tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6547837306589019192024-03-05T19:08:03.360-05:00 Six Pack1 proud wife/play at home mom + 1 handsome, hard-working hubby/daddy + 4 gorgeous, goofy girlsMegan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-9366741736826257392013-03-12T12:09:00.002-04:002013-03-12T12:13:10.606-04:00Ordinary Life or a Fairy Tale?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH4vVv0fQbABJH75uAYr7CPb5ukz5iPlGctsG1lbevvhiOqI6k6smhhe8WNAu8qEDnIHZuOw1SxgztEN4icUKOPZxoardxyJ9ATnua_nxy28u8xonbsRDBVSYgeSz_tCoyJqkuuM545iJp/s1600/royal+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH4vVv0fQbABJH75uAYr7CPb5ukz5iPlGctsG1lbevvhiOqI6k6smhhe8WNAu8qEDnIHZuOw1SxgztEN4icUKOPZxoardxyJ9ATnua_nxy28u8xonbsRDBVSYgeSz_tCoyJqkuuM545iJp/s400/royal+family.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Fairy Tale Family by Emily</td></tr>
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Bedtime at our house has been like a fairy tale.<br />
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The eldest princess has been so busy that she doesn't have to be reminded to go to bed. She plops into bed like Sleeping Beauty
and waits for her precious <strike>prince</strike>...I mean phone to wake her. </div>
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Our princess with the golden locks sleeps propped up on piles of pillows, blankets, books and toys. Just like the sleepy crown wearer in the <i>Princess and the Pea</i>, she
must be a real princess because she isn't bothered by the books and tiny toys that get
wedged underneath her. </div>
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The porcelain princess with the innocent blue eyes has been
scampering about the house like a little mouse. I woke one morning to find the
kitchen light on and the bread box open. I had my suspicions but last night
I caught her sitting at the kitchen table nibbling bread. I didn't give her any
broth and I didn't whip her soundly. I just let her finish the bread and sent her to bed.
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Finally, the littlest princess has been fighting sleep
until midnight or later. I think we’ll quit reading Cinderella. Maybe she’s
terrified of turning into a pumpkin. </div>
Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-22716972532442453812013-03-09T11:35:00.001-05:002013-03-09T11:37:06.664-05:00Imagination Station<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaNNPVZSiJsUqWr11zwc4BL2fIfW-g-t2woL43w5Ee2Q7wx9rnct2kUY7MWqXbcqLdUkjINx6YXTgEesIDTpJeAYVmWvJmEglhj5O3dodGBtb_Ykb61y1Jcubs_TsrBgw0qUlrRUWRSUj/s1600/IMG_4914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaNNPVZSiJsUqWr11zwc4BL2fIfW-g-t2woL43w5Ee2Q7wx9rnct2kUY7MWqXbcqLdUkjINx6YXTgEesIDTpJeAYVmWvJmEglhj5O3dodGBtb_Ykb61y1Jcubs_TsrBgw0qUlrRUWRSUj/s400/IMG_4914.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The girls are itching for 70 degree days and fun in their sandbox. I've been itching for them to have some child-directed (I-want-to-read-a-book-so-go-play-why-don't-you) imaginative play. So I helped them build an indoor imagination station with their playhouses, dolls, cars, painter's tape and a few bags of dried beans. The three little bears played together for a whole hour. Baby bear is tuckered out and resting. Em & Liv are still going!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liv and Annie loading the purple dump truck at Bean Quarry.</td></tr>
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Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-61433161414312048302013-02-09T11:05:00.001-05:002013-02-09T18:08:20.845-05:00Repurposed Bubble Wrap: Valentine Craft<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Turn old bubble wrap into cute Valentines. </div>
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Simply trace and cut out hearts to make a stamp. </div>
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Rub the stamp in some washable paint and press it on paper bubble side down.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Livi liked to mix her colors then place her stamp in the paint.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Voilà! </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emily used her stamp and added flourishes with fingerpaint.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crafty Cuties</td></tr>
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<br />Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-79014374302282512702013-02-08T13:52:00.000-05:002013-02-08T13:54:46.000-05:00Handwriting made easy<br />
Olivia likes to practice writing her name, her sisters' names and other words. To make it quick and easy, I write the word with a highlighter and she traces it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">O-l-i-v-i-a</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olivia draws herself to celebrate.</td></tr>
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<br />Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-84007611774844287022013-01-24T20:03:00.002-05:002013-02-08T13:53:38.197-05:00Birds & Branches Faux "TOMs"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ukBWiLskJYrA-mH7rhIaJdVbGm8LiHSdjZoOpBYwOSZ55Aoq1-CRCw1bjc-dfk2DfUpcgQ-9S-ynWlLe-ayS0XrRlfqjvOgevHp8_gUniTFlptP5OqdNJH-0y6zCjBMj-ooIotMNBTA1/s1600/IMG_4762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ukBWiLskJYrA-mH7rhIaJdVbGm8LiHSdjZoOpBYwOSZ55Aoq1-CRCw1bjc-dfk2DfUpcgQ-9S-ynWlLe-ayS0XrRlfqjvOgevHp8_gUniTFlptP5OqdNJH-0y6zCjBMj-ooIotMNBTA1/s400/IMG_4762.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made myself a pair of Faux TOMs with a stencil & paint pen so it only took 10 minutes.</td></tr>
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<br />Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-4060540692039802112013-01-12T12:21:00.001-05:002013-01-12T12:27:00.788-05:00Hands on Painting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The girls received a bunch of crafty stuff from Nana at Christmas. We've spent the last 2 days playing with paint and brushes. Since they had so much fun, we're going to try to paint at least once a week. We need to create a gallery wall for all their creations.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't worry it's washable.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ZuFnQOa787UPGmnSuu_C1T9cGWXKHe9S1bJWeHJyBOExkMNiG6b0WOAnPkEX0rno4DTavx6P72ENxJUvsUpPf7-Vp8iuCx6zAq6dVL9Jy8VcPTVvRso1xBVBG7kgfPYWfX8tWX4KYOdU/s1600/Ann+1-11-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ZuFnQOa787UPGmnSuu_C1T9cGWXKHe9S1bJWeHJyBOExkMNiG6b0WOAnPkEX0rno4DTavx6P72ENxJUvsUpPf7-Vp8iuCx6zAq6dVL9Jy8VcPTVvRso1xBVBG7kgfPYWfX8tWX4KYOdU/s400/Ann+1-11-12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie's first painting</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxt8-LVOazwVXJdebPRmqNK93PFvZPrMrt8BS8Tct8I74JeR3bVrEt490lFU4Dqffxnk_Cu4LWAaiu2gzq6c2vheIe-LwP2jUFqhiliZoDDNx0dLwhx93xLlWWzvLDGc6oI64SDvjxgSG/s1600/IMG_4748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxt8-LVOazwVXJdebPRmqNK93PFvZPrMrt8BS8Tct8I74JeR3bVrEt490lFU4Dqffxnk_Cu4LWAaiu2gzq6c2vheIe-LwP2jUFqhiliZoDDNx0dLwhx93xLlWWzvLDGc6oI64SDvjxgSG/s400/IMG_4748.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie had fun getting messy and we were impressed that she didn't try to eat any paint.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKS_urzM5Xb7eS2sxwOrNa-7DVQYFGG3bdYqxUmBHSyWGQE4Q_LDftFyWyymDpYmLLM_8Jvd9T0rDeOUa7iS7k3fFB1lDyjWDHjZRBvg-dKh32G1Z4kdF1kDfYM06iJfBj3VOokQ_QOOsy/s1600/IMG_4718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKS_urzM5Xb7eS2sxwOrNa-7DVQYFGG3bdYqxUmBHSyWGQE4Q_LDftFyWyymDpYmLLM_8Jvd9T0rDeOUa7iS7k3fFB1lDyjWDHjZRBvg-dKh32G1Z4kdF1kDfYM06iJfBj3VOokQ_QOOsy/s400/IMG_4718.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emily has lots of ideas and loves to paint.