tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50863152454478146922024-03-11T03:56:03.930-04:00laughing my abs offTMI - it's what i do best.SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.comBlogger312125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-14390060331575751712014-02-24T16:16:00.002-05:002014-02-24T16:16:57.774-05:00That time we stole the neighbor's pot<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Hello?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, Sherilin, I wanted to get in touch with you before the cops get there."<br />
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"Umm.... cops?"<br />
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"Yeah, the neighbor called and said that they caught you and your mom on the video surveillance. He said you were running away after you stole his pot. You will need to call him to apologize and set up a time to return it."<br />
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My face flashed crimson. I started to justify. To explain. I stammered and sputtered, but the truth was, I couldn't deny it. We did take that guy's pot.<br />
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Let me back up just a smidge to enlighten you. A week ago, my mom came over so that we could go for a run together. We're training for a couple races that are coming up this spring. The weather was beautiful, there was barely a breath of wind in the air and the sun was so friendly. Nothing like three days earlier when we'd been snowed and iced in for a few days.<br />
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We covered a solid 5K and were coming back down my street, the home stretch in front of us. We picked up the pace to finish the run strong. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted it. Just sitting there with the garbage cans and piles of trash that the sanitation workers hadn't picked up due to the snow, was the lovely, appealing pot. I slowed my step for a moment and pointed it out to my mom.<br />
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"Ma, that's a nice pot. I wonder why they're throwing it away!"<br />
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She looked at it as we ran past, then she stopped, backed up a few steps, reached out and snatched it, then kept running.<br />
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We were bolting down the street now, grinning like dopes, but pleased with our find. She held it in her hand as we ran past the last couple houses and down into my driveway where her car was parked. She popped the trunk and tossed it inside, then we did our cool down and stretch.<br />
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I didn't think about it again after that. Until I got that phone call.<br />
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I dialed my mom. Thankfully she answered.<br />
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"Mom, you still have that pot, don't you? You haven't used it yet?"<br />
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"Yeah, it's outside. I was waiting to use it til it warmed up some more. Why?"<br />
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"We have to give it back to the neighbor. He called and they caught us on their security cameras. They want it, said it was expensive."<br />
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"Then why the heck did he throw it out with the trash at the road?!"<br />
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That's the real question, isn't it?<br />
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I called the neighbor to straighten things out. To smooth any ruffled feathers and avoid a possible warrant for my arrest.<br />
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He told me they were cleaning up all the sticks on the ground that fell during the storm. They wanted to keep the pile contained in something while it waited by the road for the garbage men. I guess he set the pot out with the trash, then walked around the back of the house to get the pile of sticks he'd collected. By the time he'd made it back to the front yard, the pot stealers had been by and taken the pot and hidden it in the car.<br /><br />After spending some time stalking around the yard in frustration, looking for that disappearing pot, he remembered his security cameras out in front of his house. He checked them out and sure enough, the thieves came by, hesitated for a moment, grabbed the pot and sprinted away. He saw them run down into my yard and that's when his camera lost track of the hooligans.<br />
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Busted.<br />
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The pot has now been returned and I don't think they'll press charges.</div>
SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-57400876988965977872013-06-15T22:25:00.001-04:002013-10-09T15:14:10.679-04:00Is this thing on?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wonder if I even remember how to work this thing. Can you guys hear me? Is this thing on? .... Yes? Oh, okay, hi!<br />
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Guess what... I'm not dead! I seem to have taken a tumble head first out of the blogosphere, but all is well in my real life world.<br />
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I knew at the beginning of this year that something new was on my horizon, I just didn't quite know what it was yet. I felt like I was at a turning point and I had to figure out which way was I was going to turn. As it happens, my life directed me straight into a new thing called coaching. I've never seen myself as a coach. Maybe a cheerleader, but never the one in charge.<br />
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However, as I lost so much weight last year, without having surgery or using any fancy pills or fad diets, more and more people started asking me how I did it. I didn't realize how many people were watching the changes in my life until it became clear that whatever I was doing was working and it was working extremely well.<br />
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Blah, blah, blah. Fast forward, I was asked to become a coach for Beachbody. That's the parent company of P90X, Hip Hop Abs, and Insanity and a whole bunch of other fitness programs and healthy supplements. It's stuff I believe in and products that I've already seen work. I can work from home on my computer or any time I'm out and about. I chose to become a cheerleader for people who need some help or motivation on their own fitness journey. I was doing it already, but now sometimes I get paid if people decide to try out one of the products that this company sells.<br />
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I basically have a semi-job that requires me to workout, be dedicated to fitness and a healthy lifestyle, and play on Facebook. Umm... it sounds like what I was doing already, so it's a perfect fit!<br />
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I'm also training for a 10K obstacle/mud run. I'm doing it with my mom, sister, cousin, and a friend. We're all going to wear matching Wonder Woman costumes that include tutus, because everyone needs a great costume for racing and slithering through mud! That's next month, so I've spent the past 3 months trying to learn now to run. I've always been one of those spastic, hand-flapping, lurchy sort of runners on the rare occasions when I found myself attempting to go faster than a slowish walk. I'm not much better now, but I can go further distances and I break for walking segments less often. I expect I'll be ready when the big race comes and I'm really excited about being able to do it with my family. I expect it to be one of the more memorable highlights of my life up to this point. I also expect it won't be the last race I run.<br />
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Because a lot of what I do now involves posting in groups online that revolve around weight loss and fitness, I like to be creative with my postings. I take a lot of pictures and I thought I'd share a few of them. I'm still doing yoga weekly and sometimes I even branch out and do my yoga in places outside of the house or studio. Those can be fun moments when I suddenly drop to the ground and pop up into a wheel in a random place while my family rolls their eyes and gets out the camera. Or maybe it's only fun for me. Aw, who cares, I'm having a good time!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVpWPLwEPCtQmPZKG6-ucp2bMepb3LxNDF8IRAe6uCeRkuLhVnvTFUig2zsmI6MBDvXvnwbBfH5hFlI_u5wC3v75S65tGDbf4SPvBzvKGogwlfy352YNVcar4h8v_UYBw7ErbEUmX0hmr/s1600/IMG_0292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVpWPLwEPCtQmPZKG6-ucp2bMepb3LxNDF8IRAe6uCeRkuLhVnvTFUig2zsmI6MBDvXvnwbBfH5hFlI_u5wC3v75S65tGDbf4SPvBzvKGogwlfy352YNVcar4h8v_UYBw7ErbEUmX0hmr/s400/IMG_0292.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Royal Dancer pose</div>
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Wheeling with friends is wheely fun.</div>
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Angry Bird of Paradise</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYEVxaQ_IBsP44d0pnnYaPcPQr9wR08h04POdQWNqMNEOidjPLrug9PpZNyGcgYtyar9As_cMiaxzyUPywEb_j21JzqC_pIsd4y9G_5ioaAJTOokfOWXnSnxmpuVy3bUbuyOrH9tbXOeK/s1600/IMG_4008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYEVxaQ_IBsP44d0pnnYaPcPQr9wR08h04POdQWNqMNEOidjPLrug9PpZNyGcgYtyar9As_cMiaxzyUPywEb_j21JzqC_pIsd4y9G_5ioaAJTOokfOWXnSnxmpuVy3bUbuyOrH9tbXOeK/s400/IMG_4008.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Once in a while Brooke will join me for some yoga.</div>
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We have a weekly Flex Friday pic fest.</div>
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These used to be my skinny jeans.</div>
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"Mom, don't kick the fan!"</div>
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I like to call it Moga.</div>
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Pushups while balancing on 4 balls.</div>
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Ridiculous costume for the race.</div>
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Just discovered I can do a full split again!</div>
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My mom and I crack ourselves up.</div>
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Flex Friday with legs.</div>
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I have no idea what this is.</div>
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Stacked plank. Also known as kick Mom in the head.</div>
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Cartwheels are fun again.</div>
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Ready for a run!</div>
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Crane/crow pose</div>
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I don't know what this is called, but it felt great on my back.</div>
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I'm learning how to do headstands this weekend.</div>
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It was my 15th wedding anniversary this week. I love this guy!</div>
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I hope you're all doing well! I'd love to catch up with everyone and hear how your lives are going. I'm going to try to make the blog rounds to tell everyone hi. Miss you guys!</div>
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SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-78546613746800313112013-01-08T11:11:00.000-05:002013-01-08T11:30:26.878-05:00mustache fever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
have you heard about the new-ish trend? i bet you have if you've got regular contact with tweenage girls and their likes and dislikes. the trend i'm referring to is mustaches. yeah, you read that right. mustaches, as in, the fur that grows on men's upper lips.<br />
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i discovered this back a few months ago when i was watching some ridiculous reality show with brooke (aged 9 at the time) and there was one contestant sporting a bushy mullet and a really big, ridiculous mustache. i made some snarky comment about his odd, 80's styling and she said, "i like it." WHAT?! i concluded she must be joking, so i laughed at her great joke. however, one look at her face convinced me that this was no joke. she seriously was digging his look.<br />
