tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-328461782024-03-13T05:13:37.983-04:00Always Remember ThatKristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.comBlogger651125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-47628200610074196032012-04-02T15:23:00.000-04:002012-04-02T15:23:25.512-04:00Stomping GroundAs part of a Social Studies project that has overtaken our lives, Mallory is conducting a tour of cupcake bakeries in the Triangle area. The research involved in this project, as you will imagine, has been quite tasty. Yesterday we went to Chapel Hill to visit Sugarland, a bakery featured on Food network which also happens to be right across the street from where Chris and I first met.<br />
<br />
Chris and I kept mentioning this kind of thing -- This is the restaurant we ate at on our first date! This is where I'd pick your mom up after class! Our first apartment was right down that street! -- and each time the girls would say, "Ewwww!" It's unclear why details of our past life disgust them so greatly. "If your daddy and I had never met, and had never dated, you wouldn't have been born," I've said numerous times. Mallory, however, seems to find the whole concept of dating very unpleasant, and I think Phoebe just doesn't like to contemplate a world before she was in it.<br />
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We parked at the Turtles -- a free lot so named because of the giant mural on the wall facing it:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/7h331AcJkre0yxVnvFIeNt50daQ7l32WfU128cF5m3c?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YlqiJmxq0Pc/T3n0XEE9ReI/AAAAAAAAFkY/AsHOpKIJkH8/s400/IMG_2035.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
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Phoebe was disappointed that this was just a mural and not the outside of an aquarium. The Turtles was where, one evening, right after I'd parked and gotten out of the car, a drunk guy came into the lot, got into his own car (which was perpendicular to mine) and yelled out the window, "You'd better hope I don't hit your car!" and then proceeded to back out and do just that -- he slammed into my car, then drove forward, and then reversed into my car <i>again</i>. Chris ran over and started yelling ferociously and defended my honor (and my car from further damage). Good times.<br />
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We ate lunch at Pepper's Pizza (where, in fact, we had dinner right before seeing an REM concert on November 10, 1995 -- which we do consider our first date) -- it's a divey kind of place where all the waitstaff have piercings and tattoos and the seats and tables are decidedly vintage. Delicious pizza, though.<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/n0xFi3KVQ4kHjeia67AO5950daQ7l32WfU128cF5m3c?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Ahe52EdE1Ac/T3n0RH7aZ-I/AAAAAAAAFjU/tGzCaNkZPPs/s400/IMG_2023.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
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We then walked down Franklin Street to the comic book store, where the girls wheedled me into buying them stuffed animals, because apparently we can't go anywhere without buying a stuffed animal.<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/rUMp7rgCgzAksQ7xJN8Zhd50daQ7l32WfU128cF5m3c?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nabN_88TWhY/T3n3rD-O9eI/AAAAAAAAFkk/NeDvL5m8HPE/s400/IMG_2024.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
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Then on to Sugarland, which was immediately impressive to the girls because of the mosaic in front of their entrance:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/QiAjDQveAeu9sgpKehOF-N50daQ7l32WfU128cF5m3c?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-1saKrBmtQSI/T3n0Rkri3KI/AAAAAAAAFjc/qDLNsLl8wO0/s400/IMG_2025.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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It was, indeed, a land of sugar, showcasing some really amazing cakes like this one:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/uJZAjFh9pSgs4KQzbeWaHd50daQ7l32WfU128cF5m3c?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-XL-DZd_k7OQ/T3n0SQxmqVI/AAAAAAAAFjo/X4DmvQ6G8IY/s400/IMG_2028.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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That's a cake! A real cake! What the!<br />
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They also have gelato, which I'd never tried before but which is now my favorite thing. I had coconut and the girls had vanilla and we all agreed it was divine. Apparently they make frozen margaritas and daiquiris with the gelato and I must go back to try one of those. The cupcake -- we split a Red Velvet -- was merely okay.<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/npaS0zKZV0ae_M_MQUrdsN50daQ7l32WfU128cF5m3c?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-GL0UkjiakCg/T3n0T2onnxI/AAAAAAAAFjw/nUxB2iX-s9M/s400/IMG_2029.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
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Then we took a walk through the UNC campus. I should've taken more pictures because it was just gorgeous -- UNC has a pretty campus anyway, but with everything freshly blooming and kind of damp from recent rains it was just lovely. <br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/itmkyEPhz0eLo-LykagTit50daQ7l32WfU128cF5m3c?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Q8VxsAznpkw/T3n0V8lv64I/AAAAAAAAFkQ/0VhJ-g2yPBo/s400/IMG_2033.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
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Phoebe kept asking Mallory, "Do you think we should be Tarheels or NC States?" as though those two colleges were the only options. (And yes, the choice should have been Tarheels or Wolfpack.) Mallory said she wanted to be a Tarheel; Chris replied that she'd have to get really good grades. After a few moments thought she said, "What if I don't go to college at all and just work at McDonald's? That would be okay, right?" I said, "Not if you want to have a house and a car and to be able to afford to have a family." She said, "I'll just find someone to buy those things for me." Ha! Good luck with that, kid.<br />
<br />
I have to say, though, that as we left the prettiness of the quad and got into the section of campus that I'd spent all my time in -- the graduate school buildings, the library, the gross dining hall where I'd eat my lunch -- the fond nostalgia I'd been feeling turned into something else. In fact, as we passed by Greenlaw Hall, where I'd had most of my classes, I just had this feeling of oppression and dread -- much the same as I'd felt during my two years as a graduate student, in fact. (At least, that's how I remember it.) Mallory and I went into the library because I wanted to find my thesis, but I couldn't figure out how to work the computers, so we just kind of wandered around for a few minutes. The library is not a pretty building, it's depressingly industrial and gray, and I had unpleasant memories of the boring job I had there (Interlibrary Borrowing, can I help you?) and the hours I spent at a desk on the 6th floor, taking notes and writing papers. Ugh. I'm sure I did enjoy some parts of getting my degree -- surely? -- but on the whole I just remember feeling weighted down the whole time, much like this girl with all the books:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/6N-0mjV9HJCkTvhViCHPLt50daQ7l32WfU128cF5m3c?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5tuQr00cYuM/T3n0WjC5szI/AAAAAAAAFkM/gNEW_wuA0NE/s400/IMG_2034.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
