiD1bQNRQU9iN7mbakq71Y4si_ywolMOCMJPCFE714gmKvtKKV2pwS2vYqoBmxZ5d7BkXRIlDAJhV0/s1600-h/IMG_0067.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291392632103715970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN75tCG0OCAENSA2NieSHa9m187Qc_JcvLBrfrmd0oRYgaUfHu3Hn5rXWLrGtEGbiD1bQNRQU9iN7mbakq71Y4si_ywolMOCMJPCFE714gmKvtKKV2pwS2vYqoBmxZ5d7BkXRIlDAJhV0/s320/IMG_0067.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>I'll tell you what, that five day weekend was not so bad. I got my snow blower back from the shop and it seemed happy that I spent 80 some dollars to fix the carburetor. I suppose it may have given me something more than a smile had I popped for the entire $500+ repair the mechanic recommended. Let's see, the snow thrower is only three years my junior, I think I'll pass. </div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291392857640655250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDvjDRtbUyvQbJUZoX8wxaTUaQUbiTUTKXVk4Tm3VfzJzAPETO6Q03BeWSApHN0izu8w3lgAHFWEdfv2wqyUPVisgj2KxTgfeR6N032XZQznIQILxdZfoUzs_ocXZ3VOtpimyY5mGlIdc/s320/IMG_2383.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>Abby showed off her skill for language and negotiating on the morning of Dec 26th. We had told her she might be able to go to Grandma and Grandpa Brett's house again if we had time. She knows by now that if we even mention the possibility of doing something that it's a lock. So when Abbers asked Mommy, "Are we going to Gramma and Grammpa's house after breakfast?" she didn't miss a beat when Mommy said, "Maybe...maybe yes, maybe no." Abby smiled and immediately retorted, "Maybe YES!"</div><div></div></div><div><br /><div>As always, she had a great time at Grandma and Grandpa's house and so did Anna and I. It was nice to relax on the third day of our five day weekend. I find that relaxing is really pretty nice, but only in small doses. The relaxing came to a very abrupt end that evening when Johnny K and I got in my truck and headed for the Depot. We had to pick up some supplies for what can only be described as a Friday night for the ages. Installing an above the oven microwave, dishwasher and garage door opener may not seem like fun to some people, ok any people. But, it's nice to help out, and I think Jen and Brian were pleased. We did get dinner and some BS time out of the deal, so call us intellectual carnivores who can handle tools, we don't care. In fact, eat that Homo habilis!</div><div></div><div></div><div><br /><div>That Sunday would mark the end of Abby's gift opening gala. In all, it had lasted more than a week and covered a good portion of southern Minnesota. On the car ride down to Austin, Abby, and consequently, Mommy, Daddy, Aunt Stephers & Auntie Jen, got to listen to one of Abby's Christmas gifts...a three CD set of children's songs. You're thinking what, 30-40 songs total? Try per disc. The set contains all the classics, <em>Itsy Bitsy Spider</em>, <em>Twinkle Twinkle Little Star</em>, etc. There was also plenty of crap like <em>Lazy Mary Will You Get Up, </em>terrible song, terrible singing, luckily Abbers hates that one too. </div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291397033061272386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8pfvO1sXUwW9sM1V8nQ8mUzIyHHgPzKhop6KAlRbSfS1-XiO1trCPNVV56ADzKgYAjQa_s8RILJO8_BBHZn10nTfXNjl0eyDgqtiGJkxeEEzHAWjRUNdpZ8qZLWaYwZTAfICYYiADM5I/s320/IMG_0008.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>Then out of nowhere comes an instant classic. I'm talking Flyers vs. Penguins in the 2000 conference semis (5 OTs) or Tiger's 2008 US Open dubbaya. I assume the name is <em>Apples and Bananas, </em>but I'm not sure. Whatever, this song was pure gold. The melody hits and all three of the Polzin girls (29, 27 and 25) burst into chorus. Abby and I didn't know what hit us. Abby's reaction and the angelic sounds coming from the three sisters' mouths was a sight to take in. The second go 'round was even better. The Mom and two Aunts continued to wail away and I jumped in with some comedic noises that were, as usual, right on time and on point. Abby's face was priceless and this entire ten minutes or so were for the record books. I was turning around to see Abbers' reactions so much that I don't remember steering or driving the whole time (not much of an issue when you're the best driver in the state, ahem).</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291392310180168050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 191px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioWADZLubtVlvDArdgjUBqEBK56iqAzIHrRBlA2V8yEtf69641edLPlMEiikirlj5TzPDXf5ib5K9lqhiXUkKfCHNv5Aj_3Air2VEpWLYmvOs2IFquEhWUECqbPX8yYffSjswtbeCnsF8/s320/hm011b.