tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52441146985754504722024-03-12T21:08:54.442-07:00MOMVELISTmom + novelistNia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-4688911833723458742015-10-31T06:00:00.000-07:002015-10-31T06:00:01.021-07:00Doodle: A Good Scare<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy Halloween!</div>
Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-51963738657065916722015-10-20T06:00:00.000-07:002015-10-20T06:00:01.551-07:00Doodle: Celebrity Is As Celebrity Does<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I might not make as much money as a celebrity or travel very much or get free things like a celebrity but at least I'm passing on some pretty great swagger to the next generation, right?Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-375353797368014582015-10-11T05:00:00.000-07:002015-10-11T05:00:03.528-07:00Doodle: Mad for FallOy! How much can change in a year and a half! I took what I thought would be a small hiatus and, well, one more baby, a move, and several health problems later here we are! We've moved from Florida to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I can say without a doubt that it was the most emotionally difficult move we've ever had. I still have days of breathlessness from how much I miss our friends and community in Gainesville. That's not to say that Pittsburgh doesn't have plenty of it's own charms, because it certainly does! For starters we have all four seasons which means I only have to hiss at the day-star and cower inside for 3 months of the year instead of 8. And while I'm missing my Florida friends I can at least comfort myself with scarves and hot chocolate and snowmen.<br />
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We're coming up on our second Autumn here in the Burgh and I am lov-ing it! I've decided we're going to run our house like a B&B for my friends who don't get to experience Fall and Winter in their own states. So if you want to feel a nip in the air and drink some hot cider in front of a fireplace, come on by!<br />
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<br />Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-51889748838496077872014-01-03T12:24:00.005-08:002014-01-03T18:34:45.087-08:00Doodle: You Know You're Grumpy When...<div style="text-align: center;">
Today is so not my day. Everything is working against me. E-ver-re-thing. Granted, I'm sure it's really because I'm nine months pregnant and hormonal but that is beside the point. I'm not sure how it happens, but somehow MY hormones tend to make everyone else around me ridiculous.</div>
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<i>I'm </i>fine. It's everyone else who is crazy and problematic.</div>
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Needless to say, I'm a tad grumpy. I didn't realize the full extent of my cloud of doom until, after a morning of full combat, my kids sat quietly at the lunch table and I heard Liam gasp in surprise.</div>
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I'll be honest, I kind of ignored the gasp. I was sitting at a different table to give myself some literal and emotional space from the kids. I had no desire to start engaging conversationally again. But then I heard the quiet awe in Liam's voice as he said: "she's smiling!"</div>
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Who is smiling? Why is it such a big deal?</div>
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I looked up.</div>
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I felt my face. <i>I </i>was the one smiling. <i>I </i>was the one who made tentative wonder break across the faces of her kids as they beheld -- gasp -- a positive emotion expressed on her face.</div>
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"Is this it?" I could practically hear their brains asking. "Is there hope? Do we get to be happy now?"</div>
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If this isn't a facepalm worthy moment as a parent, I don't know what is. Consider this my formal apology, kids, for how grumpy I've been today. Granted, you'll have to learn to read before you see this but we'll work on that. Maybe not <i>today </i>but eventually.</div>
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Thankfully this encounter ended as do many of the ones I decide to blog about. With desperate, slightly maniacal, but much-needed laughter. Our hearts were lightened. Peace was (albeit probably temporarily) restored.</div>
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Maybe tomorrow my hormones won't make everyone else so crazy.</div>
Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-2499481072841029142013-07-10T08:00:00.000-07:002013-07-10T08:00:05.135-07:00Doodle: Dress for Success<div style="text-align: center;">