As we walked back through campus to the car, I found myself wishing, again, that I'd pursued another course of study, that I'd done something different with my life. I thought of the advice I would give my 18-year-old self, if only such a thing were possible.<br />
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Then Phoebe complained that her feet were hurting, and I said, "Maybe you didn't wear good walking shoes," and she said, "No, I think I just don't have very good <i>feet</i>," and I laughed and felt glad, after all, that I've ended up where I have.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-70492348976239911972012-03-16T14:42:00.001-04:002012-03-16T14:42:29.507-04:00This is just to sayI'm posting this picture because I like the way my hair looks:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Lb3uxDpO1Txpi_N2ugVfmD0V3vYQJHOAJVs4teMEsHk?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-947LE1NWTuU/T11iAW4N4DI/AAAAAAAAFig/lVggtlOMSVw/s400/IMG_1892.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
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And this one to show that good hair is temporary, but the cuteness of Phoebe is not:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Dcc5NZ0MNQGMFeYz2KQg8z0V3vYQJHOAJVs4teMEsHk?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-KmxttPEro5s/T11h_b_7A4I/AAAAAAAAFiY/_oKK4PgmAI0/s400/IMG_1889.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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And this one to thank my husband for hanging out with the girls at Girl Scout Family Fun Day while I manned the "Time Capsule Signature" Station:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/X8AKv3ohbg4hiBpBgkSvgD0V3vYQJHOAJVs4teMEsHk?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-sHhzWsXJPIA/T11iCe2ZmAI/AAAAAAAAFiw/CqPtr2Je6ME/s400/IMG_1898.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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And this one because I like it:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Dy0piwr7IJ5nM5GFJeCIXT0V3vYQJHOAJVs4teMEsHk?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-I3wUk0_UiEU/T11iEeX1L5I/AAAAAAAAFjI/1GbjxjXg-a0/s400/IMG_1918.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-70975354832252264872012-02-28T10:31:00.000-05:002012-02-28T10:32:31.494-05:00The thing isThe thing is, without my blog, how will I remember that the other day, Phoebe said something about a desperate housewife, and Mallory said she bet that Phoebe didn't even know what a housewife was, and Phoebe said, "You're right...but I <i>think</i> it's someone who's always grumpy."<br />
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And I don't want to forget, either, that recently Phoebe has started to say, "I love you as much as a pickle!" And then a few days ago she raced to the bathroom shouting, "I need to pee as much as a pickle!" and slammed the door. A few seconds later the door opened and she poked her head out and said, "There I go again with the pickles!"<br />
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And -- Mallory has to do a report on a famous North Carolinian, but her first choice -- Virginia Dare -- was taken by another kid in her class. She was working on some other homework and asked me to look up some other possibilities for her. I googled and discovered that Betsy Byars was born in Charlotte. "You can be Betsy Byars!" I said. "Who is that?" she asked. "She's an author...she wrote <i>The Summer of the Swans</i>, which was one of my favorite books. And Grandmom met her once and got her autograph. And," I continued, scrolling down the Wikipedia page, "she and her husband are pilots! She flies her own plane!" Mallory said, "So she writes books and likes to fly. Could you have picked a worse person for me?"<br />
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And -- I started the afghan and it's a lot of fun, actually, and I've finished quite a few squares. Maybe close to 30 percent. But...I've never been crazy about the yarn I was using...it's not very soft, and a bit too fuzzy for my liking. So I'm thinking about switching to a different brand of yarn. I know, I know, it's insane to scrap everything I've done and start all over. But I keep hearing my grandma's voice in my head, telling me that I'll never be happy with it unless I do it just right. And I think the other yarn is better. So let's move the completion date back to 2014. If I'm <i>still</i> blogging then I'll post a pic.
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<br />
And p.s., I still have lots of Girl Scout cookies in my dining room.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-18722745220965450622012-02-01T15:08:00.000-05:002012-02-01T15:09:55.012-05:00Is this thing on?It's an odd thing, not wanting to give up one's blog but also never really feeling like updating it. Anyway, I'll take the easy way out and highlight the past few weeks of our lives in pictures:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/HO0h5drtCugpsuKQ9hP2IPi4grEfH54US0QQrb8lRx0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-8egFupQGxiE/TyYIpkqwhEI/AAAAAAAAFhA/q8uIFEJtFiU/s400/IMG_1776.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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Phoebe. Is there anything funnier than a Phoebe? Above she is dressed up for her half-birthday at school (since she's a summer baby). (She did, in the end, decide not to wear the hat.) Every outfit, every clothing changed is thought out with precision detail. Where she gets her fashionista tendencies I do not know.<br />
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A few weekends ago she suddenly announced that if I did not get her a pair of jean shorts she would just die. This was alarming, but since we had to go shopping anyway, I said I'd see what we could find. Luckily we found some on sale. She has taken them off only to go to school --she wears them to bed! -- and she thinks they look best when she wears them with a skirt-shirt, as shown:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/4qu7ptWbBTfY0wF_ACCCGvi4grEfH54US0QQrb8lRx0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-G1kstJMaI0Y/TyYIrOSCKmI/AAAAAAAAFgY/5v17oGYyRtA/s400/IMG_1780.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
...and is frustrated by the fact that she mostly has skorts, which cannot be pulled up to her armpits, instead of real skirts.<br />