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291394474911981042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 192px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnhFL0IEQF853QJDbjLVI_6Kb45-m8WpB2EGOf_8YS2An7GSEZ-HufOBr2gskDuHP-Q2W-NmMOPBHa_Q2JNK5gm3x9Wj0hEWygEas-qmzzwurAAPp8C_PUl3D2GdDOXRy49fMBhwnook/s320/tiger-2008-us-open.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>It was a very relaxing day at Bonnie and Russ' house. Abby waited patiently for her turn to open gifts and even put on a show for everyone by parading around in her princess dress from Aunt Stacey and Uncle Mark. Anyone think Abby held up her little GerberBic lighter for an <em>Apples and Bananas</em> encore? Umm..mmhmm. I guess you never really outgrow the habit of requesting more of something that entertains you. Millions have been made on that very concept. How else can you explain <em>Billy Madison</em> & <em>Happy Gilmore</em>, <em>National Lampoon's</em> [insert favorite here], <em>CSI's: Miami, Las Vegas</em>, and coming in September 2009, <em>CSI: Pequot Lakes?</em></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291392524586527506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Co-E_S0bYNwiP41PP4jckKOvBOiDY-tLSrgXEuiKUA55eBDXDpPOOvPin7drH-uC124aLxTjAxsGZy0tLUYCVZ8BbhSQjXKESSnRhQmgHgB5mRY8u6BvA0S4Z-6D-p6bKSFwpYw-fXw/s320/IMG_0050.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>Another week shortened due to a holiday, what a great time of year. We celebrated New Year's at Justin and Casey's house, a whopping six minute drive from home. 'Twas a stellar time. Plenty of laughs with friends, games played, which were, of course, won by the guys. El Capitan Morgan made a not so surprising appearance, even if his fishnet leggings were. We rang in the new year with a group of five girls and five guys and four among us were (and still are) pregnant. Things sure have changed here on Walton's Mountain (I'm not old enough to remember that quote, I just like it). Let it be a lesson to everyone, even when it's a short trip, it's best to let your pregnant wife drive home. </div><br /><br /><div>Abby spent New Year's Eve with Grandma Barb and Grandpa Fred. They had a party with hats and masks and noisemakers. I know that this tradition will be one that all involved parties will be looking forward to every year. This year Abbers didn't know it, but she was celebrating the new year with everyone in Rio de Janeiro, and she didn't even get carded. Next year she might get to stay up until the little hand and the big hand both point to twelve, at least in Boston. </div><br /><br /><div>2009 will be the year of fitness for this family, or better yet, the year in which being fit and healthy becomes our lifestyle. What could be easier? I guess that topic will have to wait it's turn again... </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564560179514662098.post-7631058088105812152009-01-05T22:07:00.000-06:002009-01-26T14:16:45.843-06:00Merry Christmas 2008!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYdf27PazCRF3PAJVlU1ceUAilFWDiK3pCLRq5CT-CUjAeI2YjkHZLFUjpEVjAk-qmZ3YIKr7GSb9beFGVhNEzdXXKf52IVAFIAmfl6cF-zKu6IDSnom0T2J9ox1L4uPn0GQ_-489o2s/s1600-h/IMG_0010.JPG"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288237966324815266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYdf27PazCRF3PAJVlU1ceUAilFWDiK3pCLRq5CT-CUjAeI2YjkHZLFUjpEVjAk-qmZ3YIKr7GSb9beFGVhNEzdXXKf52IVAFIAmfl6cF-zKu6IDSnom0T2J9ox1L4uPn0GQ_-489o2s/s320/IMG_0010.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2009. Unless I end up going into the archives of my memory bank and posting general summaries of events from the past year(s) this should be the very first blog entry on record. I guess I'll now know what it's like to be published, sort of. That may have been worth something in 2008 but not now that it's '09. About time we turn the page in this household eh? What do you expect...we moved into a neighborhood in which the residents think microfiche is that crazy new technology and hip-hop is what happens when Mr. Davis gets his medication filled. Don't ask...