With the current economic climate being what it is, and the fact that many young people are now pounding the pavement looking for hard-won jobs, I thought I would offer some timely advice from my years of experience and wisdom. I am, after all, 27 years old -- which is almost 30. And 30 is basically the same as 40. So you could say I'm heading over the hill, really.</div>
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I have what -- in my opinion -- is one of the most enviable jobs. Two jobs, in fact. I am both a stay at home mom (or a SAHM if you read mommy-blogs [which I don't if I can help it]) and a writer. More specifically, a novelist. Except for when I moonlight as a blogger. And also those times I write articles. But you get what I mean.</div>
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What I'm trying to say is that you all want my job, I promise. Granted, I have yet to make any money at it, and I am almost guaranteed to only ever make a pittance if anything, but that is beside the point. So my big tip for those out looking for a job is: dress for success. I doubt anyone else has shared that pearl with you. They probably don't even really want you to find a job, but I do, so I'm going to share what I consider to be my work uniform. My day hasn't really begun until I've put on these inspirational and hard working clothes.</div>
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Momvelist Work Uniform</div>
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Awww yisss.</div>
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Firstly, I make sure my pajama pants are mostly clean. Or at least don't have any visible stains. Secondly, I wear whatever t-shirt I find that is closest to wherever I threw my pajama pants the night before. On top of that I layer some well-loved flannel or house coat. Preferably something that the thrift store wouldn't even try to sell. Then, lastly, socks. Matching not required.</div>
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I promise, if you dress like this, people will ask you to stay home to work.</div>
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On second thought the above example really only applies to the writer part. If you also want to be a stay at home mom then I suggest auditioning for the part dressed like this.</div>
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Though, to be perfectly honest, I have a pretty high success rate getting SAHM endorsements (ie, kids) dressed in the previous uniform.</div>
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Happy job hunting!</div>
Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-46038846298731973342013-01-19T17:01:00.001-08:002013-01-19T17:01:27.037-08:00Kidversations: Disappointing NewsLiam, after being told he had to stop <i>asking </i> if he could sleep in my bed: I'm really sorry to tell you this, mommy, but I have to sleep in your bed tonight. I'm really disappointed.Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-40934694337786241672012-10-18T09:47:00.001-07:002012-10-18T09:58:56.397-07:00Kidversations: Partial Credit<br />
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Me: This is a W. It makes the "wuh" sound. Do you know what word starts with W?<br />
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Liam: Wuh, wuh, really big fish!Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-56646223107847860902012-09-17T12:56:00.000-07:002012-09-17T13:20:40.114-07:00Doodle: WHAT IS IN YOUR MOUTH<div style="text-align: center;">
For anyone who has sweetly, but mistakenly, thought I was a "chill parent."</div>
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Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-87668679492950736702012-09-17T09:50:00.001-07:002012-09-17T09:50:50.429-07:00Kidversations: Wait, This Isn't a Restaurant?Me, after Liam has requested a menu change: Sorry, Liam. This is not a restaurant and I am not a short-order cook. You eat what you're given or not at all.<br />
Liam, confused: But...this IS a restaurant!<br />
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Oh, son. You crack me up!Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-64745318061054610792012-09-06T17:42:00.001-07:002012-09-06T17:42:26.207-07:00Doodle: Why Mom's Room is Off Limits<br />
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Gee, kids. Those are...uh...water balloons?</div>
Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-20533183215998858912012-08-21T10:19:00.001-07:002012-08-21T10:19:23.349-07:00Kidversations: The Perils of Five DaughtersLiam, putting on a crown: I am a mommy!<br />
Me: You are? Where are your kids?<br />
Liam: I left them home sleeping.<br />
Me: I hope there's a babysitter and you didn't leave them all alone.<br />
Liam: Yeah.<br />
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Me: How many kids do you have?<br />
Liam: Five!<br />
Me: Five?! Wow, you look really young to have five kids! What are their names?<br />
Liam: They're all Angelinas.<br />
Me: How do you tell them apart?<br />
Liam: Well...there's Angelina, and mom, and Candy, and Tasha.<br />
Me: So, all daughters then?<br />
Liam: *nods sadly* <br />