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she assured me that the mullet wasn't really her thing, but that giant fur-patch on his lip was looking mighty fine. great googlie mooglie, my child is very strange. she's not into goat-t's or beards so much, but that solo lip hair is oddly appealing.<br />
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it didn't take me long to discover that this mustache phenomenon isn't unique to my child. i started seeing mustache clothing, mugs, and jewelry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0siSBX6-SP0EuTqb_S9kXGqSr3SeBokcho5hFhiKeTywUx8njdj-681A4_a9rrrcQ7YhmOPbGJMNJWYB_x_mXSZABu7j49PlSXawVLm3DVsx8gyarb3WNX0B-AoAt-55QvGHpj_7ScUY/s1600/rainbow_mustache_hoody_black__09965.1348598664.1280.1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0siSBX6-SP0EuTqb_S9kXGqSr3SeBokcho5hFhiKeTywUx8njdj-681A4_a9rrrcQ7YhmOPbGJMNJWYB_x_mXSZABu7j49PlSXawVLm3DVsx8gyarb3WNX0B-AoAt-55QvGHpj_7ScUY/s320/rainbow_mustache_hoody_black__09965.1348598664.1280.1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI0lQLU8JoIqMcp9cMePDlIPRwdCRIcRe0ZCfsigshdO_2AUf4mBSkGj-hgCgAkJ8_gl2wPut97-ijRko4lFvXauXHh8od_YZpU57o0kyhfqTLtB4JH_MmPwzBoPmQo9rq9mqWsWvFFZ19/s1600/moustache-mugs_by_peter-bruegger_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI0lQLU8JoIqMcp9cMePDlIPRwdCRIcRe0ZCfsigshdO_2AUf4mBSkGj-hgCgAkJ8_gl2wPut97-ijRko4lFvXauXHh8od_YZpU57o0kyhfqTLtB4JH_MmPwzBoPmQo9rq9mqWsWvFFZ19/s320/moustache-mugs_by_peter-bruegger_6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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that's when i remembered seeing photos of several friends of mine at a baby shower/mustache party. i don't understand the infatuation, but i've decided to find it amusing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL9xo4Hi_K_3fhNdcoqE4050fRfQaMnn8ZdZyphks6-ek6CpGdbGOgYwKi9c3VSNE_lsJoPuUFpjRdZo_aw18-VpbFMJp9UlGB1k4GOEbsQRts1De3JtUajbBujMzo9SRS9AJoVLeLmrcR/s1600/Nim-stache.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL9xo4Hi_K_3fhNdcoqE4050fRfQaMnn8ZdZyphks6-ek6CpGdbGOgYwKi9c3VSNE_lsJoPuUFpjRdZo_aw18-VpbFMJp9UlGB1k4GOEbsQRts1De3JtUajbBujMzo9SRS9AJoVLeLmrcR/s400/Nim-stache.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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before christmas, i was shopping with a friend, looking for mustache paraphernalia at the mall but having little luck. my friend suggested that since i'm handy, i should just buy any shirt and put a mustache onto it. </div>
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that sparked some fun ideas, so i purchased a shirt for brooke with a big giraffe face and then sewed some velcro onto the lip. then i made up six different mustache styles in felt and put velcro onto them as well. it became a much more elaborate project than i'd anticipated, but thankfully i started far enough ahead of christmas so that i had enough nights to finish it before the morning of the big reveal.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfsOVI-Nbt1UkvXtvOOavAhZIcLCXlaOKFI2j0wpyFXqqh3g5vNERKUkEIdWevAsXv1peU_uON1JpBQSvhdx0j_dQMWbKivpqM7yzaWJbizrVfUxMvGDhyphenhyphenj6cI4DEMAHRuL07dj2NKGhyphenhyphen-/s1600/IMG_3697.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfsOVI-Nbt1UkvXtvOOavAhZIcLCXlaOKFI2j0wpyFXqqh3g5vNERKUkEIdWevAsXv1peU_uON1JpBQSvhdx0j_dQMWbKivpqM7yzaWJbizrVfUxMvGDhyphenhyphenj6cI4DEMAHRuL07dj2NKGhyphenhyphen-/s400/IMG_3697.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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here's my strange little child, sporting her giraffe-stache shirt on christmas morning. and her mood-stache necklace that has brought endless fun, but currently needs to be repaired because it's already been loved too much.</div>
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what's your take on this wacky trend?</div>
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SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-79284937316137599032012-12-20T11:53:00.000-05:002012-12-20T11:55:21.696-05:00mom rocks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i feel like i'm having a mini epiphany lately. it involves moms.<br />
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remember when you were a teenage girl (unless you were a boy, then i hope you don't remember that) and you thought your mom was so freaking annoying and dumb? remember when you looked at her clothes or shoes or hair or car and scoffed at the absurdity that was her? do you remember thinking how massively superior you were to her?<br />
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i do. i remember wondering why she had to be so embarrassing and thinking that with myself being so utterly cool, i should have had a much cooler mother so that we could match.<br />
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i wrote rude things about her in my diary. some days i was sure that my destiny would take me on a much more epic journey in life than hers had.<br />
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i was very foolish.<br />
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in the past few years, i've been realizing that my mom looks fantastic. she's fashionable and always fixed and looking good when she goes anywhere. she's thin and in shape and gets hit on by men all the time because, dang, you don't see a woman in her 60's looking like that very often.<br />
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my mom does interesting and lively things like climb trees with the grandkids and even hangs upside down from a branch from time to time. she takes mission trips around the globe because her faith is important to her and she lives it out in her life every day. she has girlfriends who she exercises, parties, and lunches with. she takes care of people who are sick or old or injured. she reads and writes and works out while still taking care of her family at home.<br />
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when i look at pictures of my mom before she had kids, i see a foxy lady. she wore super short mini skirts and even some crocheted hot pants she made for herself in her early twenties. and she didn't just wear them, she rocked them!<br />
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so where did that lady go while i was growing up? how could i not see the hot chick while i was busy considering myself to be a hot chick?<br />
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i finally realized that she was still there, but she was too busy taking care of me to take care of herself. she had four kids and a busy life filled with good things, but very few of them involved doing things for herself just because she wanted to do them. she didn't spend money to buy nice clothes for herself because she was spending it all to keep her children dressed and fed. she didn't bother much with makeup because she didn't have enough time for such things with so many other more important things on her plate.<br />
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for a few years i've been joking that my mom has a reverse aging gene going on, making her look younger as she ages. maybe that's not it though. maybe my eyes are just learning how to see her finally. maybe i'm just discovering that the phase of a mom's life where she's taking care of her young family <i>isn't who she is</i>. it's just a period of time, a step on her ladder of life.<br />
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mom, i'm thankful for you. you've set an amazing example for me all my life. i'm sorry for all the times i made fun of your clothes or shoes. i hope someday brooke will appreciate me as much as i appreciate you.<br />
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SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-60271213212301544692012-12-13T15:41:00.000-05:002012-12-13T15:41:48.360-05:00a ranch filled with bunnies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
once again, i'm in the process of figuring out Brooke. she's definitely growing up and showing signs of entering into the next phase of kid-hood. as soon as i think i've got things under control, she up and changes the game and i've got to work out a whole new set of rules.<br />
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she had a sleepover recently and the girls who were here brought nail polish. brooke has always shunned nail polish and won't ever cave to my desire to paint her nails, even if i offer her bribes. but guess what - she painted her own nails! granted, it was clear paint that glows in the dark, but still, she painted her nails. that's new territory.<br />
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she has decided that i'm no longer free to read her journal. previously she's always welcomed and encouraged me to read it and check out her drawings. no more. i'm pretty sure she's writing mean things about me. that's okay. i wrote mean things about my mom too, and it doesn't at all affect my feelings for her now.<br />
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last week i was trying to figure out what top i could wear with a pair of pretty chocolately brown dress pants that i inherited and hemmed so that they fit perfectly. i was struggling because i'm not very good at fashion unless it's really obvious and simple. brooke saw me struggling and decided to help me make an outfit. she went to google and pulled up a picture of a color wheel that included browns and from there decided which colors were most complimentary to my pants. then she went to my closet and made some suggestions, leading me to pick a shirt that looks great with them. who'd have guessed that a clueless fashion girl could help her clueless fashion mom by using the color wheel that i'd taught her about recently during an art class on contrasting colors.<br />
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we're also still working on acceptable words. it's hard for me to limit her vocabulary on words that i say. i never swear around her, but the words crap and suck are common place around here. however, some of her friends parents are less than thrilled to have her teaching such words to their own kids. i want to increase her chances of having good friendships, so we're working on that.<br />
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i'm also finding myself needing to teach her bad words. she would never use truly bad ones intentionally if she knows they're bad, but she's great at deciphering the right way to say something even if she's not clear on the exact meaning. she told me once, "don't be a pussy, mom." i had to explain that one and she was pretty embarrassed. thankfully she said it only to me and she thought she was just calling me a scaredy cat.<br />
<br />
we watched an animal planet show recently that showed some dude who was raising tigers on his property. he was a total dunce who liked to walk them on leashes even when they were too big to be handled and could easily kill him with a quick swipe or bite. he gets famous people who like to live dangerously who come and visit his tigers, including heidi flys (spelled wrong intentionally), the madam who runs the bunny ranch prostitution ring. her name was written on screen and under it the words "Bunny Ranch Owner" and brooke latched right onto that. "ooh, mom, a bunny ranch! that must be such a cool place! i want to work on a bunny ranch someday."<br />
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i was left with the dilemma of deciding if i should let it fly right over her head or if i should correct her and set her straight to avoid her possibly telling someone at church (or the grocery store or anywhere else) that someday she wants to work at the bunny ranch. she'd be mortified later if that happened. i don't believe in telling kids not to say or do something without giving them an honest answer for why. i hate the mystery and intrigue that creates and with a kid like Brooke, if i didn't give a satisfactory answer, she's likely to google it and get way more than either of us bargained before.<br />
<br />
so of course i told her what the bunny ranch was. yet again i was oversharing with my child in an attempt to save her from potential future embarrassment.<br />
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as we cross over into the place in life where there are rarely howling, head-banging, skin-scratching episodes, we've come to a place of too much information and uncomfortable conversations. i don't know if i'm doing it right, but i'm doing the best i can. she made me a christmas present, so i must be doing something right.</div>
SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-24146343281713462372012-11-17T20:53:00.000-05:002012-11-17T20:57:30.839-05:00Padiddle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Padiddle!" i yelled excitedly as we drove home tonight. my husband looked at me strangely and smiled slightly, wondering what the heck made me yell out gibberish.<br />
<br />
i repeated it again. "padiddle. puh-diddle. don't you know what that means? didn't you see it? don't you want to kiss me?!"<br />
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he looked at me even more strangely, no longer smiling, as if i'd lost my mind. obviously he grew up with an incomplete childhood because no one should grow up without the padiddle game.<br />
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when you're driving at night and you see a car coming toward you with one head light burned out, you yell "padiddle" at the top of your lungs and then you get to kiss the person of your choice in the car where you're riding.<br />
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as a kid, i think i learned this game from my aunts who were young and hip and cool and knew about things like kissing boys. i spent many nights as a young teenager riding in cars where boys were present and hoping that we'd run across one of those lovely padiddles so i'd have a perfect and legitimate opportunity to smooch a boy. i'd see a solo headlight coming our way and i'd hold my breath, hoping it was an elusive single lighted car and not another stupid motorcycle out to trick me and spoil my fun.<br />
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years went by and i never saw one of those buggers at the right time. i was always with my parents or maybe my brother when i'd catch a glimpse of one.<br />
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finally, one night i was riding in a car with several friends on our way to a youth group activity with our church. i was probably 15 years old. along the road toward us came a padiddle, unmistakable, definitely not a motorcycle. i yelled it out gleefully and then started looking around, thinking of who i was going to kiss.<br />
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it wasn't going quite the way i'd imagined in my head. i wasn't crowded into a backseat with several cute boys to choose from. there was one cute boy driving, one not cute boy in the passenger seat and then 3 or 4 girls crammed into the backseat together. i quickly decided the driver wasn't a good option because of the potential crashing factor. i had no interest in kissing the un-cute boy in front of me.<br />
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i couldn't bear to let the opportunity pass me by altogether, so i turned to my best friend who was sitting beside me and gave her a big smooch right on the lips.<br />
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all the other passengers started squawking and yelling about what had just happened. they couldn't believe i'd kissed her.<br />
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in my mind, it wasn't sexual, it was just funny. i'm not sure i'd ever even heard of lesb!ans (trying to trick the naughty google searches) before so i didn't think much of it or understand the dramatic reaction of my friends.<br />
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looking back on it now, i guess it shows just how naive i was at that time. i thought i was a lady of the world, but clearly i was wrong. it makes me smile to remember those times and the innocence of hoping for a chance to give someone a quick peck on the mouth. childhood is a wonderful thing.</div>
SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-85370013969196851912012-11-14T16:29:00.000-05:002012-11-17T20:54:07.697-05:00i like it HOT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i've told you guys that i started doing yoga a few months ago. i was surprised to discover that i like doing it with my little videos at home. i do yoga usually a couple times every week and i've discovered that, in my own estimation, i'm pretty decent at the physical part.<br />
<br />
recently, i started wondering if i was any good or if i was butchering the poses and motions. sometimes you feel like you're doing something correctly, but it's hard to see yourself and if no one else is watching to point you in the right direction, it's impossible to know how you're really doing.<br />
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i worked out in front of a mirror and sometimes had brooke take my picture when i was in a really awkward pose so that i could see myself and try to gauge my level of accuracy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYj9z8edEDk9CHp7CRdU4rtsX2VrBgRW8SAaYeb7YyKByN7R_ISgG4MQSGkmQLylFgAF6GeAyBSGS0P2UfGRoCJBDhEDIynAWKqEX1eaHZjJTyVy9BRVsMhwQjgDL1A2JNSwT5LKc0IKpD/s1600/IMG_3505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYj9z8edEDk9CHp7CRdU4rtsX2VrBgRW8SAaYeb7YyKByN7R_ISgG4MQSGkmQLylFgAF6GeAyBSGS0P2UfGRoCJBDhEDIynAWKqEX1eaHZjJTyVy9BRVsMhwQjgDL1A2JNSwT5LKc0IKpD/s400/IMG_3505.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
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my sister started doing hot yoga recently. she's a high stress, high achieving, high intensity kind of person, so this is right up her alley. i, however, am none of those things. when she invited me to join her for a 90 minute class of hot (100+ degrees) power yoga, i reluctantly agreed, but i was sort of terrified. and excited. let me not forget my excitement.<br />
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i kept waking up at night with visions of myself falling over with rubbery bones in the middle of a class where everyone else was perfectly posed. i imagined my crotch being exposed to the people behind me as i bent forward in downward dog split. i imagined tears and rivers of sweat and puking straight down onto my mat while trying to get into crow pose.<br />
<br />
instead of letting those fears and dreams deter me, i watched a bunch of power yoga videos on youtube. then i went out and bought some tight shorts so that my bits would be adequately covered, no matter my pose. i researched the best way to stay hydrated during an extended super hot strenuous workout and followed all the directions. then i signed up and paid online so i couldn't chicken out.<br />
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i showed up early and was very happy to have my sister with me to hold my hand. sometimes i'm a big baby and need my little sister to tell me that i'll be okay.<br />
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i was very surprised to find that the heat in the room was delicious. i'm almost constantly cold these days, so it was a wonderful change to be wearing very little clothes and still be toasty warm. i also discovered very quickly that the heat made my muscles extremely flexible. while sitting on the ground with my legs out straight, i could lay my whole face flat down onto my shins.<br />
<br />
the teachers came along and made little adjustments on me periodically. one actually gave me a little back massage while i was in forward bend and i almost fell asleep standing up with my palms on the floor. i was able to perform right along with the rest of the class and i didn't feel like i stuck out as a newbie. best of all, i didn't fart once. i've read too many things about the gas passing that goes on during these hot classes and i was resigned to the possibility, but thankfully i was tootless.<br />
<br />
all in all, i loved it. i was sad when it ended and didn't feel like it could possibly have been 90 minutes already. i'm glad to have stepped out of my comfort zone and tried something new and i can't wait to go again in three days.</div>
SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-17933959487130771802012-10-20T16:32:00.002-04:002012-10-20T16:32:16.828-04:00might be time for a fanny pack<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i've been pondering a question for quite a while now. it perplexes me daily and annoys me often. it makes me furrow my brow and snark into the air at the stupidity of this situation.<br />
<br />
what are women's clothing designers thinking when they don't give women pockets?! so many of my clothes (and brooke's) have either no pockets or tiny little snips of pockets that aren't big enough to hold anything but a stick of gum and an earring.<br />
<br />
i realize that it probably appears smoother when looking at a woman's silhouette with no pockets, but honestly, i don't give a rip about that. i want to be able to stuff my phone and keys into my pocket rather than always having to carry a purse which i have to zip and unzip constantly to get things that i use often. if i feel the need for smooth lines, i can chose to keep my pockets empty, but i'd really like to be able to make that decision for myself.<br />
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i've also discovered that all workout clothes are pocketless. wait, let me take that back and revise it slightly. ALMOST all workout clothes are pocket-free except for the few that have an itty bitty credit card sized slice of a pocket with no form of closure. i wouldn't even trust a single key to stay put in that pocket and my phone certainly won't fit.<br />
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how are we supposed to go safely out into the world to exercise when we have no keys, phone, or ID on our bodies? or is it our jobs, as female exercisers, to creatively solve this dilemma ourselves? i've been stuffing my phone and key into my bra, but when i get up any speed jogging, the phone slides around and is at risk of getting sloshy in the sweatiness that is a sports bra. i usually stuff it between two of my bras to keep it from direct skin contact, but that just makes it slide more.<br />
<br />
a couple days ago i found a little mesh necklace bag, so i put my key and phone into that and tied the strings into the drawstring of my stretchy pocketless pants. i was rather pleased with myself for my clever solution, but i caught a glimpse of myself walking past a glass door and and it looked like i had a sparkly loin cloth dangling from my groin. not exactly the look i was going for.<br />
<br />
i tucked the whole shebang down inside my pants and then felt like a dude with a package. when i jogged i was distracted by it and i felt like i needed a cigarette afterwards. when i slowed to a walk, i almost expected to hear a throaty chuckle coming from my pants, followed by the never-classy "wham, bam, thank you, ma'am."<br />
<br />
as much as i resist it, i think the time has come for a fanny pack. dang it.</div>
SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-45803443553149623932012-10-17T11:04:00.001-04:002012-10-17T11:04:37.558-04:00chinuvla<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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since we've been taking some strange pictures around here recently, i thought i'd show some fun ones i got of brooke as well. she's usually up for a photo shoot, particularly if it's a weird one and she doesn't have to smile pretty or hold still.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwf2yEX8uFPES3Z-YaD79v7xjbAk9AAE8GrWo2bFXjaOdZd5VjNca6XBbXJ91rZz3a11tR5Rc9myp4xWPDSm2aGYOwsiotDHB2aH-_B8LsmMFw-UmeHz9B3llFfooDURgmCNrwmPACF3b/s1600/IMG_3389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwf2yEX8uFPES3Z-YaD79v7xjbAk9AAE8GrWo2bFXjaOdZd5VjNca6XBbXJ91rZz3a11tR5Rc9myp4xWPDSm2aGYOwsiotDHB2aH-_B8LsmMFw-UmeHz9B3llFfooDURgmCNrwmPACF3b/s400/IMG_3389.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwWiqK4wZ5egWgvKgTCCkzNbxNw_5hzwXXFKG_1gcX6xcJvLHcwY2OQ7veJHr9PZOkeFwN6eNr7WwytSjicAoYTd89HtqHNzrDIIls2KsA-zJb7yVyYA6tQFymi53H8x5qrPOP0tSEZEX/s1600/IMG_3390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwWiqK4wZ5egWgvKgTCCkzNbxNw_5hzwXXFKG_1gcX6xcJvLHcwY2OQ7veJHr9PZOkeFwN6eNr7WwytSjicAoYTd89HtqHNzrDIIls2KsA-zJb7yVyYA6tQFymi53H8x5qrPOP0tSEZEX/s400/IMG_3390.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kz_8xYADcwhB4KQ2gXqwpfpL9en8l_hex_9dnEuUmLMoy7PI4auVGDkR-J9-WwG6UTq8ShJg1I3NX4pDzjzgDyqdKmwd4o9dBM5XBWRAYcsvETp2xu_F3_w73A3Jjhcn-LQfINHNZBV8/s1600/IMG_3399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kz_8xYADcwhB4KQ2gXqwpfpL9en8l_hex_9dnEuUmLMoy7PI4auVGDkR-J9-WwG6UTq8ShJg1I3NX4pDzjzgDyqdKmwd4o9dBM5XBWRAYcsvETp2xu_F3_w73A3Jjhcn-LQfINHNZBV8/s400/IMG_3399.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOGUwGMI64qu2Sg3gyXcYiNvAKEWMWXGEmMtRZuk2GqxQhKVpZTuLnQEbi0Fe0SZ4iJIyv17dusddQg76fIlhBiW0A4NYpLs_7ponvObl6QpgdxLr6ueDvY7dGeW5IwoZeIFe19mU17Un/s1600/IMG_3412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOGUwGMI64qu2Sg3gyXcYiNvAKEWMWXGEmMtRZuk2GqxQhKVpZTuLnQEbi0Fe0SZ4iJIyv17dusddQg76fIlhBiW0A4NYpLs_7ponvObl6QpgdxLr6ueDvY7dGeW5IwoZeIFe19mU17Un/s400/IMG_3412.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ZWHGOtmeNTgIQw6HIbUFQvUINhw_Q0RoOYuiPntqBX5xm2SIUkhjtxMpPVlWG4P5-kL3J9nKbAjryFJ4ayh54LXM1C7-ee09z3b-fJg0ha7mwrKA3nfpmWIiWBYM4xNbhOugz-cqqzdR/s1600/IMG_3392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ZWHGOtmeNTgIQw6HIbUFQvUINhw_Q0RoOYuiPntqBX5xm2SIUkhjtxMpPVlWG4P5-kL3J9nKbAjryFJ4ayh54LXM1C7-ee09z3b-fJg0ha7mwrKA3nfpmWIiWBYM4xNbhOugz-cqqzdR/s400/IMG_3392.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnqP5hxwzRjQSGj80uO5NxvQ-uLDUG1SpSIMW3FYRBaSquaeG0qot3qY8lbK6bmiQjq6Zl3JelNf0QET1qLBN7abNfJ8HV22zWGPkxPTHmk0CQJWwzJuNK5S_Ce8w5BQNbBfE9gPXcn4z/s1600/IMG_3433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnqP5hxwzRjQSGj80uO5NxvQ-uLDUG1SpSIMW3FYRBaSquaeG0qot3qY8lbK6bmiQjq6Zl3JelNf0QET1qLBN7abNfJ8HV22zWGPkxPTHmk0CQJWwzJuNK5S_Ce8w5BQNbBfE9gPXcn4z/s400/IMG_3433.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_csDH6Y90KncQa9s8v9WYh6YMyFrgtrmuHbBS0SuYeke9UQMI8gsITD79ziSKDDsEXBFq_wv7VMeOhiXeV9i0ScoQYhe-89tm627aaU6_bjcfZj_mq3Y0FzenWubOU_r5UCcx-hJXMlls/s1600/IMG_3397.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_csDH6Y90KncQa9s8v9WYh6YMyFrgtrmuHbBS0SuYeke9UQMI8gsITD79ziSKDDsEXBFq_wv7VMeOhiXeV9i0ScoQYhe-89tm627aaU6_bjcfZj_mq3Y0FzenWubOU_r5UCcx-hJXMlls/s400/IMG_3397.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGnd9NRp52XfUwHz8jm0inUahaxTSosYppQ9z_sI4J-KljXveo-e9Xz2JAJ7QL5QAi1y8EFc2mYZ72jc8IWqR83snjqH5KAELWvlJnCLkiUdxCzRB_W7tCAMTcmWaHlgVNB_uUwljzKr0/s1600/IMG_3398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGnd9NRp52XfUwHz8jm0inUahaxTSosYppQ9z_sI4J-KljXveo-e9Xz2JAJ7QL5QAi1y8EFc2mYZ72jc8IWqR83snjqH5KAELWvlJnCLkiUdxCzRB_W7tCAMTcmWaHlgVNB_uUwljzKr0/s400/IMG_3398.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6EPJlvl2U-M7lMogJcv77yg5RlTI3Z86iDIMkh1NR7cPIGbnSU_bNvEFownDxrsHlIrMFQ44uvbGNxHfSU7-yBXpCfYXoJ59sKn9OsjRQdSanfgm01CIACGXuAO9nHqty9HG0xWZVoKl/s1600/IMG_3440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6EPJlvl2U-M7lMogJcv77yg5RlTI3Z86iDIMkh1NR7cPIGbnSU_bNvEFownDxrsHlIrMFQ44uvbGNxHfSU7-yBXpCfYXoJ59sKn9OsjRQdSanfgm01CIACGXuAO9nHqty9HG0xWZVoKl/s400/IMG_3440.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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1. cute little toe-ies.</div>
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2. sole of food.</div>
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3. palm.</div>
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4. ankle. (just kidding)</div>
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5. side of knee with leg bent. funny how many of our parts can look like bo0ties if taken out of context.</div>
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6. shrivelly chin.</div>
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7. oh that girl and her faces.</div>
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8. nostrils.</div>
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9. the whole package.</div>
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after taking the pic of the chin, she decided we needed a video of her chin singing and dancing. this makes me laugh every time i watch it.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8in_Y15Z8Y8?rel=0" width="480"></iframe></div>
SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-35893299549640237242012-10-15T07:11:00.001-04:002012-10-15T15:05:20.157-04:00external shell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i posted a<a href="http://laughingmyabsoff.blogspot.com/2012/10/photo-collage-of-awkwardness.html"> photo collage </a>of pictures that brooke has taken super up close to me. details that she looks at and observes and feels the need to study. she likes small things and details and she has a strange affinity for lines. she doodles lines and even tries to draw lines on everything with her eyes so that all the world is connected. she's got a very artistic eye and observes things differently than most people do.<br />
<br />
when she stares at my parts and then takes a picture so i can see why it's so interesting, i've learned not to be offended. not even when it's a picture of one of my least attractive bits. i've learned that brooke doesn't show interest in very many people. she doesn't look at people very much. she prefers toys and animals, so when she shows an interest in me, i'm pleased. when she sees art in life, even if it's on me, it makes me happy.<br />
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i posted those pictures on my blog here because i thought it was interesting. i know that some of them didn't paint me in a very pretty light, but they made me happy and they made me laugh and they made me cringe.<br />
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what i didn't expect was the reaction that it got when i posted a link on facebook. some of my close friends and family members commented with things along the lines of how brave i was or how i was crazy and that the images were disturbing.<br />
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it sort of caught me off guard. i went back and looked at each picture again, trying to see it through someone else's eyes. i guess i can see it. there's that one by my eye that i was told looks like a nipple or a cat butt.<br />
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however, i like that you can't tell exactly what some of them are. that some of the pics seem a little bit questionable and odd. i even like the ones that show my stretch marks. brooke says they look like roots and she traces her finger over them and smiles, knowing that's the one part of my body that she created. they're the physical reminder of when i overcame my fight with infertility.<br />
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let's be honest here. most women don't see much of other women's bare bodies as we age. once we're past college age, we're generally no longer getting changed in a room with other women or hanging out in our underwear putting our makeup on before heading out for a late night on the town. even if we are in a situation around other bare women, like a locker room at the gym, we're doing our best to go as fast as we can while averting our eyes so as to keep from making anyone uncomfortable. the only time you make eye contact in a situation like that is to give the stink eye to the little boy across from you who's paying way too much attention while you try to wrangle your wet clothes off and your bra back on.<br />
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for most of us married ladies and mommies, the only bare bodies we see are our own and the airbrushed ones on magazine covers. if the truth be told, there are very few women over the age of thirty in the real world, who have magazine cover bodies. so as we age and our skin stretches or sags or wrinkles, we don't think about the fact that the same thing is happening to all our friends. we might make jokes about it, but we don't let even our sisters or girlfriends have a look at what the years and babies have done to certain parts of our bodies. we stop going out without makeup because we don't want anyone to see the dark circles or crows feet around our eyes. our shorts get longer to cover the veins that pop out. we stop wearing bikinis even if we're at a healthy weight because our stomachs are wrecked from pregnancies.<br />
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i guess what i'm saying is that maybe the reason people were alarmed or disgusted by my pictures was because they never see body parts in public that look like that. their own might look that way too, but they try not to look because it makes them feel unattractive.<br />
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i don't think we all need to go out showing off our ugliest parts, but i think it would be good if more women could feel less self conscious about those things.<br />
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we are more than our external shells.</div>
SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-6923800383156719252012-10-12T07:52:00.000-04:002012-10-12T07:52:56.739-04:00photo collage of awkwardness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
you know how sometimes a photographer will do a collage of photos of a baby or little kid where they focus on individual body parts rather than the whole? those are so cute. the sweet little toes. the darling round cheeks.<br />
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brooke likes to take photos like that too; but they're not of sweet, plump babies, they're of me. she likes to stare at me, or more accurately, pieces of me. her eyebrows furrow as she stares intently at some portion of my body, and when i ask her what she's looking at, she runs for the camera to photograph exactly what she's looking at so i too can see why it's so interesting.<br />
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here are some of those photos.<br />
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let's start at the bottom and work our way up, shall we?<br />
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i'm lovely, aren't i?</div>
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in case you're wondering just what parts of me were chosen for inspection and photography, in case you couldn't tell, they are as follows.</div>
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1. the top of my toes.</div>
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2. the sole of my foot.</div>
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3. the back of my calf.</div>
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4. my hip.</div>
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5. my hip while doing a side crunch. it looks sort of like bread rolls at subway.</div>
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6. obviously my stretch marks on my hip. </div>
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7. my sewer rat peeking at her over the edge of my pants.</div>
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8. lower case "i" in the middle of my stomach. clearly there's an infatuation with my stretch marks. she keeps telling me that she wants to chew on my skin now that i've lost weight and it's looser than before. awkward.</div>
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9. my collarbone.</div>
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10. the side of my neck and chin.</div>
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11. smile line beside my nose and above my lip.</div>
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12. furrowed brows.</div>
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13. the side of my eye when squinting.</div>
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14. my forehead while making a shocked face.</div>
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here is a picture she drew of me today. it's really the icing on the cake.</div>
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i decided to return the favor a bit and take some lovely shots of her, but this post is already too long, so i think i'll save those for next time.</div>
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SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-1774335407926959182012-10-10T19:50:00.000-04:002012-10-11T22:46:04.946-04:00protecting our kids<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i'm reading a book called "Protecting the Gift" by gavin debecker. i saw it recommended on some parenting page and thought i'd check it out. the main subject is how we, as parents, can keep our kids safe and teach them to keep themselves safe as they get older. i've read various versions of these sorts of books in the past, but this one was a different flavor. it was very practical and i appreciated that.<br />
<br />
one of the big things it teaches is how to keep kids safe from sexual predators. that's a subject that makes most of us uncomfortable and some of us queasy. we don't like to think about it very much because there's so much shame and secrecy surrounding it. we think that it can't happen to our kids because we love them so much and we do everything we can to keep them safe. we are good parents, so everything should turn out fine.<br />