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZjPBaQmv4UxOV4W9r2S57-PstsrJbJWbp3T4t0U0RrdiY0_l5aclQONWoM6_IfHRvfdFOfR8y7uOLpHsBF0USjY5iUmkD0LQ0AufWW4B3WZOyTYJyHcMO1x6mPZqCF44mtxy4zcsUDMHI/s1600/Emily+Elephant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZjPBaQmv4UxOV4W9r2S57-PstsrJbJWbp3T4t0U0RrdiY0_l5aclQONWoM6_IfHRvfdFOfR8y7uOLpHsBF0USjY5iUmkD0LQ0AufWW4B3WZOyTYJyHcMO1x6mPZqCF44mtxy4zcsUDMHI/s400/Emily+Elephant.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emily Elephant</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4c85SCwlLMcttAHz3baCoVx3L3EF0VUDEO9FibG1EHrvUL3yOdi51gyiB99t1dbEo08K1doVg_eX_f9MWaLHGyXQnkf8qlQXHLJcd-NUij3iE3K9P_2qRepsMVGCa1GpOtvityCDuuw_a/s1600/Em+1-11-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4c85SCwlLMcttAHz3baCoVx3L3EF0VUDEO9FibG1EHrvUL3yOdi51gyiB99t1dbEo08K1doVg_eX_f9MWaLHGyXQnkf8qlQXHLJcd-NUij3iE3K9P_2qRepsMVGCa1GpOtvityCDuuw_a/s400/Em+1-11-12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Purple Pony</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsavDKDbecEFS3qHLrlLtXwLZ_qd6PJlQfzpGpjwe5ccGoH5vJlfrSKI5psmZ-7GkL3cLYYUS-Ho_i1pEMG7S4QjkOOD9lBVNoMbLGUZVV9bNEn5f0zV45Gpvuhc9y-KXk2aUBmwdd5ko_/s1600/Emily+1-11-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsavDKDbecEFS3qHLrlLtXwLZ_qd6PJlQfzpGpjwe5ccGoH5vJlfrSKI5psmZ-7GkL3cLYYUS-Ho_i1pEMG7S4QjkOOD9lBVNoMbLGUZVV9bNEn5f0zV45Gpvuhc9y-KXk2aUBmwdd5ko_/s400/Emily+1-11-12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pink Bird Flying</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_5SQTKW_vxb9-5k6MC5bdBNBD9yEyQoOiQA5mAIxP8OAGuFQK9jUbR-8niBm-C1dXe5H99-KjmCT50AyVZWKN2oaSYBui4QEtrKlCMXffr79JC7lvNey81O-OlxLsVP4m8kYbD_dYi9C/s1600/IMG_4728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_5SQTKW_vxb9-5k6MC5bdBNBD9yEyQoOiQA5mAIxP8OAGuFQK9jUbR-8niBm-C1dXe5H99-KjmCT50AyVZWKN2oaSYBui4QEtrKlCMXffr79JC7lvNey81O-OlxLsVP4m8kYbD_dYi9C/s400/IMG_4728.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Livi is so patient and selective with her paint.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4w-W_MzBtExHOw3blzfNOrBZEMOzFY_ppptn9vWc4Qhr5HULOUrfBnk5Rq8HWBf1t5bfU_XxUY2tH9ZvPn8_W0KViJ4crrjg91cqyV0PnJwGl2njBkHhSaegYHbVTJnUsmcJQEeuJWq9/s1600/Livi+1-11-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4w-W_MzBtExHOw3blzfNOrBZEMOzFY_ppptn9vWc4Qhr5HULOUrfBnk5Rq8HWBf1t5bfU_XxUY2tH9ZvPn8_W0KViJ4crrjg91cqyV0PnJwGl2njBkHhSaegYHbVTJnUsmcJQEeuJWq9/s400/Livi+1-11-12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Livi spent 2 days on her handprint pony. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6n0Owk8bW5hoAUIlurTNt-Y6Tim2exVXes7gaYY80CTI4ZfvrS3rN68JlmoqAz9Yk2Ha8GDcHhKdzlr8iYAV7h45d92kHRpyXoHYGcJxjFMsHo-gOq9rzZju8eN5zq8xWIsvKXvo0xiQ0/s1600/IMG_4737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6n0Owk8bW5hoAUIlurTNt-Y6Tim2exVXes7gaYY80CTI4ZfvrS3rN68JlmoqAz9Yk2Ha8GDcHhKdzlr8iYAV7h45d92kHRpyXoHYGcJxjFMsHo-gOq9rzZju8eN5zq8xWIsvKXvo0xiQ0/s400/IMG_4737.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She wanted to make a momma and baby bird.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9HK-V72SrvjthZ0cv9whsxXv7jkX2g2cR0hYvYKTX30SR1XWG31mkz0v5hev5nXjuP-10FM8081wkeVykscCMpbzmVnHLVsaOS2YXQxKqA2zRWlOfZzKtx9sHIF1TcFxipdAu7RC41oA/s1600/Momma+%2526+Livi+bird+1-11-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh9HK-V72SrvjthZ0cv9whsxXv7jkX2g2cR0hYvYKTX30SR1XWG31mkz0v5hev5nXjuP-10FM8081wkeVykscCMpbzmVnHLVsaOS2YXQxKqA2zRWlOfZzKtx9sHIF1TcFxipdAu7RC41oA/s400/Momma+%2526+Livi+bird+1-11-12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Handprint birdies</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olivia Octopus</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lexi sketched and painted this horse in less than an hour.</td></tr>
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<br />Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-56352511186391867712012-10-06T17:23:00.000-04:002012-10-06T17:23:35.400-04:00Mummy Candy Holder<br />
With four girls who have discriminating taste for fine candies, we made mummy candy holders to keep their favorites out of the community candy bowl.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrWnwTzmSkE95UhxZVplVfi4ZKoPg3mQjE619lnV2uqAdb0W5Yi0N3pnj9Aw5t8CAis-B6F16w0YKtSMi9hjun7W1G-SBYDaYpa21sUkGbdHUk4Fk9025lv8ZZF4ceLvAntly4bmo5z6u6/s1600/IMG_3622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrWnwTzmSkE95UhxZVplVfi4ZKoPg3mQjE619lnV2uqAdb0W5Yi0N3pnj9Aw5t8CAis-B6F16w0YKtSMi9hjun7W1G-SBYDaYpa21sUkGbdHUk4Fk9025lv8ZZF4ceLvAntly4bmo5z6u6/s400/IMG_3622.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">First, we gathered our supplies. We had all this junk around the house. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Plastic cups, Mod Podge, paintbrush, scissors, medical gauze, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">green Play-Doh, googly eyes, and girlie trimmings.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UCxt2uDd8_5mTdOf7wf0Acnm_N3xT_L6em6Lg0DQ2xj4cRccT9HxPUROrB-4MjK3TV6BXGWNoXhNyoXwnEt6WLVlLT4_PpARS6kXs6zCxb23coSzTMTUk2_i5hBten14TDTFVk6HJiY8/s1600/IMG_3623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UCxt2uDd8_5mTdOf7wf0Acnm_N3xT_L6em6Lg0DQ2xj4cRccT9HxPUROrB-4MjK3TV6BXGWNoXhNyoXwnEt6WLVlLT4_PpARS6kXs6zCxb23coSzTMTUk2_i5hBten14TDTFVk6HJiY8/s400/IMG_3623.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Next, they painted on the Mod Podge and wrapped their cups.<br />After it dried, they pressed on green Play-Doh and added googly eyes, <br />gauze and teeth to make a face. Finally, they added cute bows.</span><br /><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>HAPPY HALLOWEEN!</b></span></td></tr>
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Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-38788346383779250202012-08-23T11:29:00.001-04:002012-08-23T11:36:34.095-04:00Custom Painted "TOMS" ~ Olivia's Neverland Pandas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">Olivia likes</span><span style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;"> pandas and Jake and the Neverland Pirates so I mixed the two for the design. I painted, repainted and repainted because I couldn't decide on the right color scheme. Also, the herringbone texture of the fabric was driving me batty! I struggled to get smooth lines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">When the shoes finally dried and the results looked acceptable, I showed Olivia and she exclaimed,"They're cute-iful!" Ok. With that adorable comment, I can live with the results. Plus, she created a new word for the family lexicon. </span></div>
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<br />Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-20877934453052604892012-08-21T15:18:00.001-04:002012-08-21T20:43:27.886-04:00Monkey Pudding<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span id="goog_481415195"></span><span id="goog_481415196"></span>Emily has to bring a birthday treat to Pre-K tomorrow. She chose clementines but our household can't seem to hold back on produce so I had to make something else. I rummaged around the pantry and found <i>Jell-o instant chocolate pudding</i>, <i>Nila wafers</i>, <i>Cheerios</i>, <i>red food coloring</i> and <i>clear plastic cups </i>for <b>Monkey Pudding</b>.<i> </i></div>
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The kiddos helped with this "recipe" but really it's just a matter of mixing and assembling.</div>
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First, we put the clear plastic cups in a cupcake pan for a handy pudding carrier. Next, we mixed the instant pudding in a large measuring cup with a spout. Then, we poured it into the cups and put the pan in the fridge so the pudding could set up. In the mean time, the kiddos counted and sorted the Cheerios to make eyes and counted out the number of Nila wafers needed for the mouths. I squirted some red food coloring into a dish and painted smiles on the Nila wafers with a clean craft brush. After the pudding set up and the Nila wafers dried, the little monkeys assembled the monkey pudding. We had fun, it was easy and I saved myself a trip to the store.</div>