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Liam: Can everybody see my kids?<br />
Me: *nodding*<br />
Liam, incredulous: You can? But they're still rocks!<br />
Me: What? Your kids are rocks?<br />
Liam: Yeah and they're on the ceiling. They're still in a balloon and they can't get down! And my camera is broken!<br />
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My son's kids are in peril and he is upset that his camera is broken. These are the priorities I have passed on to my children.Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-44544436875532891522012-08-20T13:17:00.002-07:002012-08-20T13:17:26.433-07:00Doodle: Lighting is Everything<div style="text-align: center;">
Does anyone else have this problem?</div>
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Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-17577034543069854912012-08-10T11:35:00.001-07:002012-08-10T11:44:28.875-07:00Mom-ing: An Overabundance of HonestyBen and I try to pass on good values to our kids; things like honesty,
self-sufficiency, etc. In addition to -- and probably more important
than -- self-sufficiency though we try to show the kids how to be loving
and helpful to each other. One of the ways this happens is,
occasionally, we let one kid go through the motions of putting the other
siblings to bed while we supervise.<br />
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One night it was Liam's turn to put the girls to bed and he couldn't
have been prouder of himself. He remembered all the steps. He told
Darcie to go potty and put a pull-up on, he reminded us to brush their
teeth and pray, he played with his sisters like his daddy usually does,
and then he tucked them in, kissed them, and turned off the light.<br />
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Ben and I left the room and stood in the hallway so that he could have
the privilege of saying the final goodnights. Liam stood in the doorway
with his hand on the knob, blew his two sisters kisses, and said
goodnight to them. Then, just as the door was almost closed, he
remembered something he (assumably) felt he ought to have said. He
pointed to the darkest corner in the room that the nightlights didn't
reach and said "oh, and that one is going to get you when you sleep."<br />
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And then he shut the door.Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-92208379269340105762012-07-30T14:48:00.000-07:002012-07-30T15:18:15.592-07:00Doodle: Sad Hopping<div style="text-align: center;">
My kids like to ask to do silly things that clearly don't require permission. I'm fairly certain this is just a way to engage my attention so I just play along. Sometimes though, I realize belatedly that they were genuinely asking me permission for something.</div>
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WARNING: MAY BREAK YOUR HEART A LITTLE BIT.</div>
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Scene 1: Dinnertime. Mom is cooking in kitchen. Kids are playing in living room. A soft plea is heard.</div>
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Scene 2: Mom enters living room. Reason for plea becomes clear. Affirmation is given.</div>
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Scene 3: Flying is ecstatically attempted.</div>
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Scene 4: Attempt failed.</div>
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Scene 5: More determined attempts are made.</div>
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Scene 6: A crushing reality sets in.</div>
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D'awwww! I had to smother her in kisses after this because it was so pitiful and sweet!</div>
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Sorry about that, Darcie! I appreciate you asking permission before theoretically flying around the house and potentially breaking all the nice things that are out of your reach. </div>
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<3</div>Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-54724957215851890792012-07-11T16:31:00.000-07:002012-07-11T16:40:13.163-07:00Doodle: Should've Named Him Waldo<div style="text-align: center;">
There is a very important member of my family that I have yet to introduce to you. He is my fuzzy "first child" and his name is Mousepad.</div>
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Aww! Isn't he cute! </div>
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What's that, you say? You can't see him? Here, look a little closer...</div>
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You see the problem with Mousepad is that he is the <i>exact </i>same shade of gray as our carpet, which makes him very effective at hiding. <i>Too </i>effective.</div>