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i remember hearing as a young teenager that 1 in 4 girls would be molested before she reached the age of 18. i was horrified and would look around at my friends and wonder which ones it would be.<br />
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at the time i first heard that statistic, i didn't realize that it was me. even stranger, in hindsight, is that it had already happened, but i had suppressed it and wouldn't even remember for a few more years.<br />
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my family was great. my parents were protective and careful about where and how we spent our time. they were careful about who we could be around without close adult supervision. they did everything they could think of correctly.<br />
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unfortunately, what happened was something they never would have thought of.<br />
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the summer that i turned 5, my mom was babysitting for another girl who was about 10. we were often left to play by ourselves or with siblings or other neighbor kids without a whole lot of supervision. shortly after she started coming over, that girl made me perform sexual acts with the other kids. she would tell us that we were married, even going so far as to perform a "marriage ceremony" to legitimize the whole thing. then she'd give step by step instructions on what we needed to do to each other. we didn't like it, but she was way bigger than the rest of us and when we complained, she threatened to tell our parents what we were doing to each other and we knew we'd get in trouble for that.<br />
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thankfully, she didn't need my mom to watch her for very long and soon she was out of my life. looking back, i wonder what must have happened to her to cause her to be acting out in that way. she was clearly a very troubled little girl.<br />
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when i was about 12 years old, i got touched inappropriately by my orthodontist. it happened a few different times while my mom was sitting in the waiting room and the doctor was leaned over my chair, pretending to adjust my paper drool bib. or if he couldn't get enough privacy in the exam room, he'd find a reason why i needed more x-rays and he'd back me into a corner in that tiny room and grope me where no one could see. he never said a word to me that wasn't about teeth or my retainer. he just silently found opportunities to touch me when no one was looking.<br />
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i don't know why i didn't tell my mom about the orthodontist. i felt all skeavy and disgusting each time i went. maybe i just wanted to pretend it didn't happen because addressing it would have made me look directly at it and deal with it when i really just wanted to forget it ever happened.<br />
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when i was 18 and got to college, i got really sick with a nasty sinus infection that just wouldn't go away. i had to go to a clinic a few miles away from the school several times before i finally kicked it. the worst part of being sick was that each time i went to the clinic, i saw the same, yucky old doctor. even though i only had a sinus infection, he always directed me to strip completely and then put on a paper gown that opened in the front. i didn't realize how strange that was at the time and i was so sick that i hardly had the strength to care, let alone question a medical professional. when he came back into the room for the exam, he always opened the gown fully and took my pulse in my groin. he also handled my breasts to supposedly hear my heartbeat properly.<br />
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again, i didn't tell anyone other than some friends. none of us knew what to do about it. we turned it into a joke and made up an obnoxious nickname for him and tried really hard not to get sick enough to need to see a doctor.<br />
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my whole point in airing out my skeletons like this is to say that we need to protect our kids. we need to teach them to value themselves and what is right. we need to listen to any little warning bells in our heads, even if they don't make sense on paper. we need to teach our kids not to just obey anyone in an authority position. we need to foster a sense of self worth in them so that they won't be prey to the dirty old men, adults who take advantage of their positions of trust, or even other children. we need to enforce an open door policy, literally and figuratively with our kids. that way, we'll be checking on them often and supervising anyone who's with them. if something does happen, they'll know they can tell us. and if, by any terrible chance something out of line does happen to our kids and they tell us, we need to report it. not just try to stay away from that person, but get them prosecuted. the statistics show that anyone who does such a thing to one kid is likely doing it to lots of kids. it can go on for years and years and wound so many innocents who are too afraid to talk about it. too many of those kids will go on to hurt others in the future.<br />
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let's protect the gift of intuition and innocence by giving too much information rather than not enough. kids who are likely to be targeted aren't too young to be told about such things, even if their parents feel uncomfortable talking about it. you aren't protecting them by keeping specific info away from your kids, but you might very well be protecting them by sharing what seems to maybe be too much.<br />
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SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-39621265027185340972012-10-01T15:37:00.001-04:002013-01-24T22:00:46.185-05:00before and after<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
this is a big week for me.<br />
<br />
i reached my goal of losing seventy pounds before the end of this year. i had dreams about it for about a week before the scale actually tipped, and i kept imagining my facebook status that i would write when i reached that magical number.<br />
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secondly, i finished P90X today. for those of you who are unfamiliar with what that means, P90X is a heavy duty video workout program that includes 12 different workout routines. you rotate them in a particular order for 13 weeks and hopefully you'll be in the best shape of your life when you finish.<br />
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you're encouraged to take BEFORE pictures when you first start P90X, which i did. then you can take AFTER pics to help you really see how far you've come. i wish i'd taken some before pics of me when i first started dieting, like they do on "the biggest loser" show, but i never would have wanted to be seen in a sports bra at the size i was.<br />
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i've arranged some before and after pics to show my progress.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELYnklMRlUxhaggCF9oDAZujNJFiyOwgNLppBClAtVrhyphenhyphen5H8NUcID0W9dhJOggplpGTnwFpgzcMelYnXvcU4hhTMZg-AZvBXf7zJl7jvUFNqKP-ayxa8DMi4mxlZI4U7_1P2dDJJgU2R4/s1600/IMG_2417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELYnklMRlUxhaggCF9oDAZujNJFiyOwgNLppBClAtVrhyphenhyphen5H8NUcID0W9dhJOggplpGTnwFpgzcMelYnXvcU4hhTMZg-AZvBXf7zJl7jvUFNqKP-ayxa8DMi4mxlZI4U7_1P2dDJJgU2R4/s400/IMG_2417.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2003</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9H8tr_qt-Emp6_pgSSOmyuvMYSAyebxxh4zYfcUWCWqliDD2m7DjuMSAQmW6tWmnD09K-zruQ_bFqHRcDzCEnn36xU32HO-LHH9v0zlQuD0UqFJv3EN9Q2dO8yhSQ5rjQ8h_gPH6iyKDz/s1600/IMG_1414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9H8tr_qt-Emp6_pgSSOmyuvMYSAyebxxh4zYfcUWCWqliDD2m7DjuMSAQmW6tWmnD09K-zruQ_bFqHRcDzCEnn36xU32HO-LHH9v0zlQuD0UqFJv3EN9Q2dO8yhSQ5rjQ8h_gPH6iyKDz/s400/IMG_1414.JPG" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">april 2011 - weight 205</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqcgHrZ99yAPJ2lhIknnx58ImmMcqOOA5nenO1SEzmdUH02nKCRg2flwfx8tbPRfjxXSlDSevpllLxsOSiNYICaejsc69pGTf6miiBWmWvrPYkQzICUt3y3qOhtxpu4X1sj9du4pMPS-uC/s1600/2010+April+050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqcgHrZ99yAPJ2lhIknnx58ImmMcqOOA5nenO1SEzmdUH02nKCRg2flwfx8tbPRfjxXSlDSevpllLxsOSiNYICaejsc69pGTf6miiBWmWvrPYkQzICUt3y3qOhtxpu4X1sj9du4pMPS-uC/s400/2010+April+050.JPG" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzBRUjb3cjIJ6vkxoD0S4dKYUUAs4puKflgKlv9oD9LzJM8pF8my4CLLINGZmgcUkESysdayQeJPA8yhkQIEyHoD5y8YkRoAKrCAPLUfrsrmisW90o2xqxHISqbTtLukC-L3zLylSn0yD/s1600/P1070319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVzBRUjb3cjIJ6vkxoD0S4dKYUUAs4puKflgKlv9oD9LzJM8pF8my4CLLINGZmgcUkESysdayQeJPA8yhkQIEyHoD5y8YkRoAKrCAPLUfrsrmisW90o2xqxHISqbTtLukC-L3zLylSn0yD/s320/P1070319.JPG" width="309" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">september 2011</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD8ckMGsyVGL4P3wLgWBXwuQ5-diYSDPxdW0isDQxZFzh_2FvwIj5yugJUQRKWXudbHiyR1H9Qhl4PdkeCKOkyttPnZz4dZbeQYZyWl7DrHKI80cWAnjlYyllTX8_bzh9PX5AXKDDRwXz/s1600/IMG_2272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD8ckMGsyVGL4P3wLgWBXwuQ5-diYSDPxdW0isDQxZFzh_2FvwIj5yugJUQRKWXudbHiyR1H9Qhl4PdkeCKOkyttPnZz4dZbeQYZyWl7DrHKI80cWAnjlYyllTX8_bzh9PX5AXKDDRwXz/s320/IMG_2272.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">april 2012 after losing about 35 lbs</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBRe0qgABsSImqSps8VIu25Bm2tTDtLSOlLQvOqkYgJid2JOGZvc5Udh2WZpozk2Q3bsr3ejfBKivzGEmQZr_092SvmjGoeiAPY5FkDsMyA46GirswrUVQhHa_ScMHp05qCyp9opQn7jP/s1600/IMG_2848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBRe0qgABsSImqSps8VIu25Bm2tTDtLSOlLQvOqkYgJid2JOGZvc5Udh2WZpozk2Q3bsr3ejfBKivzGEmQZr_092SvmjGoeiAPY5FkDsMyA46GirswrUVQhHa_ScMHp05qCyp9opQn7jP/s400/IMG_2848.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">july 2012<br />
i've been doing some leg workouts and i think it's starting to show.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wIXcN8LCAuF-iYrL8PUHBse5RRzXZ96Oc6N7iDgn4TqG6XTFXusMafyXkM-u1cvOnyPvjX2dAgqtKHarlX0INEZrCgdICbS7lOnIiKeFzGcWWDeniUFK8FlHAUU9UZtQwSAlu5m2I2g5/s1600/IMG_3326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wIXcN8LCAuF-iYrL8PUHBse5RRzXZ96Oc6N7iDgn4TqG6XTFXusMafyXkM-u1cvOnyPvjX2dAgqtKHarlX0INEZrCgdICbS7lOnIiKeFzGcWWDeniUFK8FlHAUU9UZtQwSAlu5m2I2g5/s400/IMG_3326.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my winter coat isn't going to work if it's big enough for brooke and i to wear together.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNx3lV4li63ec6YSsj7OAsdkhc7zVaVnmKqZfvlcGhek_ahvGcrlxDBXL-ZU0dIyKTUp6_TDRpdLSiasBHBM-Cej4l1LSIapPr1NQlN32-n-nEOBMRT8YNXTN9AC8vEOGq_3oueH0PhxLK/s1600/IMG_3281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNx3lV4li63ec6YSsj7OAsdkhc7zVaVnmKqZfvlcGhek_ahvGcrlxDBXL-ZU0dIyKTUp6_TDRpdLSiasBHBM-Cej4l1LSIapPr1NQlN32-n-nEOBMRT8YNXTN9AC8vEOGq_3oueH0PhxLK/s400/IMG_3281.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">might be time for some new pants.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAb0OJnXzZ8OaSU5brf6QI7U08OiSRYBy8BKV6t_eW92XXFDsHq_IE1yBtP5t_uZCoY3MsoiwHM9KMEQn96LtOaKVGECjxxU4wvJcXbGggLKe8wolEpJP4lfNzDZzOn7w8_2FBMLLmZ77R/s1600/IMG_3341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAb0OJnXzZ8OaSU5brf6QI7U08OiSRYBy8BKV6t_eW92XXFDsHq_IE1yBtP5t_uZCoY3MsoiwHM9KMEQn96LtOaKVGECjxxU4wvJcXbGggLKe8wolEpJP4lfNzDZzOn7w8_2FBMLLmZ77R/s400/IMG_3341.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">september 2012. current weight 131.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA7P9Rq05DbHwCcjicJZ0Pj3Q3uJZxxozBv-AZ_EVfCdT5Vc0AyaWFF8rihsaBOjplDt1m0FO6ai-YPgC142QnAybjXKs12hHANqy52HligDaK3M4l6_G0vSP12wjqrrx59tnXxMnSPzN/s1600/IMG_3343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA7P9Rq05DbHwCcjicJZ0Pj3Q3uJZxxozBv-AZ_EVfCdT5Vc0AyaWFF8rihsaBOjplDt1m0FO6ai-YPgC142QnAybjXKs12hHANqy52HligDaK3M4l6_G0vSP12wjqrrx59tnXxMnSPzN/s400/IMG_3343.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFCmHHksQBYARpeWy29r6XXaTFLNL6RpQ_yynM83PyczTdUOeBmDUfLH0CjEUQDtoEd87kWc_Sgtho3zJQJrclsOq9o2Q2XLU77qwla6SVnYdLeYTvpQ_PKTHQt8hI29ouk4uQ06Kp4qw_/s1600/IMG_3347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFCmHHksQBYARpeWy29r6XXaTFLNL6RpQ_yynM83PyczTdUOeBmDUfLH0CjEUQDtoEd87kWc_Sgtho3zJQJrclsOq9o2Q2XLU77qwla6SVnYdLeYTvpQ_PKTHQt8hI29ouk4uQ06Kp4qw_/s400/IMG_3347.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sept 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizGpVsQdD5GgNodhf149Pmif3vJ06IIi-s_IgVdVU-EB8ED8-zpgXEwnwdXZs6k76sKbhV_29wyQmLW5d9hls9NtQuYHbScwx0yznsfH_6z3MG7L4cfy0mNfuuj5pVpMRyGRz3Q82qNHs0/s1600/before:after1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizGpVsQdD5GgNodhf149Pmif3vJ06IIi-s_IgVdVU-EB8ED8-zpgXEwnwdXZs6k76sKbhV_29wyQmLW5d9hls9NtQuYHbScwx0yznsfH_6z3MG7L4cfy0mNfuuj5pVpMRyGRz3Q82qNHs0/s400/before:after1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">before - june 2012 before starting P90X<br />