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AFTERTHOUGHTS: I halved mini cookies for ears but we decided to eat them instead. The cup didn't leave much room. In the future, I think I'll make monkey cookies or cupcakes and add the halved mini cookies for ears and maybe candy bananas from a box of Runts. </div>
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Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-23914298796645508532012-08-19T11:31:00.002-04:002012-08-20T21:58:16.168-04:00Custom Painted "TOMS" ~ Grandma's Garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjSDT_U93yp6Q9__xDYcto5xXnZ3Q0lRclnKePiSz0VjXc_4jn_QMCCa8oIqXV9h2QssOe0XFPZvcofBeJHLUp8J7uTRDwTWOcuniy5Qe7j3yTtS548JSPw4JPU_7VvSLl1JkX5SCNmCs/s1600/IMG_3180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjSDT_U93yp6Q9__xDYcto5xXnZ3Q0lRclnKePiSz0VjXc_4jn_QMCCa8oIqXV9h2QssOe0XFPZvcofBeJHLUp8J7uTRDwTWOcuniy5Qe7j3yTtS548JSPw4JPU_7VvSLl1JkX5SCNmCs/s320/IMG_3180.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm on a faux TOMS painting kick. </div>
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I made my MIL these and will happily make anyone else a pair too.</div>
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COMING SOON:</div>
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Panda Pirate/Panda Mermaid version for Olivia</div>
Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-49147362104359354792012-08-17T07:28:00.000-04:002012-08-19T19:09:08.252-04:00Custom Painted "TOMS" ~ Emily's Zoo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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While out for birthday supplies at Family Dollar, I stumbled upon a pink pair of faux TOMS for Emily. I customized them and now I want to find some more.<br />
Her sisters are already planning their designs. Plus, I want a pair!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1NqK-cUghv_zb1Xm8MKwLmfdu0QJIAXzdmjjCLGFYOiqtDRdI_Sze2_tfmaayA8yMniPq15ufjEbNCObhEGoU-TRwvqDpDZX2O17nDFVq9_9hf7TzqnvakcyeN-gZjHd7FlOGR7zllHFl/s1600/IMG_3171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1NqK-cUghv_zb1Xm8MKwLmfdu0QJIAXzdmjjCLGFYOiqtDRdI_Sze2_tfmaayA8yMniPq15ufjEbNCObhEGoU-TRwvqDpDZX2O17nDFVq9_9hf7TzqnvakcyeN-gZjHd7FlOGR7zllHFl/s400/IMG_3171.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Emily wanted an elephant and giraffe. So I played around in Google images until I found a design she liked. These shoes are inspired by the link below.</div>
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<a href="http://kawaiioliviachan.deviantart.com/art/Custom-Painted-TOMS-Elephant-and-Giraffe-318777615" target="_blank">Custom Painted TOMS: Elephant & Giraffe</a></div>
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UPDATE: The hubs suggested I spray the shoes with a waterproof finish. </div>
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He handed me a "clear" lacquer...it turned out to be white spray paint. </div>
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Apparently, our brains had a simultaneous duurrrrr moment. </div>
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Well, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shoes now have a worn in, muted look.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The softer colors suit her wardrobe.<br />
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<br />Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-82768867954819365772012-08-15T13:26:00.000-04:002012-08-15T13:43:04.750-04:00One Little Girl, One Big Year<div style="text-align: center;">
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Annie is turning 1 year old on Saturday, August 18th<span style="text-align: left;">! Where has the time gone? Good times go fast, huh?</span></div>
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She has many nicknames: Annie, Annie Ann Ann, Anna, Anna Banana, Anna Banana Lise, Annalisie, Annalisie-uh, Ann Ann Anderson, Itsy Bitsy, Tiny Hiney, Punkin' Baby, Baby Girl and Lil' Chub Chub Baby (retired due to loss of baby chub). Also, it should be noted that the above nicknames are regularly used; however, her intermediate and extended family often create new ones by mixing them all up. </div>
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Some of Annie's present day activities are: attempting to climb into the dishwasher, attempting to open all locked and unlocked cabinets, hanging onto furniture and walking, climbing into child-sized chairs and standing, dumping toys, dumping food from bowls, spilling open containers, standing confidently then taking 2 steps and slowly lowering herself to the floor, mischievously smiling when we marvel at her walking, exploring food like a champ (She loves everything we've given her except baby food! She whines for bananas, black beans, watermelon and cherry tomatoes), reading books and playing toys with her sisters, giving hugs, pats, kisses and high-fives, mimicking faces (pooching lips, nodding yes and no, panting like a doggie), watching "dawg-dawgs," resting with her sisters while watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and pointing and whining until she gets what she wants.<br />
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Her first words are listed in chronological order: punba (Spongebob), hi, papa, dada, mama, sis-sis and dawg-dawg. The list will continue to grow just as she is.<br />
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This past year has been filled with hugs, kisses, laughs, smiles, pouts and tears. We are amazed at what a precious person she's become. Happy Birthday to our Annie! </div>
Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-77658163627719920672012-07-16T09:07:00.000-04:002012-07-16T09:13:47.349-04:00I'm entitled to be grumpy.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white;">I can be unpleasant. I worry about situations I cannot control and a lack of proper sleep and/or nutrition can take a toll on a girl. I'd even go as far to say that some mornings I behave like a mama bear who was dragged out of her cave mid-hibernation. I'm entitled to be grumpy. Right?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Well, try living with my husband who rarely exhibits grumpy unless he happens to fall into the right combination of hungry and exhausted (then he behaves like a bear also). As he was preparing for this morning's fishing trip, I peered at him through bleary eyes and smiled as he happily shows me his t-shirt that reads,"I'm entitled to be grumpy." He was a walking contradiction with his big grin as he trotted out the door. I knew he wasn't making a statement about his temperament rather his memories. Paul is a t-shirt collector and ceremoniously retires his t-shirts to family members and makes them solemnly vow to return them if they have no need for them anymore. To Paul, each t-shirt is a wearable memory and today he's wearing the memory of his Grandpa Partee, who was the original owner of the t-shirt. I'm glad that I crawled out of bed and had a few moments with him before he left this morning. Paul possesses some magical endearing charm that inspires me in the most mundane moments and changes my grumpy heart. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">The t-shirt that Paul inherited from his Grandpa Partee.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Enjoying a cup of coffee and organizing my thoughts, I realized that I'm entitled to be grumpy; however, I'm also entitled to accept life, accept each situation, accept what people say or do and handle it. To complain is to not accept what is and to look at things in a negative light. I'm not a victim of life. I was given life! When I have reason to be grumpy or complain, I can accept it or change it. Anything else is pure insanity.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I'm entitled to be happy too.</span>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-707465812231805512012-04-10T13:09:00.000-04:002012-09-11T10:34:57.863-04:00Rita Rita Runken<div style="text-align: left;">