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"Hey, has anyone seen Mousepad?"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mAOAfNLSSep6SG_fqLdHkY3pzkvPylNjr9UL7ok5sZvkZzQVk0PBZuVfh3UeJ74CxzUZxZyxvu0xcsEnEK04VJ0EehffM0utsoZK1URCmSG1pChyphenhyphenHxml6eP81hFzWVmjPp7OEopOOZw/s1600/mousepad5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mAOAfNLSSep6SG_fqLdHkY3pzkvPylNjr9UL7ok5sZvkZzQVk0PBZuVfh3UeJ74CxzUZxZyxvu0xcsEnEK04VJ0EehffM0utsoZK1URCmSG1pChyphenhyphenHxml6eP81hFzWVmjPp7OEopOOZw/s320/mousepad5.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(This is my extremely inept drawing of Mousepad getting smooshed behind a door)</span></div>
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In fact, he is so effective at hiding that he has taken to laying in open and easily viewable areas so that he can stop getting injured.</div>
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Sadly this method has not helped him. Sorry, kitty! Thanks for being so patient and snuggly!</div>
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<br /></div>Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-52156670844359783362012-07-02T18:22:00.001-07:002012-07-02T18:22:14.405-07:00Kidversations: Trolls and the NetherLiam, while we're waiting in the van for Ben to get some groceries: where's dad?<br />
Me: HE HAS DISAPPEARED INTO THE NETHER.<br />
Liam: Oh no! I need him back!<br />
Darcie: I want daddy!<br />
Me: I want him too! We shall have to work hard to earn him back from the Nether!<br />
Liam: WHERE IS DADDY I NEED HIM!<br />
Me: then you'll have to be VERY GOOD at keeping your shoes on in the car and being happy while we're waiting. It's the only way we'll be able to see him again.<br />
Liam: Oh thank you mommy!Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-89396746304953424082012-06-12T17:08:00.001-07:002012-06-12T17:08:49.639-07:00Kidversations: You Can't Hear CommasDarcie: please climb mommy!<br />
Me: climb what?<br />
Darcie: please climb mommy!<br />
Me: what do you want to climb?<br />
Darcie: please climb! Mommy!<br />
Me: OH! You want to climb mommy?<br />
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I am my kids' second favorite jungle gym. (Ben is their first favorite)Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-88031138991598862832012-06-11T17:32:00.000-07:002012-06-11T17:35:04.909-07:00Mom-ing: The Language BarrierThere are few people who can understand my kids' speech as well as I can, but even I have moments, or entire days, of staring in bafflement at my children. Today was one of those days.<br />
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After dinner the kids were drawing with pens and paper at the table. Ben and I had exhausted smiles plastered on our faces as we let the kids enjoy their last few minutes of freedom before bedtime. It had been a good but long day.<br />
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Liam asked Ben to draw him a helicopter so, taking a break from feeding Adelaide baby food, he obliged. Then Darcie wanted a professional drawing as well so to save my husband some trouble I volunteered to do a drawing for her. The following exchange occurred:<br />
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Me: What would you like, Darcie?<br />
Darcie: I want ______<br />
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...I had NO idea what she wanted but I swear she said "crack." So in a fit of end-of-day insanity I proceeded to draw a bunch of tiny dots in a line. Ben looked alarmed and amused. This encouraged me to then tell Darcie she had to sniff it "like this" (and proceeded to demonstrate), and then, now completely and utterly off my rocker, I laughed my head off until I was on the floor in tears.<br />
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Ben, one eyebrow quirked: They're going to hear about this in Sunday school. "What are YOU drawing, kids?" "Oh I'm drawing crack! (Sniiiiiiiiff)"<br />
Me: (Laughing even more)<br />
Liam: I want crack too!Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-19149106686490724752012-06-11T14:29:00.001-07:002012-06-11T14:29:31.627-07:00Doodle: Writing Is A Lot Like Crack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-73876672100565224542012-06-09T08:18:00.001-07:002012-06-09T09:12:55.346-07:00Mom-ing: Once In a Morning OpportunityWell I WAS working on a blog post this morning but then I was invited to snuggle and watch The Last Unicorn with the hubby, Liam, and Darcie.<br />
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And really, how could I resist that?Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-87286495112472242812012-05-09T11:49:00.000-07:002012-05-09T15:16:36.960-07:00Mom-ing: Crappy DayYou ever have one of those days that are going so poorly you have to either laugh or cry about it? Well today is one of those days. It all started when I tried to have a Skype date with one of my friends while the kids were still awake. It's been a long time since I've attempted to pull off this maneuver but it used to be that I could just transport my kids to the magical land of Disney and I would be free to do whatever I needed. Alas, those days are gone. Liam and Darcie were pretty indignant that I was using Skype and that they were not being shown off. And though they kept to their boundary of the living room -- a whole three feet away from where I was sitting -- they laid pitifully at the edge of the living room and reached out to me with imploring hands.<br />