after - september 30, 2012 completed P90X<br />
i had already lost 50 lbs in the before picture. i lost 20 more during the 13 weeks of doing P90X.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWhoNDTX7hKgK1kS-vQ_XgD4cwATZ1-3e9sshlLmqX3s3-WKkXQveENCDyMzpJXHsAGXoJfpZvshbiuCBUmakFBQVbi-dEZy7ttdbFkpeyRdjff6gUvEoZ5A3PVrW7KdbvPEIgUfsiIzI/s1600/before:after2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWhoNDTX7hKgK1kS-vQ_XgD4cwATZ1-3e9sshlLmqX3s3-WKkXQveENCDyMzpJXHsAGXoJfpZvshbiuCBUmakFBQVbi-dEZy7ttdbFkpeyRdjff6gUvEoZ5A3PVrW7KdbvPEIgUfsiIzI/s400/before:after2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">june 2012/sept 2012</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmN3HnDhbg5RYGbJKMA5PLRf416UGUJcSWozvo5D_cEemlZH_eMvm3-qzQGiiNcg91X_QZGKn9CMk3ljJrP_yY3YoFSGgtk1BuLi0ZwfP_oSEh5_VRoehccJQlO0hxQflI2hJZnC3u6KyN/s1600/before:after3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmN3HnDhbg5RYGbJKMA5PLRf416UGUJcSWozvo5D_cEemlZH_eMvm3-qzQGiiNcg91X_QZGKn9CMk3ljJrP_yY3YoFSGgtk1BuLi0ZwfP_oSEh5_VRoehccJQlO0hxQflI2hJZnC3u6KyN/s400/before:after3.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02BVhEQGJ4Fxd-9hCeMEw2Pw914uo_dubz61ncP33_KRzp_30t5zSWwAKGpI0y8s_GxylYm3wlBu_afest8Fre_MuBSfDoWuFd5NslnLRNP1ZmwMyfth9x83-V5L_l4X8kvdXrEKzQgK4/s1600/before%253Aafter4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02BVhEQGJ4Fxd-9hCeMEw2Pw914uo_dubz61ncP33_KRzp_30t5zSWwAKGpI0y8s_GxylYm3wlBu_afest8Fre_MuBSfDoWuFd5NslnLRNP1ZmwMyfth9x83-V5L_l4X8kvdXrEKzQgK4/s400/before%253Aafter4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRXRtyEKlBkH_vtHO31eQm5mMxk6MHvk-yx8AzRslcA0DQ13UNIUdbnnbh7Tdadlqj1JC3zIoPJs07LrYiJzMq9f4VkndBwjnsLwyEkgJtGtGmTnfZKcnUNIsCVT7uYwhWjYQASSVbPBp/s1600/before%253Aafter5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRXRtyEKlBkH_vtHO31eQm5mMxk6MHvk-yx8AzRslcA0DQ13UNIUdbnnbh7Tdadlqj1JC3zIoPJs07LrYiJzMq9f4VkndBwjnsLwyEkgJtGtGmTnfZKcnUNIsCVT7uYwhWjYQASSVbPBp/s400/before%253Aafter5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this one might be my favorite because until yesterday, i never knew my back and shoulders looked like that. i've never been muscley, so this is pretty exciting for me.<br />
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people keep asking me "what's next?" now that i've reached my goals. i guess the answer is that i keep on going. i don't want to be big again and i don't want to be unhealthy again. so i'll keep on eating right and making enough healthy choices to keep my weight under control. i'll keep on working out because, dang it's nice to fit into little clothes and be able to do things i'd had to stop doing for the ten years i was fat. maybe i'll do another round of P90X or maybe i'll switch it up and do lots of different styles of workouts. i know i love yoga and weight training now, so there are possibilities for more of that. maybe one of these days i'll learn how to run for more than 20 feet without being chased by anything scary. </div>
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i don't know. i just know that i'm feeling pretty good about things as they are right now and i want the good to keep going.</div>
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SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-15557141977579005552012-09-26T20:15:00.001-04:002012-09-26T20:29:41.121-04:00naked in public? of course not! except for that one time...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i had a friend many years ago named Kate. we spent a lot of time together my senior year of high school and for a couple years after that. then i got married, moved away and Kate and i mostly lost touch.<br />
<br />
i decided i wanted to get my group of friends together for a little reunion after about 12 years apart and as a chance for us to meet each others' husbands and wives. invitations were sent out, rsvp's arrived and as it turned out, only two of my girlfriends who were invited were able to make it and neither brought a spouse.<br />
<br />
that was fine and i was secretly glad because they were the two i was closest to and sometimes less is more when it comes to having a good time of remembering the good ole days.<br />
<br />
during the evening of chatting, Kate mentioned that her husband wasn't there because she didn't want him to meet me. i was temporarily speechless. my feelings were kind of hurt. i think i did the head tip and brow furrow as i tried to process what she'd said and figure out what she meant. she elaborated. "every bad thing i ever did, i did with you. i don't want him to know that part of me."<br />
<br />
it was interesting how the memories i had of our time together didn't fall into the "bad things" category. i've got another friend who shared most of those times with me, but she still loves me and doesn't mind a bit if her husband knows me and we laugh over those stupid memories.<br />
<br />
since that night, (i chose to disregard that comment and still have fun with my girls) i've thought about it a lot. i've trolled through my stash of brain files. am i remembering things wrong? i don't think so. we hung out before i started drinking and she never had a drink in her life. we didn't smoke or fool around with boys or any of the things i usually associate with being bad.<br />
<br />
then i remembered the night. i'm pretty sure there was only one that might land in both of our "bad things" mental files.<br />
<br />
we went to visit a friend at their apartment. it was summer and we were about twenty. we were silly and lively and always looking for something fun to do. our friend had to leave, but we decided to use their apartment's community pool without the friend. unfortunately, we didn't have bathing suits. so we went into the pool fully clothed and had a grand old time hopping back and forth between the pool and hot tub. it was late, no one else was there and we giggled up a storm while splashing around merrily.<br />
<br />
we sloshed back to my car and then stood there in the parking lot debating what to do next. we dripped rivers onto the pavement because we didn't even have a towel, wash cloth, or tissue to blot ourselves with. after some discussion, we decided that the best course of action would be to strip off our clothes, throw them on the floor in the backseat and drive home naked.<br />
<br />
yes, completely naked.<br />
<br />
it was around midnight and we had a fifteen drive back to my house. the house where i lived as a nanny and had a nice place to park in the garage. we screamed and laughed like it was the funniest thing we'd ever done in our lives. i drove really fast whenever i passed anyone, but not so fast as to attract potential police attention. if we'd been stopped, there was no way we'd have even been able to scramble into our clothing because it was in a twisted, soaking heap on the floor behind me.<br />
<br />
we arrived home, incident free and filled with the adrenaline rush that comes from doing something outrageous and getting away with it. we snuck up to my bedroom, clutching our dripping clothes and found some comfy jammies to curl up in as we laughed over our nudie dash through town.<br />
<br />
looking back now, i guess i can see how she might not want her husband to hear such tales. she's a pretty prim and proper kind of person and her husband probably likes that about her. it might spoil his image of his wife if he knew about the night she drove through town, bare as the day she was born.</div>
SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-5739327381637096362012-09-14T11:16:00.002-04:002012-09-14T17:34:47.134-04:00the oddities delight me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">i love taking pictures. i'd never dare to call myself a photographer, but i like to keep my camera handy in order to catch as many interesting or funny moments as possible. i've been collecting some for a few months now that i haven't posted until today. there are no dead animals in this set. you're welcome.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zNzqZO27XP6FTGpXbfPoJfDEOQEUU3GeWPKN4vbcdMDa4qisbBhzdz8tES-PiFT6_xhRaXXZRt7nHw1Hn8nggcPERkDvIKprhziRlqKSFYeJTJVWq6rh1v8prEgiNTmcK5JqUgjS6geZ/s1600/IMG_2062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zNzqZO27XP6FTGpXbfPoJfDEOQEUU3GeWPKN4vbcdMDa4qisbBhzdz8tES-PiFT6_xhRaXXZRt7nHw1Hn8nggcPERkDvIKprhziRlqKSFYeJTJVWq6rh1v8prEgiNTmcK5JqUgjS6geZ/s400/IMG_2062.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> this made me laugh every time i saw the box of dog treats.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-znMdvxWaGbQ0gsoIqT-s7ALmjIvTBfU0MAIkqNQWd1sMVlOy04nMT_HOSouoc1YVV1EuZ3vO-9zEg6v1UNRpd6gXSvUKQbUVemyujiwgLnmchFnXiSGSJMt_6s5-JRXhyphenhyphen05_YKNozJS/s1600/IMG_2161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-znMdvxWaGbQ0gsoIqT-s7ALmjIvTBfU0MAIkqNQWd1sMVlOy04nMT_HOSouoc1YVV1EuZ3vO-9zEg6v1UNRpd6gXSvUKQbUVemyujiwgLnmchFnXiSGSJMt_6s5-JRXhyphenhyphen05_YKNozJS/s400/IMG_2161.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">one of these things is not like the other...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxnYYN8WoalDU9cIbtlfUJr-3i-TUlYpoRsjx8zkf7Oi54DkiUX1cX6f1wNCbwEcIW3RB6PeUVvhLIBPckfpO_r2lzwEXhcdqnpBw6XqvtQ_oxDJUfmemBP88xr4M1J2AalzhQYOSXMtq/s1600/0401121552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxnYYN8WoalDU9cIbtlfUJr-3i-TUlYpoRsjx8zkf7Oi54DkiUX1cX6f1wNCbwEcIW3RB6PeUVvhLIBPckfpO_r2lzwEXhcdqnpBw6XqvtQ_oxDJUfmemBP88xr4M1J2AalzhQYOSXMtq/s400/0401121552.jpg" width="325" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">the sign in the window says, "volume discount." i think the pimps bring all their girls in to get them spruced up.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9l6RAW-n8a1lYg4KggI6UViErxH_hkI_EvDTcENtnnALhOg7JUk0dAb0VDYh1M6GVZMYX46C9xi6OnPrtpol_jPUcLcL0yDsxIEPEkIllyOEhH4RNWPJXlbnYFcOcUqRs705XfaE8ih3/s1600/0505121749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9l6RAW-n8a1lYg4KggI6UViErxH_hkI_EvDTcENtnnALhOg7JUk0dAb0VDYh1M6GVZMYX46C9xi6OnPrtpol_jPUcLcL0yDsxIEPEkIllyOEhH4RNWPJXlbnYFcOcUqRs705XfaE8ih3/s400/0505121749.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">mmm... pizza...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gZLg-hw6-9yXRxzfhye1ns0MqpnQxv4eg30mWuPiZJ-KbQ9quI5Tp5oGFfjsz43fs9E6RxmlkK9ajfVa9_I4QAiHshn7uZZkL9bxfANMc56DkzOFo4xEXl8AciQKtdpx1zJCPGKyyE5C/s1600/IMG_2407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gZLg-hw6-9yXRxzfhye1ns0MqpnQxv4eg30mWuPiZJ-KbQ9quI5Tp5oGFfjsz43fs9E6RxmlkK9ajfVa9_I4QAiHshn7uZZkL9bxfANMc56DkzOFo4xEXl8AciQKtdpx1zJCPGKyyE5C/s400/IMG_2407.jpg" width="390" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">sign in a bookstore.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmaZHomX7CcpR4Wx1ZAwAv-EFOJTYgNK8bUlxZ7c4Ylv4QftQ55phdMpAx_XXOj7-RrkCu6iHrNRmToqYkgM6BuLVNvWembj9dDJy7Ozc1grrApeD-aiejWiLKfLlM2BBVmFIfeOBNdiw/s1600/IMG_2408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmaZHomX7CcpR4Wx1ZAwAv-EFOJTYgNK8bUlxZ7c4Ylv4QftQ55phdMpAx_XXOj7-RrkCu6iHrNRmToqYkgM6BuLVNvWembj9dDJy7Ozc1grrApeD-aiejWiLKfLlM2BBVmFIfeOBNdiw/s400/IMG_2408.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bubba the bear is so hungry!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXX33mB2u-lPeBVY-HZiarK_KYe86qwrCSATWBeJLRGE_Z6xJEYwgiTFPDlQff00uSKdPnqfl1UiF2Cs2ZepQW_3AdufO5pKta7_EEmdLX3CB6HgJWduKHE7BE8INWnkAOwohgLMBz5UH/s1600/IMG_2841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXX33mB2u-lPeBVY-HZiarK_KYe86qwrCSATWBeJLRGE_Z6xJEYwgiTFPDlQff00uSKdPnqfl1UiF2Cs2ZepQW_3AdufO5pKta7_EEmdLX3CB6HgJWduKHE7BE8INWnkAOwohgLMBz5UH/s400/IMG_2841.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">she wants to participate in everything i do and then bite me if my feet touch her. she was messing up my form.