Gigi Keller sings a sweet little Norsk rhyme to her great-grandchildren. As best as I know, it's about 2 small doggies. Paul recorded her reciting it and I asked her to help me copy it down. Enjoy!</div>
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RITA RITA RUNKEN</div>
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Rita rita runken</div>
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Hessen needa brunken</div>
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Sawda vada silka peada </div>
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Da peada vor da nesta vee</div>
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Da vadamen hamen</div>
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Two small hoona</div>
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Ana seida bo...</div>
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Ana seida bo...</div>
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A bo wo wo!<br />
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UPDATE: Gigi asked Keith Halverson for his help in translating the above. He stated via email,<i>"<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">The nursery rhyme you ask about must be what is called Ride, rider ranke (the toddler sitting on his/her mother’s/father’s knee like riding). It comes in different versions, and I have not succeeded in finding the one which corresponds to the version you give me in a very odd Norwegian translation. Here is a link to some of the versions that exist. A friend from Norway helped me with the song. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">I hope this is some help."</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><a href="http://barnesanger.wikispaces.com/Ride,+ride+ranke" target="_blank">http://barnesanger.wikispaces.com/Ride,+ride+ranke</a></span></span></i></div>
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Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-12587418591343576342012-02-08T09:35:00.001-05:002012-07-16T07:54:22.717-04:00Another Perfect Wonder<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: -webkit-left;">Another perfect wonder joined our family August 18th. Annalise Joy Keller graces our family with more love, beauty and joy, which always amazes me. I (and ALL our family) was so anxious for her to arrive that I experimented with every old wive's tale to bring on labor. No amount of walking or castor oil was going to convince Annie. She was only 2 days past her due date, but it seemed infinitely longer at the time. Now that she's here and I get to gaze adoringly into her face, I have forgotten how miserable I made myself (and Paul) those last few days of my pregnancy.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: -webkit-left;">There's something about a baby that words fail to express. I'll attempt to explain my thoughts, but words won't completely express my meaning. Holding a new baby is as if finally you have found something perfect. I'm not talking only about </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: -webkit-left;">outer beauty but what lies behind their eyes. I never tired of looking at a baby's sweet face and suddenly the past, present and future seem to be one thing. The past, of course, is seen in identifiable shared traits such as eyes, hair or a smile. The present is in the way a baby grasps your finger or clings to your chest. The future lies in the knowing look in their eyes or the light behind their eyes is how I often describe it. Babies are a perfect wonder to me. I marvel at how such a tiny body holds so much biological and spiritual wonder.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: -webkit-left;">I'm also in awe at how a baby can take plans and turn them on its head. I have learned this 4 times over. I make plans with some flexibility because </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: -webkit-left;">you can count on this: If you continue to cling to a set of specific expectations about how life should happen, then you miss out celebrating the real thing. My goal is to liberate myself from the oppressive fantasy of a perfect life and enjoy life's perfect wonders -- my family.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lexi, Emmi, Livi and Annie</td></tr>
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</span>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-52464861518823750762011-08-17T10:44:00.003-04:002012-07-16T09:22:41.336-04:00That's Life<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="background-color: white;">I had one of those emotional moments today that brought my vapid little brain to a screeching halt then careening into the infinite possibilities that is life.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">It snuck up on me. I simply walked to the front door and peered out at Lexi waiting for the bus. The morning fog enveloped the whole yard and framed the scene like a dream sequence. Chalk it up to hormones or my imaginative nature but her lithe form patiently waiting at the end of our gravel drive created a picturesque metaphor for life. I had to turn away and started softly crying into my hands as I realized that I was responsible for guiding her down her path and helping her understand what lies beyond the fog. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Then I look over at the end of the sofa and see Emmi asleep in a tangle of blankets and down at my swollen belly and become conscious that I have 2 (soon 3) other little girls that I have to guide through life. I couldn’t bring myself to go peek in on Livi curled up in her bed. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">How am I going to manage to nurture and guide these girls? I have to constantly remember to love them maternally and forgive them and myself for selfishness. All relationships are flawed with selfishness and a multitude of sins. I just pray that they forgive my mistakes (past, present & future) as I forgive them. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Paul and I are blessed with 3 beautiful girls and we have to remember though they are our children more notably they are God’s gifts. Though we want to say, “This is our daughter.” The truth is children are God’s gifts to give. I battle with thinking of our girls possessively and lately it’s been especially difficult. We have an independent 12 year old, 2 stubborn toddlers and an overdue pregnancy. Why does it seem I pose a challenge to God each time I make a plan? Thank God for my adaptiveness (He certainly shaped it with His own hands) and for His forgiveness as I struggle to put our children's welfare above my own.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i>That's life.<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">I tell ya, I can't deny it,</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">I thought of quitting baby,</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">But my heart just ain't gonna buy it.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><i>And if I didn't think it was worth one single try,</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span class="apple-style-span">I'd jump right on a big bird and then I'd fly</span>…</i></span></div>