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This is how happy she is about her shorts:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/dv8GWRhKsKqw_6bducMWKPi4grEfH54US0QQrb8lRx0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-FGAuWSJ8z4I/TyYIr8lQerI/AAAAAAAAFgg/WXUyWDOfmZ8/s400/IMG_1783.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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In other news, I turned forty, which...what is there to say about turning forty? Here I am on my birthday with my girls:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/OxlpjgSMHht61dRKAEnp-vi4grEfH54US0QQrb8lRx0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-4mpfw13NWXQ/TyYIqVPg-hI/AAAAAAAAFg8/8dAmHJQK2Nc/s400/IMG_1778.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
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I did decide to make the afghan, and have completed 16 of the 212 pieces. I'm guessing it will be 2015 before I get it done. I made this panda for Mallory:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/sjb89O63gXDiy9xNZqmDuvi4grEfH54US0QQrb8lRx0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-GOe7xQikpfA/TyYIuOYDnkI/AAAAAAAAFg4/SlaoxxEWjck/s400/IMG_1812.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
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...which coordinates nicely with her freshly-painted bedroom, of which more later.<br />
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I also made a chihuahua for Phoebe, who is on a Skippy Jon Jones kick:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/nhalKVFISliVRy2EBnvNmfi4grEfH54US0QQrb8lRx0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-qW74bbGjwZw/TyYItrBd_AI/AAAAAAAAFgw/hW5kMMD-9xo/s400/IMG_1810.JPG" height="267" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/UV6f4jb4QNFFHuKz6Pp63vi4grEfH54US0QQrb8lRx0?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-shVN3srYujc/TyYIsafBYZI/AAAAAAAAFgo/jIbgHdHvEj8/s400/IMG_1808.JPG" height="267" width="400" /></a><br />
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He's supposed to stand up by himself, but, well, he doesn't.<br />
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What's up with you? Oh, and would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-69376606220633449682012-01-09T16:04:00.000-05:002012-01-09T16:04:30.326-05:00Somebody stop meBecause I have all the time in the world and unlimited patience, I want to make this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjkiC0w_R0-IoeBZU2deej2IiHOp8TWX_2ad2ubQ5EjOQGf2Szl_i3Na6HUB_kkz7tqK1JUboc_Y9lM-wUw85KoDhCDVLPRpXJU0V33Motq1pow3FUuRAb5mdAJ7k_HlZWPvO/s1600/granny_patch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjkiC0w_R0-IoeBZU2deej2IiHOp8TWX_2ad2ubQ5EjOQGf2Szl_i3Na6HUB_kkz7tqK1JUboc_Y9lM-wUw85KoDhCDVLPRpXJU0V33Motq1pow3FUuRAb5mdAJ7k_HlZWPvO/s320/granny_patch.jpg" /></a></div><br />
The flowery one on top, not the stripy one on the bottom. Even though I've never crocheted anything larger than a scarf, and I only made the scarf this weekend, and before that I'd never crocheted anything larger than a cell phone case. Even though this afghan is made of <i>two-hundred and twelve</i> separate blocks that would have to be stitched together, and my least favorite thing about crocheting is stitching pieces together. Even though I don't need another blanket in my house, I have plenty. Even though I'm afraid I'm going to become a crazy crochet lady who keeps making things that nobody needs and foisting them on people. <i>Here, have a scarf! Have an afghan! Have some booties!</i> People will tire of me.<br />
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If I'm going to make an afghan, having never made one before, it would be smart to start with something easier:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaFx8QU4WkwQ-1l14RjUbBm1SGy4OZe_UsNZAxNPlAY7SNM4OT6nxmEEkLFqZt1MT-qIJ6k0pZiDD-QVC1w66P6ZxrfRQ9gweYYBOP8N6kCdkw6gLOn9PpNt6GAwhHtaRkmlgC/s1600/afghan1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="177" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaFx8QU4WkwQ-1l14RjUbBm1SGy4OZe_UsNZAxNPlAY7SNM4OT6nxmEEkLFqZt1MT-qIJ6k0pZiDD-QVC1w66P6ZxrfRQ9gweYYBOP8N6kCdkw6gLOn9PpNt6GAwhHtaRkmlgC/s320/afghan1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
or at least with something smaller:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFoOpKsE-pO4LEbqlG55Aqof4BTR0TsSa7i1a7Ip8P1cwfDCA0ShWKo6Ih5DSf1pgQun-gQ5_RWPumXAKPtKnFayrg_gHnLtcYUAXiLM4w0CAJU_g1LFTBR7ce7RUBNG1LNBM/s1600/afghan2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="205" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFoOpKsE-pO4LEbqlG55Aqof4BTR0TsSa7i1a7Ip8P1cwfDCA0ShWKo6Ih5DSf1pgQun-gQ5_RWPumXAKPtKnFayrg_gHnLtcYUAXiLM4w0CAJU_g1LFTBR7ce7RUBNG1LNBM/s320/afghan2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
But what if I hate the whole process and decide, having completed one of the above afghans, that I never want to make another one? Then I'll have an afghan, but it won't be the one I want:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjkiC0w_R0-IoeBZU2deej2IiHOp8TWX_2ad2ubQ5EjOQGf2Szl_i3Na6HUB_kkz7tqK1JUboc_Y9lM-wUw85KoDhCDVLPRpXJU0V33Motq1pow3FUuRAb5mdAJ7k_HlZWPvO/s1600/granny_patch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjkiC0w_R0-IoeBZU2deej2IiHOp8TWX_2ad2ubQ5EjOQGf2Szl_i3Na6HUB_kkz7tqK1JUboc_Y9lM-wUw85KoDhCDVLPRpXJU0V33Motq1pow3FUuRAb5mdAJ7k_HlZWPvO/s320/granny_patch.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I really love it.<br />
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I really have a million other things to do with myself.<br />
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Maybe instead I'll make another scarf:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQuOM_zhegW_dZ2zqh9d77Zw-6PfiM2EyDR2TCPeiUw5y_keIED8lnhaIBw0buV8ZX3f1rAfNDuuIAb3i7H86a3AI9sKO6BNWzg2DQw4KhNKFAkMHlMgxLsp7yrbCj4zFqQyps/s1600/scarf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="225" width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQuOM_zhegW_dZ2zqh9d77Zw-6PfiM2EyDR2TCPeiUw5y_keIED8lnhaIBw0buV8ZX3f1rAfNDuuIAb3i7H86a3AI9sKO6BNWzg2DQw4KhNKFAkMHlMgxLsp7yrbCj4zFqQyps/s320/scarf.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Even though I don't really wear scarves. But isn't it <i>pretty</i>?<br />
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This is getting dangerous.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-14372629903535374102011-12-29T14:09:00.000-05:002011-12-29T14:09:25.925-05:00Wrapping it upNo, not like that:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/41hs0kbJyhhS1LcKVndlJ0dMGbHDd7KezMyLHVVBClU?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-i6lsGc3PBuQ/TvyRBc0bb8I/AAAAAAAAFe8/quf6JGOW37g/s400/IMG_1770.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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I am way behind here. I don't think I ever posted about Mallory's birthday, and I had some thoughts about Christmas decorations which I guess I'll save until next year, and I should tell you about the fab time I had with my family last week, but instead I'll just sum up 2011.<br />
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<b>Best Books Read:</b><br />
There But For The by Ali Smith<br />
Chime by Franny Billingsley<br />
The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan<br />
The Boy in the Moon by Ian Brown<br />
Please Look After Mom by Kyung-Sook Shin<br />