<br /><br /><br /><br />So 2008 ended with a flurry. Abby obliterated her third Christmas. She's really coming into her own with her gift unwrapping skills. There are definitely faster kids out there, but Abby is all about technique. Don't be mistaken and think it's a one song show. No, she picks her spots. She knows when to coast (flat rectangular boxes) and she knows when to hit the throttle (any glimpse of toy packaging, or any sight of D-O-R or A). Again, it's not about speed only, yes her arms are moving pretty quickly, like tiny fists of fury, but it's the swim move that's most entertaining. It's as if she learned the back stroke from Aaron Peirsol himself. Right arm tear, full extension backward toss, left arm tear, full extension backward toss, repeat...very fun to watch.<br /><br /><br /><br />Yes, Abby certainly got plenty of chances to hone her gift wrap shredding this Christmas season. We were lucky enough to have many Christmas gatherings this time around. December 19th at Grandma and Grandpa Brett's house. Abby got to open gifts with her cousins Braydon, Kaylin and Carter. I think she liked Carter's gifts best because she got to open almost all of them. Then she showed off her modesty when she asked us if we were happy that she was sharing Carter's presents with him. She must get her modesty from me. This was an even year, so this early celebration was necessary because Stacey and Mark and the kids were headed to Canadia (I know it's spelled wrong, but it's more fun to say that way) to spend Christmas with Mark's side. It was a great night, the first of many late nights to follow.<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family:verdana;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288238497475955042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_zvcl4FtYvwSUk879cOb5yPdLpUclztFBve0GYtUR4e81hvoFbrXFpgJ4BDTBzgY0pfNTp00eIj5YIpEbrJS5erSdR20w17ca_tZu2J9ZC52ldJbNSLwI9GEJjE-pkcxG8AMqNgncuM/s320/IMG_9974.JPG" border="0" /><br />I can't go any further without mentioning that Bailey's presence was sorely missed. Our favorite pup was no doubt watching over us while taking down a "frosty paws" somewhere beyond those pearly gates. We love and miss you girl.<br /><br /><br /><br />I do have to mention that work sucked blue chunks the last two weeks of the year. Calling on colleges that are closed, waste of time. At least I had the annual Christmas football game to look forward to. Thanks to my lovely wife for allowing me to play, and by "play" I mean shine. I, of course, had a superb team picked. If not for a freak appendicitis attack less than 48 hours before game time within the abdomen of my #1 pick (first overall), Jon Nuss, we would have fared much better. Anyway, details aside, we got smoked by the Konrad led Seth Eagles, gross. On a slight side note, should anyone find themselves very winded, breathing in sub-zero air, nauseous, and with what feels like frozen limbs, try taking a few puffs off a propane gas sunflower heater...two words: game on!<br /><br /><br /><br />While I was off pretending to be 13, err wait, we could drive, 16 years old, Anna and Abbers were at home baking a birthday cake for Baby Jesus. Not sure why it was for Baby Jesus and not grown-up Jesus, but nonetheless it was cute. I made it back in time for the decorating, what else but red and green sprinkles on top of chocolate icing? I also made it back in time to catch the end of Anna and Abby's <em>Rob and Big</em> marathon. I can't wait to explain, at parent teacher conferences, why my daughter DOES, in fact, have ambition even tho if you ask her, "What you want to be when you grow up?" all she says is, "Big."<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2mpdiGUhe9DWe8k-YgYFWp2L0vy2UfW8na15wyyD-w01dmRNquMqXtchaj1WrgwD74gKcir7iLWWhRh8O01WetGJjNxe9mgLGTWPNmJVq6lfwCZMLQXD5Ze-E6HnkipUUJugW_R_3OA/s1600-h/Super+Babies.jpg"></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Later that night we congregated at my mom and dad's again for our traditional Christmas Eve celebration. So far, in Abby's short life, she's been seated at the grown ups' table three times. This would mark my 30th Christmas and first trip to said grown ups' table. It is probably worth noting that my mom, dad, Aunt Rock and Uncle Mike conspired (is the only word that seems to fit) to sit at what would normally be labeled the kids' table and in one fell swoop, my call up to the bigs was met with a hefty boot to the kisser, sending me back down to rookie ball. So, who's counting? I am, Abby - 2, AB - 0. Whatever, she still can't hit my fastball.