<br />Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-53120700555041898302011-07-31T18:43:00.010-04:002011-08-01T08:07:52.922-04:00The Art of Distraction<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’m the mother of 3 soon to be 4 (give or take 2 weeks). The hormones surging through my swollen body have managed to affect my brain as well. I admit that I am not very articulate nor armed with the best vocabulary or grammar but trying to piece together complete thoughts is definitely more troublesome while pregnant. Another pregnancy symptom that I look forward to ditching is the insane, vivid dreams. My brand of nonsensical dreams would creep out the likes of Tim Burton… well maybe not but he would at the very least find intriguing material for his movies. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">For the most part, I’ve been too involved caring for the home front to whine about being pregnant. Lately though, my sporadic sleep patterns due to the aches and pains of pregnancy are starting to weigh on me. Though experienced in the whole birth experience, I still find myself somewhere on the edge of joy and dread in these final weeks. The art of distraction though has been a blessing and keeps me from obsessing whether TODAY is the day or not. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Let’s face it. None of us like to be forced into doing something or limited in some way. I for one would enjoy living life completely able bodied without having to accommodate extra weight and heft in the front, but the reality is I do and often get leg cramps or ligament pain because of it. Luckily, I have found that a relaxing, uninterrupted bath often soothes me enough that I can pretty much resume normal activity around the house. Also, I hate being limited physically but it just means I have to spend more time doing more sedentary activities like reading or writing. Though, I may fuss a bit at having to slow down, it does help knowing that my condition is temporary and I should be exceedingly grateful for what I do have. The trick is being happy with what you have. It’s easy to complain about what you don’t have (too easy for me) but I remind myself it's much easier in the long run to focus on your blessings instead. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">At times, I feel overwhelmed and even weepy when I start to wonder how in the h-e double toothpicks I’m going to manage one more little person but then I remember the art of distraction. I have to do it daily for myself and I realize that I often do the same for my children. How often through the course of your own day do you look forward to your “to-do list”? I'm probably being generous when I say at least 50% of my day is loaded with things I really don’t want to do, but they have to get done anyway. The same rule applies to children. They also have their preferences for their day-to-day life (Going to bed on time isn’t one of them). </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">You have to keep a mental list of ever-changing “likes and dislikes” and prepare a mental arsenal of distractions. The art of distraction is also known as the art of war… because raising children is a battle, baby. There isn’t much time to analyze and re-analyze when you're staring down the barrel of a gun. Shoot from your hip and if that distraction didn’t work then try another. You have to be quick on your feet literally and metaphorically and nip a potential mêlée in the bud asap or you'll end up at the point of no return in Tantrumsville. Be proactive to avoid bad tempers and pay attention, especially when you have more than one child (there are more variables to consider). Eventually, you can find a suitable activity for your child to do that is within your limits. Don’t ever offer a choice you aren't willing to back up. I’m super-tricky. Thing 1 and Thing 2 often like to be carried from the car to the house. Before they can say,”Mama, will you carry me?” I say, “Would you like to walk by yourself or hold your sister’s hand?” Get it. Either choice, my pregnant hiney isn’t toting 2 kids. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The point is… make life easier on yourself and your family. Sometimes, you have to get distracted on purpose to put some space between the problem and solution. No one ever said you have to find the perfect solution to every tiny problem that develops right here and right now. Distraction is a means until you can find a solution. I'm not suggesting you should act now and think later, but all thinking and no action is just as offensive. If you constantly think about a reocurring problem and play out the infinite possibilities in your head until you discover the end-all-be-all solution, then it creates </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">confusion and often frustration. Parenting is frustrating enough. Just breathe and follow your intuition. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Each child and each situation is unique to your own family. Paul and I live up to our ideal family standards. We know that we are doing our best and try to keep a realistic perspective. Family life is always going to have difficulties but we try to revel in the joy that children bring. Life is so much more colorful with children. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">(deep sigh) If you made it to the end, thank you for reading. Writing about my ideas on parenting helps reassure my beliefs and cleanse my addled brain of unnecessary anxiety.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div></div>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-30969189328302850572011-06-06T15:53:00.003-04:002011-06-09T10:32:44.192-04:00Parental Advisory<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warning: Parental advice is for mature audiences only.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">With # 4 on the way, we’re anticipating the arrival of this little girl to see how different she’ll be from her sisters. Each kid is special and we’re wondering how one more little girl is going to change our family. So I’ve started thinking about how we fulfill our parental duties. As parents, we know that no one else can supply the basics, love them and provide a secure home like we can. We bear in mind that our kids absorb everything that we expose them to in life. We do our best to love and support our children and know that is our joy to relish in their successes and to guide them through their failures.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
The most basic foundation from our perspective on parenting is attitude. Often we have to remind each other to have a positive attitude so our children will also have a positive attitude. When we have adult concerns about anything in life, we’re very careful how we voice our concerns in front of the children. Kids pick up on your attitudes and beliefs, adopt it as their own and take it to heart. Dealing with the normal stress of life, we have to remember that a child’s job is to be a child. We don’t unnecessarily involve our children in adult concerns. Being a kid is tough enough. We don’t want them to worry or become too involved in adult problems then likely develop negative or apathetic attitudes. Bad attitudes can certainly contribute to discipline problems. With Paul’s insane schedule, it takes some effort to find the proper time to discuss things but we think it’s worth it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before we were married, Paul and I discussed and agreed upon fundamental discipline guidelines. Of course, Lexi was a large part of our parenting discussion. During our engagement, Lexi was doing her best to push her boundaries and we only had one unpleasant incident that Paul still jokingly refers to as, “The Great Cookie Incident of 2006.