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I pressed on. I probably ought to have just thrown in the towel on all my plans for the day once I saw where it was headed but I didn't. So, turning up the volume of my laptop really loudly, I continued chatting with my friend over the sound of their whining.<br />
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When my Skype date ended I went to give my two oldest some love and attention and this turned into an unspoken competition for who could claim the most snuggle space with me. Just as we reached a truce it was time to get Adelaide up! This caused another round of whiny indignation.<br />
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I feel I ought to mention here that my kids are not generally whiny and they are even more rarely jealous of each other or compete for my attention, so this day was so far out from their normal range of behavior that I was quickly becoming frazzled. It has been one of those stretching days that you secretly hope never comes along.<br />
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As Adelaide was nursing, Darcie announced she had to go pee. I told her she had to go by herself this time and she did a good job trying but she had an accident on the bathroom floor. After I got that cleaned up I slapped some pb&j's together for Liam and Darcie, plunked Adelaide into her Bumbo, and then scarfed down some food while spooning babyfood into her mouth. I ate so quickly though that I became nauseous. This was not helped either by the fact that Liam and Adelaide were having a one-ups-manship competition for number of smelly poops. Liam won the number of consecutive smelly movements but Adelaide retaliated nicely with copious amounts of foul beef-babyfood smelling spit-ups. See? I bet even <i>you're </i>nauseous now!<br />
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Finally it was nap time. I changed one last round of diapers & pull-ups, took Darcie to the bathroom, sent the oldest two up to their beds, and slung Adelaide up onto my hip. As I was trudging defeatedly up the stairs she decided to give me one last slew of spit-up for good measure. It went all over the stairs and onto my jeans. Just as I was inspecting the damage to my pants and was about to let out an exasperated sigh, I saw it.<br />
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There was a turd stuck to my jeans, clinging on for dear life.<br />
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And that's when I started laughing hysterically.Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-39280716910339421482012-04-26T09:00:00.000-07:002012-04-26T09:00:10.652-07:00Doodle: Family As Memes<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now, for your viewing entertainment, my family reinterpreted as internet memes...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOunw7fquB15JvlSUAddlbnAypIjoK_mzQPe8GTyaM-I9J7c7k-41Dberjb4v8X2wG2eb7QLrD2hkoCg2ax2YB6hBW0X2m8yPK2XAe94y0Goz0l2gdekt08YRL05m6Kk4x9cXWc_EwkU4/s1600/familymemenia2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOunw7fquB15JvlSUAddlbnAypIjoK_mzQPe8GTyaM-I9J7c7k-41Dberjb4v8X2wG2eb7QLrD2hkoCg2ax2YB6hBW0X2m8yPK2XAe94y0Goz0l2gdekt08YRL05m6Kk4x9cXWc_EwkU4/s320/familymemenia2.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(Credit for original meme goes to the incomparable Allie over at <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Hyperbole and a Half</a></span>)<br />
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<br />Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-32178827415758300902012-04-16T11:51:00.002-07:002012-04-16T11:51:34.406-07:00Doodle: Parenting Achievements<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will be the first to admit that parents tend to feel <i>way </i>too much competition with each other, often unconsciously so, but does that mean our achievements should go unsung? What if each day we were just trying to beat our own high score? It would certainly be rewarding to have some visual tokens of achievement other than piles of dirty laundry (or, if you're <i>really </i>good then <b>no </b>piles of laundry! I hear that happens sometimes).</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How many badges have you been able to earn? I'm pretty terrified of that adolescence one. Do they still have boarding schools? I might have to look into that...</span></div>Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-21960791316469468932012-01-08T15:47:00.000-08:002012-03-25T20:39:16.789-07:00Doodle: Ridiculous Pet Peeves<div style="text-align: center;">
People are crazy. </div>