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<b>Worst Books Read:</b><br />
Obedience by Will Lavender<br />
The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown<br />
Sister by Rosamund Lupton <br />
The Sherlockian by Graham Moore<br />
<br />
<b>Best Movie:</b><br />
Bridesmaids<br />
<br />
<b>Fave TV show:</b><br />
Modern Family; also Prime Suspect but I think they're taking it off the air<br />
<br />
<b>Proud of myself for:</b><br />
Teaching myself how to crochet<br />
Losing 10 pounds between Thanksgiving and Christmas (now need new pants)<br />
<br />
<b>Best new experience:</b><br />
Riding a Segway with Aimee through downtown Charlotte<br />
<br />
<b>New places traveled to:</b><br />
Atlanta<br />
Chicago (prefer Chicago)<br />
<br />
<b>Glad that I:</b><br />
Took the girls on fun outings this fall, even though it ate up my weekends and wore me out<br />
<br />
Not glad that I:<br />
Spent too much time on the internet<br />
"Prepared" so many unhealthy "dinners" for my family<br />
<br />
<b>Most fun had:</b><br />
Trip to Chicago (except for getting there, and the heat)<br />
Visiting my family at Christmas<br />
<br />
<b>Favorite picture:</b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/KKAXq-CBdbKhBsE18lt6HdbKC6mlJg0KgjpXWPU6E_s?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-f7kHwxLoD48/TijoivYjlTI/AAAAAAAAFMs/PSPnewsWhyE/s400/DSC01911.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Up next:</b><br />
Painting/reorganizing the girls' bedrooms<br />
<br />
<b>Hope to:</b><br />
See my whole family again soon<br />
Crochet more<br />
Exercise more<br />
Get my children to eat vegetables and meat that isn't dipped in batter<br />
<br />
Happy 2012!Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-8566548197533904022011-12-09T09:09:00.000-05:002011-12-09T09:09:01.615-05:00The Have NotsA few weeks ago I sorted through the girls' books and set aside some to donate. I put them in a Bruegger's Bagels bag because it was big and sturdy and had big sturdy handles. Naturally, the bag has been sitting in our hallway ever since.<br />
<br />
Phoebe noticed it last Saturday. "Mommy, why is there a Wubbzy book in this bag?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"Because those are books I'm going to donate," I said.<br />
<br />
"To the poor?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"I don't think that's a good idea," she said.<br />
<br />
I was about to launch into a lecture about how she had too much and other children had too little and she hadn't read any of those books for ages and --<br />
<br />
But then she added, "Because if the poor children see this bagel bag, it's just going to make them hungry."<br />
<br />
----------------------<br />
<br />
Twenty-five people were laid off from my office yesterday. Luckily I was not one of them, although there were a few tense moments when I thought I might be. I feel bad for feeling happy that I'm still employed, when so many of these people -- including some friends of mine -- are now not. And, although of course I never want to lose my job, knock wood, wish on a star, cross your heart and so forth -- Chris and I have a pretty good safety net. I'm fairly confident that we would never end up without a home to live in or food to eat. I'm afraid that a few of the people who were let go yesterday don't have that kind of assurance, and it just makes me feel terrible. And although I understand the reasons they were let go now instead of a few weeks from now (because if they kept their jobs into 2012 they'd be able to claim there 2012 vacation hours) -- it's still particularly awful that this happened right before Christmas. I think the powers that be deserve a few lumps of coal for that one.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-85600248862442284432011-12-05T21:37:00.001-05:002011-12-05T21:37:13.250-05:00If you're not in the spirit yet...you will be after watching this. <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8ygW5hLgnn4" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
My only regret is that this version does not have Beeker singing the nine ladies dancing part. That cracks me and Phoebe right up.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-17175712825320547002011-12-02T14:33:00.000-05:002011-12-02T14:33:19.147-05:00TenLast night Mallory asked me to carry her. "Carry you?" I said. "I haven't been able to carry you for many years."<br />
<br />
"But you said you always would, no matter what," she said.<br />
<br />
"When did I say that?"<br />
<br />
"On your blog," she said.<br />
<br />
I guess she read <a href="http://alwaysrememberthat.blogspot.com/2006/11/five.html">this</a>. Which, in spite of its schmaltziness, is one of my favorite posts. I can't believe that was 5 years ago. I can't believe that Phoebe is older now that Mallory was then. I can't believe that I thought <i>five</i> was <i>old</i>. I can't believe I didn't factor 4th grade social studies into the equation.<br />
<br />
She's ten, my beautiful, goofy, kind-hearted, generous, bright and funny little girl. If I'm a bit sad today that she's growing up so fast, I'm consoled by the fact that I'm the one who gets to be there with her while she does. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/KyS1CHfne9JAxnfjSIG6fIOrTNIU_-bcfb9Qplwdxzc?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-V9WpSDVk168/TpuDH83B0fI/AAAAAAAAFbI/j9_DP7UtifE/s400/IMG_1490.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
Happy Birthday!Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-57135314172287334882011-11-29T22:07:00.001-05:002011-11-30T08:55:35.015-05:00Notes for when I take overWent to the grocery store today; glanced at my receipt on the way out and saw that, through my store's Loyalty Card scheme, I have saved $436 on groceries this year. And it occurred to me to wish that they gave you an option -- you could either save this money on your purchases throughout the year, OR, you can pay full price for your groceries, but then get a rebate check for the amount you WOULD have saved at the end of the year. Would that be awesome or what? Paying $10 extra per grocery trip wouldn't be that bad if I could get a $500 check around Christmastime.<br />
<br />
Teachers should be disallowed from giving two major tests in one week, especially when one of the students is so excited about her upcoming birthday that she can barely breathe. (Studying for a 4th grade science test is just as exciting at age 39 as it was at age 9 (in other words, not). Mallory always manages to lighten things up though. She gave this example of a food chain: "Grass...hamburger...me...a shark!")<br />
<br />
Employers should release their employees one and a half hours early each working day between Thanksgiving and Christmas.<br />
<br />
This would be more effective if I had more examples, but now I'm going to bed.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-79673965382163897592011-11-24T11:36:00.001-05:002011-11-24T11:43:12.146-05:00What I'm thankful for:A mother who taught me the importance of a homemade pie crust, and a father who perfected the art of applying vanilla ice cream to a piece of pie.