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYZRsmT-UTHiYLjSjM4tSSKSHAQ2rlmuD6NH7u3THTHZJXvxahUc4uh81aVxaE8sbppW0EgDjws5Or8dQWeKkgT_xP_rDvCCPVrwFIekx22tAOblUpddqENRxq8YpSRH-xPlpZ1JaXf6i/s1600/IMG_2850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYZRsmT-UTHiYLjSjM4tSSKSHAQ2rlmuD6NH7u3THTHZJXvxahUc4uh81aVxaE8sbppW0EgDjws5Or8dQWeKkgT_xP_rDvCCPVrwFIekx22tAOblUpddqENRxq8YpSRH-xPlpZ1JaXf6i/s400/IMG_2850.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">this is our pet window spider. we named him spike and we love to watch him eat bees.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaeT3PvTWDdmyeeCOYmDWQuBnrge9aJJuKqkSZre_SadbJGTvd2ezxC26BGtTLz8oG0U64hix8Z1tWJ51u8BAkhQRePjUO_rynPcmjPnpOnz9DS44L7Ai7Lw9RJmjg1UPuX4rAuT0xIkAK/s1600/0720121908a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaeT3PvTWDdmyeeCOYmDWQuBnrge9aJJuKqkSZre_SadbJGTvd2ezxC26BGtTLz8oG0U64hix8Z1tWJ51u8BAkhQRePjUO_rynPcmjPnpOnz9DS44L7Ai7Lw9RJmjg1UPuX4rAuT0xIkAK/s400/0720121908a.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">somebody likes noodles.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJp-JqIffB97Rjxlj5a8_QrDVwl0Gox-DqMJy5BwcMBPk8nm8LzEOSpyqOJpt03B_dSeOJ7xNwztTEZBXsECB8DIj5WmP-nI_F4dj03mpVWujQ0ss4BjDitOO2KNSmOa6IdLPbBveaPSg/s1600/IMG_2873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJp-JqIffB97Rjxlj5a8_QrDVwl0Gox-DqMJy5BwcMBPk8nm8LzEOSpyqOJpt03B_dSeOJ7xNwztTEZBXsECB8DIj5WmP-nI_F4dj03mpVWujQ0ss4BjDitOO2KNSmOa6IdLPbBveaPSg/s400/IMG_2873.jpg" width="307" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">is she an angel? she's got a halo.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hE5S8LIKofybueXZK-ISIoZgK_p4Tvs6tPb86h55BxhDlBnQXl5WIBHgv6L8CHqnRDFCIauNV-IxkLn4vf7idlWTn-Xhieb2Lzl8O9tfsc_0YPCYGjNyb5ifL21w4aIrN-6ncN42gmTP/s1600/IMG_3144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hE5S8LIKofybueXZK-ISIoZgK_p4Tvs6tPb86h55BxhDlBnQXl5WIBHgv6L8CHqnRDFCIauNV-IxkLn4vf7idlWTn-Xhieb2Lzl8O9tfsc_0YPCYGjNyb5ifL21w4aIrN-6ncN42gmTP/s400/IMG_3144.JPG" width="318" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">holy guacamole- look at those nails on the chick in the bright yellow!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqFkijtsuAVQ2XYlP5MBDRWtSE0pFkD-rm9nGA7XhpvAQX11KOm88u6kyTXc6KeA7ddzQHLoD7VO6u-D6NdUd4bkUaSmkxavUh8t6X-1diJ26qjnF1pQ_s5CJuMTQSfQCsX8JSEW7fp5o/s1600/0811121816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqFkijtsuAVQ2XYlP5MBDRWtSE0pFkD-rm9nGA7XhpvAQX11KOm88u6kyTXc6KeA7ddzQHLoD7VO6u-D6NdUd4bkUaSmkxavUh8t6X-1diJ26qjnF1pQ_s5CJuMTQSfQCsX8JSEW7fp5o/s400/0811121816.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">not funny or interesting, but since i eat some variation of this every day and it's always so pretty and colorful, i thought i'd take a picture.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AtC7Y-jsd4Iz6YVSH0MtYnxrYD-zPh7XXWVS7YZ9prUG8sBZ1RBIeQpVqIH1bsP1hZjdiH_nUa2WEach1blhBNVR0HsRNzIXQpdc0e5ofD4JN3Yp3XIkKWrOSiZfYfIiYyvFKJuz5P4-/s1600/IMG_3099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AtC7Y-jsd4Iz6YVSH0MtYnxrYD-zPh7XXWVS7YZ9prUG8sBZ1RBIeQpVqIH1bsP1hZjdiH_nUa2WEach1blhBNVR0HsRNzIXQpdc0e5ofD4JN3Yp3XIkKWrOSiZfYfIiYyvFKJuz5P4-/s400/IMG_3099.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">lol!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbVeWmDbA58arsgtyU3lWgX__mMoSxzg_C1a2F9Y-HDrnNZcpReLXsn4BOyPbARjHkf_cav76G5klGG85FrcIV2RrTWi56reZSd1uQuxhq6CR3hR6I41tp7ghsJi16STj3DMozmuPxNvV/s1600/IMG_3102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbVeWmDbA58arsgtyU3lWgX__mMoSxzg_C1a2F9Y-HDrnNZcpReLXsn4BOyPbARjHkf_cav76G5klGG85FrcIV2RrTWi56reZSd1uQuxhq6CR3hR6I41tp7ghsJi16STj3DMozmuPxNvV/s400/IMG_3102.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">i think this belongs to a drag queen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBw2PziriGFJ1QPG3JKhySS2WG1x5zZ7TxuFKoPwxlnVsW706R0jcjYsCQ-6TEgvGkFLWeViFVomA4gC2yqKunW36eKEuqVx43sTtm0hvDVQf-g2mSToFRx21y5UCPI9GFScVlMkogo0Z/s1600/IMG_3107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBw2PziriGFJ1QPG3JKhySS2WG1x5zZ7TxuFKoPwxlnVsW706R0jcjYsCQ-6TEgvGkFLWeViFVomA4gC2yqKunW36eKEuqVx43sTtm0hvDVQf-g2mSToFRx21y5UCPI9GFScVlMkogo0Z/s400/IMG_3107.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brooke was very amused by the shirts in this store.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_d5PTNTLl5eidr3LULF8sOogN950ZFTaRZ2AmlkwT-4OcX2NUVxEDWEPpbHKXyoW3P0-3DTrIe4FKqeeL0Bg2b1LL58fsVYGn0Q7qVN_Tq9J7wA2QFY0PF1DJfUvtRfvfbH2SNx9Sj8BD/s1600/IMG_3116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_d5PTNTLl5eidr3LULF8sOogN950ZFTaRZ2AmlkwT-4OcX2NUVxEDWEPpbHKXyoW3P0-3DTrIe4FKqeeL0Bg2b1LL58fsVYGn0Q7qVN_Tq9J7wA2QFY0PF1DJfUvtRfvfbH2SNx9Sj8BD/s400/IMG_3116.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">probably worn by the guy driving the eyelash car.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ILN3Mko4wDs5DUg7Yk1tmSm8iPM7RuoVTLzqlPgCL0Nzw90-IJxGPodvZd5pwt-imiTtmgEqngskzOddE9Uzig3Q16X7TLmBhflx1TqxOvA7Cm9pIhPCSxiHtYop6sHpJkPEUge-o5nk/s1600/IMG_3115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ILN3Mko4wDs5DUg7Yk1tmSm8iPM7RuoVTLzqlPgCL0Nzw90-IJxGPodvZd5pwt-imiTtmgEqngskzOddE9Uzig3Q16X7TLmBhflx1TqxOvA7Cm9pIhPCSxiHtYop6sHpJkPEUge-o5nk/s400/IMG_3115.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">yeah, what the shirt says.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJt5GsypZzQp6y2eL8qyK92Ys7W4HvI3wFzzczZgMvFk8vHH90SiT4YlVkngoqmn8PhJjjQC_qwTeTFYAG-7RL2T4q8nRUPJJeOF-m6Z5b9zcRhnQpVOHkBDLU7iIRyyVza8ZRxNcyTbFl/s1600/IMG_3117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJt5GsypZzQp6y2eL8qyK92Ys7W4HvI3wFzzczZgMvFk8vHH90SiT4YlVkngoqmn8PhJjjQC_qwTeTFYAG-7RL2T4q8nRUPJJeOF-m6Z5b9zcRhnQpVOHkBDLU7iIRyyVza8ZRxNcyTbFl/s400/IMG_3117.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">this would be a funny gift for an obnoxious guy.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNU8n3mpaUR_ltrw9EQ2SkFeIZ6J0jdPjTi6eT5GQlFJwpaCRoOQt5m5J4trmArwhKy9cI598o-H54cySZKsOQXNbhUabLfdietiMr6HxW8t3yvqgskU9GB0G5cWVS71K5bEgRe8piKVnU/s1600/mail.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNU8n3mpaUR_ltrw9EQ2SkFeIZ6J0jdPjTi6eT5GQlFJwpaCRoOQt5m5J4trmArwhKy9cI598o-H54cySZKsOQXNbhUabLfdietiMr6HxW8t3yvqgskU9GB0G5cWVS71K5bEgRe8piKVnU/s400/mail.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">there are so many funny lines in this sign that's beside the fountain at our local park. my favorite rule is the one about diarrhea.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVwKbvwYILSjbI_j9-RzGQMUpEpEvjqIiPwByHW1pLfBYBJVejHY4tUJEfclddoJf1kqqThy-oMuN8J3DZC1FvHQt2F6bvpTmHdvQejGwjbm8Ii6SltDc5sPqNXJsZlIRujH7SnVrF_wD/s1600/IMG_3285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVwKbvwYILSjbI_j9-RzGQMUpEpEvjqIiPwByHW1pLfBYBJVejHY4tUJEfclddoJf1kqqThy-oMuN8J3DZC1FvHQt2F6bvpTmHdvQejGwjbm8Ii6SltDc5sPqNXJsZlIRujH7SnVrF_wD/s400/IMG_3285.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tony Horton - superman or banana?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVO5j13hCSTe5MDRbtzGdycu0wJaGG9s01uqb2ubzZG9FEemhAdPuR806FbiB_C_YT1nJNoa2wjyieweGFd7XYKXDt_O7w5FCy86qyla0E-xhdgZTfgsJ-bk64ZMJsgUl-mEqUnvOWA1BK/s1600/IMG_3296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVO5j13hCSTe5MDRbtzGdycu0wJaGG9s01uqb2ubzZG9FEemhAdPuR806FbiB_C_YT1nJNoa2wjyieweGFd7XYKXDt_O7w5FCy86qyla0E-xhdgZTfgsJ-bk64ZMJsgUl-mEqUnvOWA1BK/s400/IMG_3296.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">so much tired and back achiness. must relieve with ball.</div><br />
</div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-67463898772140426672012-09-07T15:08:00.001-04:002012-09-07T15:14:04.554-04:00hooty munchables<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">as most of you know, i've been dieting for the past 8 months. i've lost 65 lbs so far and i'm down 5 pants sizes. these are good things and i'm very proud of how hard i've worked to make the shrinkage happen.<br />
<br />
however, there are some very non-glamorous aspects of weight loss that i hadn't anticipated when i got started.<br />
<br />
first of all, people talk about my body all the time now. whether it's family members, friends, or people i barely even know, they all seem to feel free to discuss the size of my bits. generally it's flattering and nice things are said, but sometimes it ruins my mental image of myself pre-diet where i thought i carried my weight well and still looked presentable.<br />
<br />
people haven't talked about my body this much since i was twenty-one and working in night clubs on the weekends. back then it was mostly comments like, "girl, yo booty's so fine i wanna bounce up outta here and git witchoo in my truck outside." or, "oh my gah, your knockers are so huge! are they real? can i touch them? i've been thinking about getting mine done, but my fiance thinks i'll leave him for another guy if he buys boobs for me." (this last one most often happened in the bathroom at a club whilst reapplying lipstick and straightening out our cleavage after doing 8 shots of goldschlager off the ice block.<br />
<br />
one of the things i've discovered at this stage of the weight loss game is that my skin is not bouncing back. it's getting a little bit of a crepe papery consistency in certain places. think streamers for skin along certain body parts. i cut myself while shaving all the time now. what once was all padded, rounded tree trunks is now angular, knobby knees just asking to be sliced and diced as i drag that razor around my legs.<br />
<br />
my poor butt has shrunk to the point that it's almost flat. there's some nice gluteus maximus action happening in there, but the curves are gone. as a result, the skin doesn't fit properly anymore, causing there to be folds at times when i sit. i can't sit comfortably in a hard chair for any length of time and i've resorted to sitting on an exercise ball instead of a desk chair when i'm at my computer. the worst part is when a chunk of my formerly round butt folds over on itself as i'm sitting my down onto something, causing me to gasp, wince and reach down to adjust things, just like an old dude who's accidentally sat on a testicle. very unglamorous.<br />
<br />
my plump, lush breasticles are shriveling up at an alarming rate. when i take off my bra to release my <a href="http://laughingmyabsoff.blogspot.com/2011/09/after-dinner-dumplings.html">after dinner boobs</a>, there's a drop of several inches and then a sway that keeps going like ripples on the water. most of my bras are baggy now and sometimes, when i look down my shirt to admire what was once a luscious garden of ladydom, i see instead wrinkly meat bags hanging in my shirt, looking very sad and used up.<br />
<br />
in the past when i lost weight, i managed to keep the hoots looking fresh and roundish, though slightly long in the tooth due to the great weight they maintained. i got thin, but still had two nice, full D cups perched upon my chest. in hindsight, i had nothing to do with that, it was just a lovely side effect of being busty and youthful.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">apparently, 37 no longer qualifies as youthful and at the rate i'm going, i won't qualify as busty anymore by the time christmas rolls around.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>too often now i discover what i've termed "yoga boob" on my chest. it's when you're wearing a sports bra and doing something active, like leaning forward and reaching out your arms. when you next stand upright, the girls are up, out the top of your bra, but not in a pretty boobie sort of way, but there they are, folded, twisted and stuck, looking defective.<br />
<br />
i'm afraid i might find myself wadding up rags or clumps of dismantled stuffed animal fluff to fill out the gaping space in my non-sporty bras. at this point, i could fit a ham and cheese sandwich into each cup, so maybe i could utilize that possibility and make my bras into mobile snack storage units. maybe some sliced apples on one side and some low-fat yogurt in a ziploc baggy in the other.<br />
<br />
we'll be at walmart for an overdue shopping trip and brooke will complain that she's hungry. i've stopped carrying my massive suitcase sized purses lately in favor of my cute little hand bags, so i no longer have a lunch box quantity of food and beverages hanging from my arm.<br />
<br />
instead, i'll have the food hanging on my chest. i'll bring out a couple slices of cheese, warm and slightly melty, but probably still edible. i'll dig a bit deeper into the neckline of my shirt and find that roll of smarties that somehow found its way under my left lady lump. most of the candy is still in the wrapper and the ones that got away just look like extra nipples now.<br />
<br />
on the right side i'll find some crackers that are partially intact and a couple pieces of pepperoni stuck together and oozing grease.<br />