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And I am no exception.</div>
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I tend to collect weird habits and pet peeves like a hobby. Some stick around, others fade and are replaced with even better (weirder) ones. Today, I couldn't nap because I was too busy thinking of pet peeves. True story. So instead of tossing and turning, I have decided to share some of the most ridiculous things with you. Whether it's me that is ridiculous or the things that bother me, I will leave for you to determine.</div>
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<b>Pet peeve numero uno</b>.<br />
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The curly or wavy hair debate. </div>
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People get surprisingly passionate about this topic! As someone who has hair that somehow qualifies as straight, wavy, and curly on any given day, I feel I can give an informed opinion on the matter. Let's look at this helpful graph.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgK5FAWjkdfY1qZgg9ed0y42X4Qsdgtl4Oa59UL44EvBsSnLt8yBihgdl4oI6bJdbFR58jUdJor9_no89jRN8NweQZDIBepOmE5_T7zBVWOckYvJlDvG_HCZ6XdTE8a7JxUg9vg7ZA2Q/s1600/petpeeve2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgK5FAWjkdfY1qZgg9ed0y42X4Qsdgtl4Oa59UL44EvBsSnLt8yBihgdl4oI6bJdbFR58jUdJor9_no89jRN8NweQZDIBepOmE5_T7zBVWOckYvJlDvG_HCZ6XdTE8a7JxUg9vg7ZA2Q/s320/petpeeve2.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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This ought to clear things up. If you were to ask any kindergartener to identify those types of lines, that is how they would describe them. Some people have "curl to their hair" and they feel this allows them to claim their hair is curly, but often, it is actually just wavy.</div>
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Also, people with really tight curls tend to feel that those with looser ringlets are not qualified to claim the badge of curliness, but that is silly.</div>
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Let's get an even closer look.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9SkBeplpAwklrFaWo7Ttg1Jn_C803byXXPulrNoLGkF90UoZWuXwF2h2XMbOQTY0xXMNGEC-VYwKCRXp7n7JlFt4RHnVCXSmWkdtRVI0CdsqZb9RVDAwwctQvATFa0NmIBa8tUJEWH4/s1600/petpeeve3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9SkBeplpAwklrFaWo7Ttg1Jn_C803byXXPulrNoLGkF90UoZWuXwF2h2XMbOQTY0xXMNGEC-VYwKCRXp7n7JlFt4RHnVCXSmWkdtRVI0CdsqZb9RVDAwwctQvATFa0NmIBa8tUJEWH4/s320/petpeeve3.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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As you can see, the differentiating factor is whether or not your hair forms a complete ringlet and/or circle. If it does? Curly. If it doesn't? Wavy. Or straight. Whatever.</div>
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Let's move on.</div>
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<b>Pet peeve numero dos.</b></div>
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When people claim the mental/emotional/psychotic characteristics of a hair color they have dyed their hair.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgomW914Y60nY6UHJHFpwO3GttWYzG93NNTo26-FjDRfFzYa88LkrxRuxfFgRqbICnNcGdvkLYFVysxCQMf2g_Hpk7_1ipFu7YxcYKjScf0RsJv50Utusfbr7yXqojZmfj4uwo7BXFFg3U/s1600/petpeeve4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgomW914Y60nY6UHJHFpwO3GttWYzG93NNTo26-FjDRfFzYa88LkrxRuxfFgRqbICnNcGdvkLYFVysxCQMf2g_Hpk7_1ipFu7YxcYKjScf0RsJv50Utusfbr7yXqojZmfj4uwo7BXFFg3U/s320/petpeeve4.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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I'm only going to say this once (probably not true): just stop. It's embarassing.</div>
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<li>You didn't have a blonde moment, you had a YOU moment.</li>
<li>The reason Edward hasn't been staring at you while you sleep is because he knows your hair isn't really brunette. </li>
<li>If dying your hair really did cause you to have a dramatic change in temperament you should probably call the FDA, or CIA, or some other entity with initials, because something has gone seriously wrong.</li>
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<b>Pet peeve numero tres.</b></div>
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Floppy socks.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbtnmscEMBgKzScQae48WinlFgN6ZUXFc2HEMScP2d7sy63DdFyFJr3kjZFnf0qBaHMVdghjpfP5trjzAJOuBkUdC2jYqIEzdERrls-ppQWZN9t68thZRRDv6dIoJaqw_y0CDFK_NYiU/s1600/petpeeve5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZbtnmscEMBgKzScQae48WinlFgN6ZUXFc2HEMScP2d7sy63DdFyFJr3kjZFnf0qBaHMVdghjpfP5trjzAJOuBkUdC2jYqIEzdERrls-ppQWZN9t68thZRRDv6dIoJaqw_y0CDFK_NYiU/s320/petpeeve5.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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I'm sorry I had to show you that. It was for your own good.</div>
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Avoid floppy socks at all costs.</div>