Streusel topping for when the top crust just doesn't come together.
A daughter who loves to bake, who's almost old enough to bake things by herself, but who still asks questions like, "This says I need three-slash-four cups of sugar...how much is three-slash-four?"
Another daughter who is finally old enough to play games that require reading, but who is still young enough to say "cimmanon" and "bekfrast."
A job to go to, even when I have to go there the day before Thanksgiving.
A house to live in, no matter how messy.
The internet, so I don't have to go shopping for reals tomorrow.
In-laws who have always welcomed me with open arms, and who gave me the job of making desserts, rather than vegetables, for Thanksgiving dinner.
Two sisters and a brother who feel close even when we're far apart.
A husband who always makes me laugh, and who tolerates me when I'm not in a laughing mood.
Happy Thanksgiving to you!Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-26634583641564128402011-11-20T10:52:00.001-05:002011-11-21T09:21:12.018-05:005th member of Kemple family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ-qmDbJGEJlO-3Agejbpj7rMk2ylAN7l-ukaqW3zSMIGZae-76DCEE_vfs9yXx8mVEYfHK26Xo6Eu9MVefA5jhE98Wa6dw_f1TGkLzoMjh7otqSJP819VxAZpPwX4o2KHvRo/s1600/photo%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ-qmDbJGEJlO-3Agejbpj7rMk2ylAN7l-ukaqW3zSMIGZae-76DCEE_vfs9yXx8mVEYfHK26Xo6Eu9MVefA5jhE98Wa6dw_f1TGkLzoMjh7otqSJP819VxAZpPwX4o2KHvRo/s320/photo%25283%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
We got a blue beta fish last night at petco. Did you know that NONE of the fish were dead? We prayed on the way over there for all of the fish to be healthy and God preformed a miracle! Mallory came up with the name Blue Berry Kemple. She is reading him a story now. She is very happy.Happy Birthday Mallory!
[This post was written by Mallory]Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-57698879568695300892011-11-18T12:06:00.000-05:002011-11-18T12:06:30.284-05:00Recipe for DisasterSo I've been hunting around on online recipe websites for some Thanksgiving inspiration. I love being able to search for recipes online and am thinking about doing away with cookbooks altogether. I really like the reviews that most sites have - it's useful when someone comments that, for example, the recipe called for 1 TBSP of salt when it should be 1 TSP, or that someone else substituted chicken thighs for chicken breasts and the recipe still turned out delicious.<br />
<br />
But. It drives me nuts when someone gives a recipe a bad rating and then says:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>This recipe was terrible! It was so bland! I left out the garlic and onion because I don't like those, and it had no flavor at all. Plus I left out the cheese and sour cream to save on fat but cooked it as directed and it got really dried out!</blockquote><br />
Well, guess what, you didn't really make this recipe. You changed the recipe, and it turned out terrible, but that's not the recipe's fault.<br />
<br />
This kind of thing is even worse:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>This was delicious! I made it as written, except that I added a bunch of different seasonings, plus some link sausage, plus I shortened the cooking time but amped up the heat a little bit. I didn't use the sauce recommended, I used another sauce that my grandma taught me how to make, and it turned out great! Five stars!</blockquote><br />
If it's so delicious the way you made it, then post your own recipe! <br />
<br />
It also bugs me when people give books a bad rating on Amazon because the book may have been damaged in shipping, or because they thought the price was too high, or because of some other reason that has nothing to do with the <i>book</i>.<br />
<br />
People. What are you gonna do.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-41895471747450827672011-11-17T16:01:00.000-05:002011-11-17T16:01:20.728-05:00UnsuperI don't pretend to know anything about how government works, but this is what I'm picturing in my head about the supercommittee meetings:<br />
<br />
Democrats: We need to raise taxes on the wealthy.<br />
<br />
Republicans: No.<br />
<br />
Democrats: But [list reasons, some of them valid, why this is a good idea].<br />
<br />
Republicans: No.<br />
<br />
[Break for lunch]<br />
<br />
Republicans: We need to cut entitlements.<br />
<br />
Democrats: No.<br />
<br />
Republicans: But [list reasons, some of them valid, why this is a good idea].<br />
<br />
Democrats: No.<br />
<br />
[Break for the day. Tell members of the press that the gridlock is the other side's fault.]<br />
<br />
The end.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-30462842699719422132011-11-16T12:50:00.000-05:002011-11-16T12:50:41.123-05:00SnaggletoothWhen she was about 18 months old, Phoebe somehow chipped her front tooth. We had it capped at the dentist -- a procedure that involved me holding her body on my lap while a dental hygienist held her head and the dentist worked (very slowly) and Phoebe writhed and screamed like we were killing her -- but two days later, she bit into a bagel and the cap came off. Of course.<br />
<br />
So we decided to let it be. After all, it was a baby tooth, it was going to fall out eventually. I remember thinking, though, that five or six years was going to be a long time, looking at that awful chipped tooth every day.<br />
<br />
It wasn't a long time at all. And it stopped being awful:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/RVYHpt9LccgYfb-qaI3k4oOrTNIU_-bcfb9Qplwdxzc?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-mAqhzoxuIpQ/TpuDHJUPJ1I/AAAAAAAAFbE/V9Q7o7dRs50/s400/IMG_1489.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
And now it's gone:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERN2LOZV1FoDaAeiBH-fXNWwupqzr2sTk7R7dz1wDqXL8UHXYn19puYoRN5ysssChJqEuKX-NR9Sg1PaCvaiHSPCniyJHaE424koJ31eUErBKqHo5kjkqyNHIr45qVYzY4RB0/s1600/tooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERN2LOZV1FoDaAeiBH-fXNWwupqzr2sTk7R7dz1wDqXL8UHXYn19puYoRN5ysssChJqEuKX-NR9Sg1PaCvaiHSPCniyJHaE424koJ31eUErBKqHo5kjkqyNHIr45qVYzY4RB0/s320/tooth.jpg" /></a></div>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-59256433310912066252011-11-14T16:33:00.000-05:002011-11-14T16:33:09.950-05:00Mrs. NeillI found out today that <a href="http://alwaysrememberthat.blogspot.com/2010/08/third-grade.html">my third grade teacher</a>, Mrs. Neill, has died. <br />
<br />
She was one of the best. She's what every teacher should be. <br />
<br />
I hate to even mention this story in the same post as Mrs. Neill, but still -- I would bet that Mrs. Neill wouldn't have run away and called her dad and asked what she should do about an unsettling thing she saw in the locker room. I would bet that Mrs. Neill would've hauled back and given that person a solid punch in the jaw. Without having to think twice about it.<br />