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Late one night after readying herself for bed, Lexi asked me if she could have a chocolate chip cookie. I said no because it was bedtime and thought that was the end of it. Well, Lexi didn’t think so and skipped over to Paul to ask him for a chocolate chip cookie (I bet she even fluttered her eyelashes). Paul was blindsided with his first parent vs. child battle. He happened to be nibbling on aforementioned chocolate chip cookie and even worse he wasn’t fully prepared to handle Lexi’s arsenal of parental weapons. She hit him with her best shot – the guilt grenade. Paul, of course, felt accountable for her wanting a cookie so his first thought was to give her a cookie. He attempted to convince me in front of Lexi to let her have a cookie (Big mistake, buddy). He thought it wasn’t a big deal and she could brush her teeth again before bed. I listened quietly but inside I was heatedly piecing together my argument and rehashing our past parental conversations. The silent fury underneath managed to make its presence known in my response, “I said no.” That was that. When Lexi finally did go to bed, we discussed how we were going to have to support each other in order to not fall victim to wimpy parenting. We both made a parental vow to always put on a unified front even when we think the other is wronger than wrong. In a one parent vs. kid situation, we agreed to support each others' decisions (even if we disagree) then if needed discuss it away from little ears. Later, we could regroup and come to a more agreeable decision. Support and encourage each other as parents because you cannot do it alone. Raising children is as hellish as war. Promise each other to never let your children see the tiniest chink in your armor, otherwise, you’re as good as dead.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The toughest part about being a parent is maintaining strength. Parenting isn't a popularity contest. Your kids will not like you sometimes. So what. Think of all the other people who also have to deal with your kid. This is a shout out to all the grandparents, extended family members, teachers, daycare workers, church workers, sports parents and carpool drivers. These people can only do so much. It is your job as parents to turn out a good kid! Don’t expect society to fill in the gaps you missed. <i>This would be a good time to apologize for being soap-boxy but I have more to say. I’d like others to learn from my life experience. Perhaps it’s a bit preachy but I’m compelled to share just the same.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Overworked, overstressed or indecisive parents tend to be more concerned about their child’s feelings than behavior. Children’s feelings are obviously important but the rest of the world reasonably judges us by our behavior. Don’t give in to manipulative crying, don’t excessively praise your child or over explain EVERYTHING. Parent up and be tough. Wimpy parents are terrified of their child being uncomfortable (I gathered this knowledge personally). I remember the time in my life when I first realized, “My sanity is at stake. I can’t be a wimpy parent!” Lexi, was a precocious toddler and able to express herself and understand clearly at an early age. When she was 2 1/2, I went back to work and school full-time. Quickly, she picked up on the fact that I dreaded leaving her every morning. Not only had I said so in front of her but it was all over my face (Well, mascara was all over my face. I soon opted to ditch eye makeup altogether). Soon, she started crying or throwing fits when I needed to go anywhere, including the bathroom. My anxious reactions to her tantrums fueled her controlling behavior. I had no one to blame but myself. I’m the parent here. Am I so insecure in my parenting abilities that I’m letting a toddler manipulate me? Eventually, I regained my confidence and despite the less than favorable circumstances, I quit feeling like I was at fault for working or like I was purposely hurting her by depriving her of the privilege of spending all day together. Our life was a bit chaotic for awhile but we both survived. Today, I have a BBA in my back pocket, no longer hold down a mediocre job (thanks to Paul) and stay at home with all 3 of our girlies. Lexi, on the other hand, is one independent, adventurous, well-adjusted kid. By learning to conform to new situations, she actually grew into the awesome kid she is today. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Even if your time with your children is limited due to work and school, make sure your personal and/or marital needs don’t fall to the lowest daily priority. It will be tough and take some time. However, it’ll be worth all your effort because it’s far too exhausting and impractical to let your children rule your household with an unrealistic sense of importance (<i>Stepping down from soap box</i>). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three beautiful reasons I have so much parental advice to give. </td></tr>
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</div>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-51292273440977769472011-05-03T12:27:00.000-04:002011-05-03T12:27:19.589-04:00Good Clean Fun<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW4qNJrPmuS5OzIH8SIYPr-4Do2oqdNdd06CUfBs5db4qkgmEoj0rIAXu6Rzaad0oG12IbKFNb_uVnVznpYsYKzTdRbSWUHkbB2a5z9KOGNIbOesUHQ0W9YwXp9lDaV-Ak-G7JasQKNZkz/s1600/IMG_0499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW4qNJrPmuS5OzIH8SIYPr-4Do2oqdNdd06CUfBs5db4qkgmEoj0rIAXu6Rzaad0oG12IbKFNb_uVnVznpYsYKzTdRbSWUHkbB2a5z9KOGNIbOesUHQ0W9YwXp9lDaV-Ak-G7JasQKNZkz/s400/IMG_0499.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"To be an artist means to never avert one's eyes." -Marcus Claudius Marcellus</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thing 1 and Thing 2 are into painting right now. I bought a cheap set of watercolors for their Easter baskets and now they ask to paint all the time. I’m tired of cleaning clothes, brushes, paint, table, chairs and kids, not to mention finding a good spot for the mountain of wet papers. So thanks to the never-ending knowledge of the internet, I found a recipe for DIY bathtub paint as follows: 1/3 c. clear liquid soap (They have sensitive skin so I opted for Johnson & Johnson’s Baby Wash), 1 Tb. cornstarch and a few drops of food coloring. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Honestly, I haven’t tried the exact above recipe. After telling them about making bathtub paint, I discovered we were out of cornstarch so I substituted with baking powder. Is that good or bad? Well, it turned out to foam up a bit but after a few stirs we had a bathtub goop similar to Gak (remember that stinky weird substance that was only fun because of the disgusting noises it made). These little princesses weren’t about to touch the “gloopey gloop”. Thing 1 and Thing 2 won’t even lick their own chocolate covered fingers. Weird, I know. But with art brushes in hand, the tub walls were suddenly covered in blue slashes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thank you, Internet. Now I can sit for a minute and drink hot coffee from a ceramic mug (not lukewarm coffee in a travel mug). </span></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs08lt0SaxnH9ZeWArbeP9nNZ4Km4H6rt3JM8U0_uApNbcq6nTSDTmqUJDo068jRtKZirdowYJHtGIedU1qg12XtEd7hg2wHrDZmC53w7B_mAChnFk4qEPc2YSLmr8BagHukPwV0v8QEQ_/s1600/IMG_0508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs08lt0SaxnH9ZeWArbeP9nNZ4Km4H6rt3JM8U0_uApNbcq6nTSDTmqUJDo068jRtKZirdowYJHtGIedU1qg12XtEd7hg2wHrDZmC53w7B_mAChnFk4qEPc2YSLmr8BagHukPwV0v8QEQ_/s400/IMG_0508.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You miss a lot of wonderful art if nudity is censored. :)</td></tr>