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<b>Pet peeve numero quatro.</b></div>
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When people unnecessarily* use texting shorthand/ALL CAPS/poor grammar, etc.</div>
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<b> </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisClYndHdB5KUN7gvIdIWkjHBGaCv52xoykJby2HItSC6SsdVL6ZYGqGkghEhh4Wh3kbP8DxCwG51JOSLTj52PXWSY9J6cgQdnSW8qShf_nOM7yc5rtvWiOqpih8aHVdn5re9wre2UUZ0/s1600/petpeeve7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisClYndHdB5KUN7gvIdIWkjHBGaCv52xoykJby2HItSC6SsdVL6ZYGqGkghEhh4Wh3kbP8DxCwG51JOSLTj52PXWSY9J6cgQdnSW8qShf_nOM7yc5rtvWiOqpih8aHVdn5re9wre2UUZ0/s320/petpeeve7.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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<b> </b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Note: This is unnecessary 99.8% of the time</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I just. I don't even.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">...moving on.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Last but not least:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Pet peeve numero cinco. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">When people complain about other people being on cell phones.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchMpCf29Gm35a5D5TO8CUxDOpWug-e0ZZXaheZJz4hXX19aveP3S6svoROJyrGx8rwhGK_1geeY-E039EIYwCXaEMdSxa5LAKQoNNRIcRH9zBk2DSGdOZwhyphenhyphen6_bU1GTJLPTi3hF5h5Bc/s1600/petpeeve6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchMpCf29Gm35a5D5TO8CUxDOpWug-e0ZZXaheZJz4hXX19aveP3S6svoROJyrGx8rwhGK_1geeY-E039EIYwCXaEMdSxa5LAKQoNNRIcRH9zBk2DSGdOZwhyphenhyphen6_bU1GTJLPTi3hF5h5Bc/s320/petpeeve6.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b> </span> </span><span style="font-size: small;">So there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">...just kidding.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bonus pet peeve!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Pet peeve numero seis. </b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">When people who speak no foreign languages randomly add foreign words & phrases to their speech. Especially if it's Spanish.<b> </b> </span> </span> </span></div>Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5244114698575450472.post-38308471665508881242011-10-28T13:21:00.000-07:002012-03-25T20:39:25.778-07:00Doodle: Grapheine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I often write about my kids learning new concepts but I would be remiss if I did not also show you how much I learn being a stay-at-home-Momvelist! For instance, since my daughter Adelaide was born I have been able to conduct an intensive five week experiment on caffeine.</div>
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Here are some of the results:</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">How Coffee Affects My Morning</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_VGZZsYkzBC0HEUlHBLs1NmOBA7fz4ponSDa2MNLtFD4wxtiLMMBq0mQZadcb5xqMZ_ActPG3AVsJ3K5vElBe4fT04yAsQRTASB4pfPh7RiNSHODhpqT4nsBowfi7w32FVD4zLA8Y9Og/s1600/coffee1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_VGZZsYkzBC0HEUlHBLs1NmOBA7fz4ponSDa2MNLtFD4wxtiLMMBq0mQZadcb5xqMZ_ActPG3AVsJ3K5vElBe4fT04yAsQRTASB4pfPh7RiNSHODhpqT4nsBowfi7w32FVD4zLA8Y9Og/s320/coffee1.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">How I Use Caffeine Induced Energy </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkEM25HeBxMpQJaPiSkKrjZSnvHkt59Mpd6BVm-IL3Pfi4wLXlYlJw7Exor4a7tjl56EaeJ_xDuS10nsgevgOeo2raaCJIP1A1U7PJCMKAPaJbppD4z-EuzOUwCjbOXS-O6fuyHK5jwg/s1600/Coffee2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkEM25HeBxMpQJaPiSkKrjZSnvHkt59Mpd6BVm-IL3Pfi4wLXlYlJw7Exor4a7tjl56EaeJ_xDuS10nsgevgOeo2raaCJIP1A1U7PJCMKAPaJbppD4z-EuzOUwCjbOXS-O6fuyHK5jwg/s320/Coffee2.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
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And finally, just for kicks...</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">How I Drink My Coffee</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdo8x0tab6jIl51iZRy_z652pRJeicYQeI6KNCLP-boFcT2zkuhwRFpVfQNjLmndhsE52c_LLBbhxzNFYzqMcmfPA5BxycCdf1DR6kgJoL23CyPvlXhw9xqSQDk4Tm1YaBCm06_HI1T0/s1600/Coffee3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdo8x0tab6jIl51iZRy_z652pRJeicYQeI6KNCLP-boFcT2zkuhwRFpVfQNjLmndhsE52c_LLBbhxzNFYzqMcmfPA5BxycCdf1DR6kgJoL23CyPvlXhw9xqSQDk4Tm1YaBCm06_HI1T0/s320/Coffee3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Riveting stuff, yes? Fortunately for you we have decided to make this a long-term experiment.</div>
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In the name of science.</div>
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Now please excuse me, I have to go drink some science.</div>
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<br /></div>Nia Greenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13783325179914595541noreply@blogger.com4