<br />
I like to think that, having been taught by her, I would do the same thing.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-83891254205475561192011-11-11T11:56:00.000-05:002011-11-11T11:56:15.479-05:00The dollhouse dilemmaFor her second Christmas, Mallory got a very nice wooden dollhouse from Santa. Her grandparents and aunts chipped in to get all the associated furnishings and dolls. <br />
<br />
She played with it fairly regularly for a while, but then when Phoebe came along, we had to rearrange some things in her room and it kind of got pushed back to an inaccessible corner. Later, we moved it into our attic playroom, but by that point, they were both more interested in Polly Pockets and Barbies, and the dollhouse got very little use. I estimate they play with it once or twice a year. <br />
<br />
I would like to get rid of this dollhouse. I think it's a wonderful toy, it's high-quality, it's a great thing -- but my kids don't play with it and it's taking up quite a bit of space and gathering dust. I've considered saving it for my grandchildren, but that assumes that I'll have grandchildren that will be interested in a dollhouse, which really is a tall assumption, and we don't really have the storage space to hang on to this for 20 years or so. I have thought I'd either try to sell it on craigslist (thus generating a bit of cash for this year's Christmas presents) or offering it to a friend of mine who just had a baby girl.<br />
<br />
However, when I mentioned to the girls that I was thinking the dollhouse had to go, they protested. They love the dollhouse! The dollhouse is their favorite! The dollhouse is very special to them! How can I consider giving away the dollhouse!<br />
<br />
Except, they don't love it, except in an abstract way. I understand that it's upsetting to lose childhood toys, but we've gone through this before (selling Little People playsets at garage sales, donating stuffed animals to charity) and within days they've forgotten all about the toys they no longer have. It would seriously not be a deprivation for them to be without this toy.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I do feel that dollhouses ARE special, and have a kind of symbolic importance. I would be a little sad if we didn't have this dollhouse around anymore.<br />
<br />
So, what wins out here? Practicality or sentimentality? What would you do?Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-86539615077637642432011-11-08T22:56:00.000-05:002011-11-08T22:56:33.130-05:00Can you believe we had even MORE fall fun?Really, I just can't stop with the weekend activities. My kids have been enriched to death the past month or so.<br />
<br />
This weekend, we went downtown Raleigh for a double-header. First up: the North Carolina History Festival, which I hoped would get Mallory excited about the enormous NC Social Studies project she's working on. That night: Tickets to the ballet, a few blocks away from the festival. In between: About an hour and a half of down time (poor planning). <br />
<br />
The festival was fine. We saw sculptures and a real dugout canoe and a replica Cherokee longhouse and the girls made bonnets and paper cardinals.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/mWsaz1I8fv4-VLbzifOXl1CScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-C7H01mfBMe8/Trh78HpVTAI/AAAAAAAAFZM/7xEXXWspZtE/s400/DSC01967.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/HfB4NE1aetdxsHN2KzAtoVCScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-doDvt--q6aM/Trh78yVXGOI/AAAAAAAAFZQ/_e6fMS3c6PE/s400/DSC01971.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/JvlrY1HWjPjRtcJstb-kIlCScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_JsVbpNsPYM/Trh7-DeiKqI/AAAAAAAAFZU/jqCGYJD26os/s400/DSC01972.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
Much more exciting than history, however, was riding bus between venues: <br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/rbcs7-kux-ZxztilkbllvlCScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-th8MkdMeE7c/Trh77DgfuhI/AAAAAAAAFZI/z9Fy6ZJ7LC0/s400/DSC01966.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
Then, to kill time, we had an ice cream cone and wandered back to the garage where we'd parked the car. In the elevator, to be whimsical, I pushed 6 even though we were only on 3. The sixth floor level turned out to be empty of cars and the girls thought this was the best thing ever. A photo shoot ensued:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/U0ytuo-ntAWhWLQMzNBe0FCScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NJUfzdSIWQo/Trh7_B-CmII/AAAAAAAAFZY/4Y5GOcda0ZY/s400/DSC01974.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/L49uEwyyJrEkHXcnti56r1CScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NX9Gh1_i_qk/Trh7_2wPx_I/AAAAAAAAFZc/iQJSgpeAZOo/s400/DSC01976.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/9e6Vl_FcJ76kfkYw29SPf1CScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Igjdy02MQWA/Trh8BH8KG4I/AAAAAAAAFZk/kHepgHoK2o4/s400/DSC01992.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
It WAS a lovely view:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/lgJiOipSgDqRAn4-9dX7pFCScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-MtNMGpBDfo4/Trh8EAfUPTI/AAAAAAAAFZw/Tllak2AaUlo/s400/DSC01998.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/fmqnt4BUyqZW9ADz0ivgl1CScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Gr2-Jf8Gds0/Trh8FuefhOI/AAAAAAAAFZ0/vnrKU_DKjxA/s400/DSC02001.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
We rode up and down in the elevator a few more times. I suggested that they pursue careers as Elevator Inspectors. "I didn't know that could be a job!" Phoebe exclaimed. Mallory expressed enthusiasm too, but then caution intervened: "If I ride an elevator in a really tall building, will my ears pop?"<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Smqe1fTmYpOebZpkKIhrhlCScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fMGlFGYCG_4/Trh8GZ3J2AI/AAAAAAAAFZ4/Wi0bdw2doyA/s400/DSC02003.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
Our parking garage fun wasn't over; next we went to our car to change clothes for the ballet. (The other option was schlepping over to the theatre, changing clothes in the restroom, and schlepping back to the car to put away our other things -- not appealing. It was cold out, and I'm lazy.) This turned out to be quite an adventure, because of course the people in the car next to ours walked up at the very moment the girls removed their shirts. Our windows are tinted so I don't think anyone could see anything, but the girls shrieked and dove under their seats anyway. "This is the worst idea ever!" Phoebe said. <br />