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288238565242193730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyI69rj2CAxij7J1MYfgVqW8pPiOb_9v40NtrTmQmjSYfiNtuen50yj8urTytEeIMQoGAa6CwKd1TjytrDr5jqU3jL3dwRndaEhyphenhyphenMGdk_bbJ_HXOLYR9CqOvFzf5kJCyThUX0JY7xqpdw/s320/IMG_9978.jpg" border="0" /><br />Directly following dinner was present opening #2. Funny how it took Abby two and a half years to figure out that the sooner the dishes get cleared, the sooner we can open presents. I was 12 before I caught on to that phenomenon. This session of gift wrap thrashing included the hit of Christmas '08, Super Baybeees, Goo Goo! The Super Babies have gone almost everywhere with Abby since that night. They've even edged out Baby Jaguar and "that guy" the Lamb in her crib. Bravo Mom and Dad, bravo! We again had a great time joking, laughing and reminiscing with everyone. Even Aunt Nita and Collin made the trip from Colorado, which seems to now be a tradition on its own, we hope!<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288206772819211986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSeGLX3LD9_3RCTrSPWUyHIlhWHTXKClJ_NcC6BxBcfBqlfDQadwzSBp-Dx11Rvv2XNeZK_L7yOocXmedcLiEuWJ4JUa4TVx-aZovj_jTqCtPfomSINOZWtszusSZ-IOnl2ZsfKc1fZfc/s320/Super+Babies.jpg" border="0" /><br />We took a groggy Abber Dabbers home for nigh-night and to wait for Santa to come. But, not before we left some cookies and milk for the large guy ("the big guy" is God in our house) and a few carrots for Rudolph and his buddies (this was one of the cuter moments of this Christmas). Abby is dead-arse tired putting cookies and carrots on a special red Santa plate, but priorities are priorities and she's a strong-willed toddler. I think I heard her say, "Mommy, we gotta do work!"<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288238126118390482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7i5Kslta7zBY8Vw4wVwXXaERybfYjTO_7ocRt4fFmFlotOQWQOsLt3vQanUMX_H9fzQrPkLlpyvFueVMudAnVk8rn9wUcme76Iftq7uqZouJZrxMFQjnkvzFYb1PCoVJwiIf3ivWsNjE/s320/IMG_0017.JPG" border="0" /><br />Well, Santa came and he brought presents. But, he didn't eat all of the cookies. So, consequently when we asked Abbers if Santa ate the cookies she left, she said, "No." I'm now realizing we may be too hard on her when we say, "She hasn't eaten a thing" or "She didn't eat anything for lunch." Sorry sweetie, Mommy and Daddy don't want to be all or nuthin type of people. So, Santa brought exactly what Abby asked for, a Dora doll and...wait for it...Dora underwear. It's truly Christmas magic to see genuine excitement on the face of a two year old when they unwrap a package of undies. Gift opening #3 was later followed by #4, gifts from us. Nothing was a huge hit, how can you beat Super Babies and Dora drawers anyway?<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288238401242584178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiauM5B9KMaTDY_07PFWHyel5kPWGB5WrS3O5Tm7LdFWtI1Iike7OIDsVQNnLZUf_Zp7a8V0292euwU5LSsFf4tJwVNSBnNO_AN_h9bjIwV29VsttQf2NnTg4bskIwdQjw_kdOGjaNZTU0/s320/IMG_0024.JPG" border="0" /><br />Later that morning we headed down to Mankato for Christmas with Grandma Barb and Grandpa Fred and the rest of the Polzin clan. We went to Elysian first to check out the progress on the starter castle (I have to give credit to my dad for that label). Almost all the sheetrock hung, ceiling knocked down, mill work and first coat of paint done in the upstairs, tile in one of the bathrooms, really coming together now. We all wrote our names on the fireplace wall and posed for a picture in front of it, oh yeah, Super Babies included. Then to Mankato for food, stockings, and gift opening #5 and #6 for Abber Dabber Doo.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295698667398867410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMBpHNM8Px-vhv8YjtD98NfIteq36_MER865kvH6gVPm9Mcr8SkYZXI6WFydwPodvT65rZQ2rQjE0g9yzcx7dIYmzRZUZAD0p77Te_oKFCQeYLXsmqiqFpac5NyecjqdXixNTh_UA26iY/s320/SCAN0006.JPG" border="0" /><br />Santa managed to find Abby at Grandma Barb and Grandpa Fred's house too. A stuffed stocking and more presents to pillage. Then a nap, dinner and more treasures to unravel. It was no more apparent to me than this Christmas how lucky our little girl is! Sometimes I think you could use a richter scale to measure the love for our Abigail. It's overwhelming at times. Wow, how we are blessed.<br /><br /><br /><br />Two hours and 20 minutes. That's the answer to, "How long did it take me to write my first ever entry?" Hell, I haven't made it to New Year's yet and it's Jan 5th, no wait 6th, I better get going. 2009 is the year of Fitness for Anna and I. More to come on that...</span>ABhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14680385610466733067noreply@blogger.com0