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</div>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-46334837730856051532011-04-21T10:08:00.000-04:002011-04-21T10:08:06.323-04:00A Little Slice of Happy Chaos<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last night after dinner, The Big Sister decided to practice saxophone for an upcoming Fine Arts Fair. She hasn’t played for about a year but decided that she’d perform a few solos in mid-May. That kid can do anything. Thing 1 couldn’t be left out so she grabbed her recorder and I gave a tambourine to Thing 2 for good measure. I was scrubbing surfaces and loading the dishes and found myself smiling despite the cacophony of noise. I turned around to find Big Sister focused on her music even though Thing 1 and Thing 2 were doing their best to convince her to let them play her “insta-ment”. I led them to play in the living room so she could practice. Thing 1 decided that if she couldn’t play Big Sister’s sax then she could at least have fun playing along. She pranced (in her just her panties… FYI, pottying is done in mere seconds at our house) and screeched along to Big Sister’s tune. She is 2 (almost 3) and it wasn’t that annoying, considering she was playing a recorder. Also stripped down to just a diaper (Monkey see, Monkey do), Thing 2 played the tambourine for all of 30 seconds and tossed it to the floor. Over all the noise, she stood mesmerized in front of the TV though she couldn’t hear it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Laughing at Big Sister’s flexibility and determination to ignore her sisters, Thing 1’s dancing and musical abilities, Thing 2’s laid back attitude and Thing 1 & 2’s state of undress, I sat back, watched it all and delighted that I had a little slice of happy chaos for dessert. </span></div>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-42094181370833781912011-04-06T12:50:00.003-04:002011-04-06T13:04:39.263-04:00Dust in the Wind <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSo6Ls5rdhEohqrhYc_1rgq5FW84LBjbsl7ko6Itikx7qPunDON5Tl81cGOlQ6TKbQkW0DFLpxitgLbk9miTaZ2pc0f6fnX6CdSswFQhyphenhyphen1B1Ce7_MMigJOcfinyhuhioQogMU8PBDoz2lY/s1600/kansas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSo6Ls5rdhEohqrhYc_1rgq5FW84LBjbsl7ko6Itikx7qPunDON5Tl81cGOlQ6TKbQkW0DFLpxitgLbk9miTaZ2pc0f6fnX6CdSswFQhyphenhyphen1B1Ce7_MMigJOcfinyhuhioQogMU8PBDoz2lY/s320/kansas.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The progressive rock band, Kansas, knew about dust in the wind. They wrote a whole song about it. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I close my eyes</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Only for a moment and the moment's gone</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>All my dreams</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Pass before my eyes with curiousity.</em></div><br />
<div></div>I particularly identify with this part of the song. For the last two weeks (when it's not raining), I've attempted to drag Thing 1 & Thing 2 outside to play in the yard. We moved to our homestead this January so we've not really enjoyed our yard yet. Fighting cold temperatures and flood-like conditions, we've spent far too much time indoors but the worst culprit of all is WIND.<br />
<br />
<div></div>Most everyone enjoys balmy breezes but the door-wrenching-hair-whipping-toy-blowing-hoodie-snatching-picnic-ruining wind can stir up a storm of irrational anger in me in a blink of an eye.<br />
<br />
<div></div>Thing 1 and Thing 2 also have a mutual dislike for the wind. First of all, they wake excited by the deceiving sunshine so they can enjoy spring activities like blowing bubbles, drawing with sidewalk chalk and picking dandelions. But when I have to hang onto our storm door with a death grip and a gust of wind threatens to knock them down before they step onto the patio, they slowly back out of the doorway and start to take off their shoes and jackets. We've resorted to blowing bubbles in the kitchen, playing in sand on a plastic tablecloth (so not worth the effort) and playing ball in the house. I didn't enjoy bringing the outdoors in so I put the those things back outdoors. To spice up playime, I bought a bag of balloons. Surprisingly, a whole bag of balloons has lasted over a week without being noisy, messy or destructive. Still, balloons are no consolation for playing outside!<br />
<br />
<div></div>I know wind has a purpose but I still hate it because wind...<br />
<ul><li>Ruins perfectly sunny days by chilling you to the bone.</li>
<li>Makes me paranoid in parking lots that my door will fly open and ding the car next to me.</li>
<li>Causes difficulties during track practice for Big Sister. It's hard enough without competing with the wind.</li>
<li>Knocks over trash bins. Empty or full it's still annoying.</li>
<li>Damages trees and possibly our roof (fingers crossed)</li>
<li>Fuels grass fires.</li>
<li>Dries out my eyes.</li>
<li>Blows dirt, leaves and debris everywhere.</li>
</ul><br />
<div></div><strong>Most all, I hate wind because it makes me feel small and inconsequential like dust in the wind.</strong><br />
<br />
<div></div><u>FUN FACT</u>: <em>Kansas</em> was my first concert at Tulsa, Oklahoma's MayFest. I went with my mom, my mom's friend and her daughter. I was 15 & screamed, "Kansas Rules!" at the most inapproriate, quiet moments just to be annoying. It was pretty boring after <em>Dust in the Wind</em> so I spent most of the time laughing at beer sloshing, weirdo concert goers. Good times.Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-28243064219998301832011-03-31T22:39:00.000-04:002011-03-31T22:39:55.812-04:00Confession: I can be rude.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As a stay-at-homer, my adult conversations are limited. It’s awfully disappointing that most of my adult conversations are peppered with rudeness. It’s to the point that I feel like outfitting my kids in matching tees reading, “Please don’t ask my mom rude questions and/or make rude observations.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It wouldn't be effective but at least the general public would be forewarned before I unleash the pent up rage I have in regards to impolite, pointless questions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">“Are you going to try for a boy?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We have 4 girls. We obviously tried. Don’t you think? Furthermore, what’s wrong with girls?</span></em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">“Don’t you know how you get babies?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Obviously, we are competent in this area. Thanks for noticing.</span></em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">“How are you going to manage 4 kids?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A minivan, lots of coffee, naps and wine. I think I read that in a parenting book. No, wait I just made that up. Oh, well, sounds good to me. </span></em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">“This one doesn’t look like you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Wow, I appreciate you taking the time to notice our genetic differences. Did you have a reason to point this out? Because I can assure you she’s mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See the whole birth process is pretty unpleasant so that you’ll remember which kid is yours. </span></em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">“You look tired.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I am so I guess it’s a good thing that I can convince others of my exhaustion. Maybe it’s necessary to look tired so that others will leave me alone so I can sleep.</span></em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now that I’ve unloaded what I really want to say when I’m asked the same rude questions over and over again, perhaps I can continue to grin and bear it. I can’t guarantee that though.</span></div>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-52918548341302752212011-03-31T15:17:00.000-04:002011-03-31T15:17:42.036-04:00Confession: I'm not so brainy.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a tendency to think of myself as intuitive rather than cerebral. This last Sunday, I unintentionally proved this idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Over spring break, Lexi spent the week with an Evansville friend and her family in Destin, FL. After church, Emmi, Livi & I trekked the 2 ½ hours to Evansville to pick her up. We chatted with our friends for a bit, had a restroom break, grabbed some snacks then headed back to Brownstown. Notably missing, I didn’t double check a map. My cop out answer could be “that’s Paul’s job” (since I humbly admit that I am a better passenger than navigator) but he wasn’t there to blame so I’ll just chalk it up to relying too heavily on my intuition. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Somehow by spiritedly talking to Lexi, pulling over for a carsick toddler and ordering Lexi to wipe noses, pass out drinks/snacks and hunt for lost toys (the poor thing has to take over my duties when I’m the lone driver), I managed to get a speeding ticket. I was speeding but I was being passed by another car at the time which irritated me more. After the hi po slapped a ticket in my hand, I inaudibly muttered curses at him until he zoomed away then we were off. Or so I thought. It took a while but I eventually realized that I missed my turn by 30 miles. In my defense, most Indiana highways look the same and I was headed in the right direction, north, but I forgot that I needed to go east as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All my surroundings were familiar so my intuitive side continually argued to my cerebral side that everything was A-OK. Plus, let’s face it. I was not in navigator form. I assumed that I would naturally slip into let’s-go-home mode but I was more focused on keeping everyone comfortable and happy (and they were). At least I did something right.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway after my cerebral side talked some sense into my intuitive side, we made another stop for restrooms and map checking. I found the sanest solution was to back track to an eastward rural highway. Obviously already peeved about the ticket and getting lost, I gave up on being bothered and decided to treat the whole misadventure as if I wanted it to go that way. Not necessarily my exact feelings, but what are you going to do? To be honest, it was a far more picturesque drive and took the same amount of time once you factored out our lost hour. The girls and I discovered more of rural Indiana like Loogootee, IN, the home of Jack Butcher, Indiana’s Winningest High School Basketball Coach. To see that awkward phrase in its entirety on a water tower is unforgettable. We pointed out other interesting sights, shared more stories about our week apart and laughed about our misadventures. Aside from a few hiccups, it was a good road trip.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So maybe my intuition isn’t all that bad, but neither is taking the time to plan carefully. I learned two things from that experience: 1) Pay attention to speed limit signs, especially on boring Indiana highways 2) Despite your best (or not best) effort stuff happens and when stuff happens just roll with it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Paul added 3) Bring your husband to drive so you can enjoy the trip. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I agree.</span></div>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-64965575570988152462010-12-19T18:47:00.000-05:002010-12-19T18:47:12.965-05:00My name is Megan and I'm a hypocrite.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRyLl7-8JuEOy_J1xWf9PjBsjb9Gsoc2TaFM5xMTivMQR2An01rDL-KbfRbh_fna3GI1mzDHARMZzZqAZggJtx0j-A9CBRv_L3nKoOJj9W-aiyDcjDN7PGQrXeaBvNDCKuI1nTv1cnjt-T/s1600/hypocrite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRyLl7-8JuEOy_J1xWf9PjBsjb9Gsoc2TaFM5xMTivMQR2An01rDL-KbfRbh_fna3GI1mzDHARMZzZqAZggJtx0j-A9CBRv_L3nKoOJj9W-aiyDcjDN7PGQrXeaBvNDCKuI1nTv1cnjt-T/s320/hypocrite.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I confess. I'm a hypocrite. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The following will completely contradict itself but I 'm not clever enough to help it. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm about to complain about complainers. </span></em></div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">December 19, 2010</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Dear Mr., Mrs. or Ms. Chronic Complainer (myself included):</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Please quit complaining. By complaining, you continually tell others about some horrible thing and by retelling and complaining about this horrible thing you ultimately bring yourself down and those unfortunate enough to hear your complaining. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Do yourself and others a favor. If compelled to complain, then find a volunteer who will not judge you or offer pointless solutions (Husbands are you listening?). Suddenly, your complaining is transformed into venting, a close cousin to complaining and a necessary component of a healthy life. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Venting is a way to let go of complaints so they don't become the central focus of your mind and that long angry speech you have at the ready is forgotten. Please don't live with your woes because it's exhausting and unproductive for all involved. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thank you and please feel free to vent (not complain) about the absurdity of this blog. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Kind regards,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Megan Keller</span>Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-654783730658901919.post-8848015402921255822010-12-14T12:25:00.003-05:002010-12-14T15:45:50.173-05:00How the Guilt Stole Christmas<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMePoOAN2zwlLragVwwDeAf-MAn4r58M18UO1wWCDcUUlp8xuLRP1iGxZwW2PvuXkxQR2_UvVEZOkzsip6nZ0vxTZmbhyCFAFSbhZpDFwr38cqg1W0_ZIj3m9Ld8VMks7gq56vTndsdoj/s1600/grinch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMePoOAN2zwlLragVwwDeAf-MAn4r58M18UO1wWCDcUUlp8xuLRP1iGxZwW2PvuXkxQR2_UvVEZOkzsip6nZ0vxTZmbhyCFAFSbhZpDFwr38cqg1W0_ZIj3m9Ld8VMks7gq56vTndsdoj/s400/grinch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guilt likes to tell me that my heart is two sizes too small.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Ok, I admit it. I'm not buying a mountain of presents for my kids. I'm sure financially we could fandangle it, but the truth of the matter is that my kids neither want nor need much. <br />
<br />
For example, The Big Sister, age 11, has her own pile of electronics, including a cellphone and so many clothes that she could comfortably make it through one whole month without doing her laundry. She would like new things for her new bedroom and she loves all things zebra, but how much zebra print can one girl need? Thing 1 and Thing 2 are swimming in a room full of books and toys now, so I asked family to follow our lead and not overbuy this year. After all, I'm the lady that usually ends up stepping on and cleaning up the toys.<br />
<br />
I love the magic of Christmas morning and the excitement of opening presents, but I'm starting to realize that overbuying is a waste of time, energy and money. My kids can't even remember all their gifts from last year. Yet another reason why I'm learning to let go of guilt and the idea of buying a ton of gifts. <br />
<br />
I want to create warm memories of Christmas by doing things together. We love to decorate, make and enjoy yummy things to eat and drink, sing our favorite songs or hymns, watch movies and go to church. The gift of time together is more important to us than overindulging our children.<br />
<br />
Another thing, I also worry that the gifts we give to our extended family and friends are worthy of the recipients. We try to be thoughtful and hope it comes across as so. Gift-giving, mailing cards and worrying if you've been thoughtful or charitable enough adds more worry and guilt. <br />
<br />
It's hard to remember with all these distractions that Christmas is to celebrate the birth of Christ. And every year, I have to remember why Christmas is Christmas.Megan Kellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17223147257392676541noreply@blogger.com