<br />
Still, they cleaned up nicely:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/U0KDCUppNg1uxav2bgfNaVCScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-w3nll75T6Wc/Trh8IMKAUvI/AAAAAAAAFaA/NFi4_ZzFPEo/s400/DSC02007.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
The ballet was based on the Fancy Nancy books, which Phoebe adores. The series illustrator was there, looking very glamorous, and Phoebe got an autograph and a picture:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BfpyVK_uV52VwRRTFwoSxlCScM9iiEx8cpf9RW-xnNE?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-zV08pjeu_1w/Trh8HAsLR-I/AAAAAAAAFZ8/CslOzoYEDP0/s400/DSC02006.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
The girls insisted on sitting at the very tippy top of the balcony section, and then proceeded to wiggle and squirm throughout the performance. "What did you think?" I asked Phoebe when it was over. <br />
<br />
She said: "I think ballet would be better if there was popcorn."<br />
<br />
I think she's probably right.<br />
<br />
We ended the night with dinner at IHOP. I know that my kids will remember the wrong things from this day -- they won't remember what a Cherokee home looks like, or what the North Carolina state reptile is, or the music from the ballet. They'll remember frolicking on a parking garage roof and chocolate chip pancakes. But I guess as long as they remember that we were there together, that's okay with me.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-46553344863433003182011-11-07T16:18:00.000-05:002011-11-07T16:18:59.496-05:00That'll cheer you upAs a break from my list of depressing reads, I turned to Anne Frank.<br />
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Yeah, I know. It's like continuing to eat spicy food while complaining that your mouth's on fire.<br />
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Mallory asked me about Hitler the other day. How do you explain Hitler to a 9-year-old? Her main concern seemed to be whether such a thing could ever happen again. She didn't seem comforted by my answer ("I hope not") but what else can you say?<br />
<br />
Anyway, in an attempt to bring things down to her level, I told her about Anne Frank. Then I ordered a book for her -- <i>"Who Was Anne Frank?"</i> -- one of a series of biographies for children. (I think I've mentioned before how much I loved the biographical series in my elementary school's library. They were all bound in hideous orange. My favorite was <i>Jane Addams: Little Lame Girl</i>.) I thought this summation of Anne Frank's life would be easier for Mallory -- who does not like to read -- to digest than the actual diary. <br />
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I read <i>The Diary of a Young Girl</i> when I was...ten or eleven, maybe? And I thought it was dull, honestly, although I would like to believe I was sufficiently saddened at the end. But then in 7th grade, as part of an "Accelerated Learning" project in Language Arts, I "got" to read the play "Anne Frank." I don't remember much about the play itself, but I do remember the series of exhausting questions in my literature book that I was forced to answer. "What was the basis of the conflict between Anne and her mother? Cite three examples." "The basis of the conflict between Anne and her mother was...One example is in Act One..." It seems that I spent <i>weeks</i> answering these questions. It kind of turned me off Anne Frank, to be honest.<br />
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But after reading the short book I got for Mallory, I was intrigued anew. I tried without success to get the Diary for my nook; so instead I downloaded a book about the Diary, <i>Anne Frank: The Book, the Life</i>, the Afterlife by Francine Prose. This is a fascinating book; it details how the book we now know as Anne Frank's diary wasn't <i>just</i> the diary of a young girl; Anne actually spent a great deal of time and effort (although, what else did she have but time, while hiding in the secret anenx) revising and polishing her book into a true memoir. It relates eye-witness accounts of Anne's last days in Bergen-Belsen, which were, of course, horrifyingly awful. And it talks about how odd it is that what most people know about, or take away from, the diary is that famous line about how "in spite of everything, I still believe that people are truly good at heart." In fact, that quote is usually lifted out of context -- Anne may have believed that, but she also believed that the world could be a pretty terrible place. And even if she had believed whole-heartedly in the goodness of people -- the fact is, she was proven wrong, wasn't she? She lost two years of her life hiding in an attic; and then she was found and spent the next six months in a concentration camp; then she died a horrible death. Good people didn't make that happen. <br />
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On the other hand. Of course the last line in Mallory's dumbed-down version of Anne Frank's life is that very quote. And if that's what Mallory, for now, takes away from this story -- that there was once a girl who was persecuted through no fault of her own, but who managed to be brave and optimistic in spite of everything, and whose words have inspired other people to be more tolerant and fight against injustice and oppression -- well, actually, that's a big take-away, but if she gets even just a little bit of that -- I guess that's enough. For now.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-39467227048240249402011-11-04T20:25:00.000-04:002011-11-04T20:25:14.361-04:00Almost two digitsMallory is busily creating her birthday party invitation. It was difficult to rein her in, to say, no, you can't invite your friends to a movie AND go swimming AND go for ice cream and no, as an alternative you can't invite every girl in your class (except the one you don't like) to the Tumble Gym.<br />
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It's even more difficult to wrap my head around the fact that she's going to be ten.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-79564515438573199222011-11-03T15:56:00.000-04:002011-11-03T15:56:44.536-04:00BleakSo I've just read a string of really depressing books, y'all. (I don't know why I just called you y'all.) In the past month or so, I've read:<br />
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W<i>e Need to Talk about Kevin</i> -- A mother writes about the lead-up to, and aftermath of, a school massacre perpetrated by her son, Kevin. I simultaneously hated this book and couldn't put it down. All the characters behaved in a completely unrealistic fashion. (Hi, I've suspected my son is a psychopath since the day he was born, but I'll let him babysit my daughter anyway.) It obviously doesn't end well and left me feeling ooky for days.<br />
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<i>The Night Circus</i> -- Depressing because I thought I would like it more than I did<br />
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<i>The Grief of Others</i> -- stillborn baby, enough said<br />
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<i>Please Look After Mom</i> -- An elderly Korean woman disappears in a subway station; her daughter, son, and husband ruminate about how little they appreciated her and how badly they treated her. Nice.<br />
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<i>Nightwoods</i> -- Children witness brutal murder of their mother, then lots of people tromp around in the woods on various missions with varying degrees of success. Really not very uplifting at all.<br />
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Have you read anything light-hearted lately that you would recommend?Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-36800826256634446462011-11-02T16:04:00.000-04:002011-11-02T16:04:54.727-04:00The day afterMy kids' school doesn't "do" Halloween, but as a "fun" alternative, they <strike>allow</strike> require students to dress up as saints for All Saints Day (November 1). How does one dress a child up as a saint, you may ask? Answer: I don't know, but apparently wrapping them up in veils and shawls does the trick well enough:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/FPh6gMsoUHbC0SF51fesQ-PBhteNp7YkybDTz9VtPEU?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-6pSaw9P0sR0/Tq_7Kq8erkI/AAAAAAAAFW0/syCJzOExcY8/s400/IMG_1590.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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Don't they look happy to be saints? Phoebe is St Catherine of Siena (which is the name of their school, but it was chosen because Phoebe's middle name is Catherine) and Mallory is St Maria Goretti, who was murdered at the age of 12 and beatified because she forgave her murderer on her deathbed. Which is a nice story, right?<br />
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Still, they're getting a good education. Phoebe had to write sentences with selected "sight words" last night; the sentences had to be at least 5 words long. One of her words was "does." "I can't think of a does sentence!" she said. Then she said, "Oh wait -- how about, 'Does potatoes grow in gardens?' No...that sounds wrong. That would be 'do', not 'does'. It should be: 'Does a potato grow in a garden?'" My heart swelled with pride. Only six and she's nailed subject-verb agreement.<br />
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For the word "Who," she wrote: "Who are my parents?" I pointed out that sentence was only four words long. She erased and wrote something else and brought it to me. The sentence now read: "Who are my parents well who?"<br />
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Hee.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-76556109160051453402011-11-01T14:20:00.000-04:002011-11-01T14:20:34.384-04:00Hallo-wetWhat you don't want to happen on Halloween night is, you don't want it to rain. Rain ruins everything. Rain means that either your kids' costumes (that you spent hours making or dollars buying) get ruined, or that your kids wear a raincoat that covers up their costumes (that you spent hours making or dollars buying). Rain gets their candy buckets damp. Rain makes their face paint run. Rain deters other children from trick or treating, which means that you only manage to unload one of the five bags of candy that you bought. Rain means that you, too, have to slog around the neighborhood, wrangling umbrellas, bumping into other parents carrying umbrellas, resenting parents who opt to <i>drive</i> their precious snowflakes from house to house, feeling your socks get increasingly soggy. "Being a parent sucks sometimes," I texted my sister from under my umbrella.<br />
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But honestly -- I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/a6ZNaMTlm55W4KxMsp3FMuPBhteNp7YkybDTz9VtPEU?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-U2FBBNhaVao/Tq_7H7Gm9uI/AAAAAAAAFWg/lMMSTE6j50E/s400/IMG_1583.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/yGtW1cEN20rlVDgeBHVdvOPBhteNp7YkybDTz9VtPEU?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-egX_RKgqiTc/Tq_7INSbWVI/AAAAAAAAFWk/HmgweO9uoRA/s400/IMG_1584.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/CJRDPT1hEx4f9hZWfmUwjOPBhteNp7YkybDTz9VtPEU?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Rsg8BaEtkfY/Tq_7Jl6i32I/AAAAAAAAFWs/qvCIMofNfkg/s400/IMG_1586.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-75183740738322083562011-10-26T09:19:00.000-04:002011-10-26T09:19:01.834-04:00In case you were wonderingThe dreaded Social Studies test? She made a <br />
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<div style="color: magenta; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 72px;">99</span></div><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Whew.</span>Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32846178.post-12159180116428143732011-10-21T09:23:00.000-04:002011-10-21T09:23:09.252-04:00Confederation, confederation, confederationMallory has a big Social Studies test today. She’s not doing well in Social Studies, this year. When I asked her why her grades were so low, she said, “I don’t like Social Studies. Besides, no one can be good at <i>everything</i>.” I thought this was a fair point, but let her know that it was not acceptable for her to do quite so poorly, whether she liked it or not. <br />
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We studied for hours for this test. We read the chapter twice, summarized main points, went over vocabulary words, filled in blanks and did true/false quizzes. There were moments when I despaired – as when I asked, “The villages of the Cherokee people came together to form a...” and she said, “Um...bison?” But I think she knows the material pretty well; honestly I’m not even sure what else we could have done to get her prepared. I told her we would like for her to get at least a B.<br />
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I know she’s nervous. I’m nervous for her. I slept poorly all night. <br />
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But, I also know more than I really wanted to know about the early peoples of North Carolina. Ask me about the Three Sisters or the Green Corn Ceremony! And think good thoughts for her today around 1:30.Kristahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08882807094306934104noreply@blogger.com4