<br />
i'll plunk the mess onto a linty tissue i find in my dinky purse and hand this gourmet meal to my starving child. "there ya go. munchables, straight from my heart."</div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-12009253589111076682012-09-05T10:49:00.000-04:002012-09-05T10:49:32.250-04:00the pink nightie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">sometimes it's said of a kid that "they're in a hurry to grow up." i think i was kind of like that, except i wanted to skip the journey and zing straight to adulthood. i wanted to zoom from 7 to 20 in no time flat. i longed to hang out with the adults and listen to the things they said. i wanted to hear the gossip and absorb all the information that i thought i was old enough to understand.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">when i was about twelve, i started being allowed to shop around the mall with a trustworthy friend while one of our parents wandered around the mall apart from us. i thought that was about the coolest thing ever. i had a little bit of money because i always babysat, pet sat, raked yards, cleaned the house, washed the car. anything to get some moolah into my pink, pleather wallet.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">i liked to buy my own clothes when i was with my friends because then i didn't have to listen to my parents' opinions about them. of course i thought i was a mature woman with my own income, so surely i was old enough to pick out my own attire. however, my parents, being conservative, had other ideas. they didn't mind if i bought my own stuff, but they didn't hesitate to shuttle me right back to the mall to return my purchases if they didn't fall in line with the standards that had been set for me.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">it didn't take me long to learn how to get things that were acceptable to both my parents and myself so as to avoid the embarrassment of having to return things. it was awful to be asked by the associate doing the return, "reason you're returning this today?" and having to answer with my eyes averted, "my dad said it looked slutty."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">there was one time though, where i decided that i didn't care what they thought. i was going to buy any old thing i pleased that was within my budget. i loved silky, lacy things, and underwear in particular. i was browsing through a department store's lingerie department. i meandered out of the bras and through the girdle region. before i knew it, i found myself in the land of sexy teddies. the things surrounding me were so beautiful and elegant. they were pleasing to the eyes and the fingertips and i longed to own one of my very own. i wanted to put it on and wear it under my clothes. i wasn't entirely sure what the intended purpose of such clothing items was, but i knew i had to have one.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">i couldn't afford most of the lacy pretties, but i found a sale rack with some lovely little things. there was one pale pink, fake silk number with a scalloped lace neckline and skinny little straps. i held it there in the j.c. penny's and debated with myself. what would i ever do with this? did i really want to spend all the money i had allotted for clothes on something that i could never show to anyone? i put it back and started to walk away, but it called out to me in a gentle, whispery voice. it promised that i'd feel beautiful when i wore it. it assured me that no child had ever owned an item of such elegance.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">i hesitated for only a moment longer before i snatched it up, hugged it to myself and rushed to the counter to pay. an elderly saleswoman waited at the desk to ring up the next customer. i tried to control the trembling in my hands as i set it down. she raised an eyebrow in clear disapproval. her look plainly stated that in her book, i wasn't even old enough to wear makeup, let alone buy a sexy nightie that would no doubt be put to shameful and unladylike uses.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">in response to her disdain, i determined to be as womanly as possible. i puffed out my chest to show off my new breasts. i raised an eyebrow of my own and looked her right in the eye, just daring her to question my morals or maturity. i knew of no laws forbidding twelve year olds to purchase underwear and i was ready to state that for all to hear if she dared to so much as cluck her tongue in criticism.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">when the transaction was complete, i walked sedately away, shoulders back, head held high, not letting on that my heart was pounding in terror and excitement. my friend was giggling and elbowing me in the ribs, but i held onto my mature facade until we were out of sight of the store.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">we immediately raced into a bathroom where i threw away the bag and receipt and stuffed the beautiful silk treasure into the bottom of my purse. i couldn't risk getting spotted by my parent while carrying a bag that i wasn't willing to explain.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">when i got home with my negligee, i held it up and twirled around in front of my mirror. i imagined wearing it to sleep or to church under my conservative dress. but somehow, i could never get up the nerve to put it on. i held it and petted it, i even ripped off the tags, but after each time that i admired it, i tucked it away in the bottom of my toy box full of stuffed animals to prevent it from being discovered.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">after a few months of keeping the nightie in hiding, my guilt was becoming unbearable. i had figured out the reason that women bought such things and i knew i wasn't ready for sex. it no longer pleased me to look at it and now i sort of understood that the snap-crotch wasn't there to make going to the bathroom easier. i couldn't even think of it without feeling a twist in my gut, knowing that i shouldn't own it. i thought about throwing it away, but couldn't bear the idea of letting something so pretty go in the garbage. i had no friends who were old enough or slutty enough to be wearing such a thing for a boy or man, so i couldn't give it to any of them.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">that left me with only one option that i could think of. i had to give it to my mom. i knew that if she'd caught me with it, she would immediately think that i was trashier than i was. at that point, i hadn't even kissed a boy, so i didn't want her to think that i was that kind of girl.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">mother's day was approaching, so i decided to give it to my mom as a gift. i would act like it was a recent purchase and always intended for her.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">i called her into my room that afternoon and handed her a plastic bag containing the slinky garment. i told her that i didn't give it to her in front of the rest of the family because i didn't want to embarrass her. i tried to play it cool. woman to woman. as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a child to give her mother a piece of sexy lingerie for mother's day.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">she looked at the nightie. she looked at me. she narrowed her eyes, but i maintained what i perceived to be my air of mature innocence.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">i suspect it was badly wrinkled from being crammed into my toy box for months and maybe even a little dirty or frayed from being petted by my childish fingers so many times.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">i told this story to my mom the other day, hoping to hear her end of it. she didn't really remember at first, but then she ran up to her room and dug around in the bottom drawer of her dresser. she pulled an old plastic bag out and slipped the very negligee in question out of the bag and into my hand.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">my eyes widened. i couldn't believe it still existed. i petted the cheap silk for a moment and then dropped it like i'd been shocked. i looked at her with a horrified expression and asked if she'd ever worn it for its intended purpose. she laughed and assured me that it had never been worn and she gave it back to me.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">that night, i took it home. i told my husband of 14 years the story and pulled the little nightie out of my purse...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">let's just say that even after 25 years, this little number is still hot. </div></div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-22790917355803015692012-09-02T20:22:00.001-04:002012-09-04T12:19:13.262-04:00super aspie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">i've been thinking about this aspergers thing again. actually, i've been thinking about it for the past 6 years, but as brooke gets older, my perspective changes.<br />
<br />
i've been trying to decide if i consider her to be "special needs." i've never had a real need to qualify her in that kind of way because she's never been in day care or school. nothing more organized than sunday school or gymnastics class for the most part.<br />
<br />
to me, she seems completely "normal" and functional much of the time. when we're home, which we are the vast majority of the time, she's happy and content and generally busy doing things by herself during her free time. we've developed routines to help her deal with the things in life that she hates or doesn't understand and we don't see many freakouts anymore.<br />
<br />
when we went on the cruise a couple weeks ago, i was filling out registration forms ahead of time for the carnival camp. it was to allow brooke to do activities on the ship with some other kids and to give chris and i the chance to do something without her. there was a separate form to fill out if your child is "special needs." i hesitated and then didn't fill it out. she'd done so well at camp in ny the previous month that i thought maybe we wouldn't need to tell anyone on the ship that there's anything different about her. i thought maybe she could just be treated like every other kid and be fine rather than being treated with special concern or condescension.<br />
<br />
i was wrong. i ended up having to fill out the form after all once an incident in the child care room popped up, resulting in her screaming and crying and insisting that she was never stepping foot back in that stupid place again. a couple days later she was reluctantly willing to try again in order to see a kids only magic show. as she walked sullenly away from me at the entrance, i quietly spoke to the woman in charge of check-in and said, "brooke is.... slightly autistic... and..." but before i could go any further, she said, "the whole staff is aware of brooke and we know ALL about her and her needs."<br />
<br />
i swallowed the giant lump in my throat and all the words that wanted to spew out. i resisted the urge to slap her or thank her or snatch brooke right back out of that room. i clenched my teeth and i walked away. i sat on a bench a few feet away where i could see brooke through the window for the whole hour she was in there because she wasn't even willing to go in unless i promised to stay right in that spot. while i sat there, i held back tears. thinking or saying the word "autism" in reference to her makes my heart ache and my eyes leak. i rebel against it.<br />
<br />
i want so much for her to like life. i want her to have all the chances to experience everything good and fun. i want her to be treated like all the other kids, but when she is, the result is all too often a fiasco. i want her to feel like she fits in.<br />
<br />
but much of the time, she doesn't.<br />
<br />
recently i've had some conversations with family members about her having aspergers. i think it's hard to understand. i don't for a moment feel like brooke is broken or defective or disabled. i don't feel like she needs to be "cured" if such a thing was even possible. she is just wired differently in a world where most people are wired more similarly.<br />
<br />
i've been trying to think of a way to describe it to someone who hasn't done the research and doesn't want the long answer. i haven't found anything i'm fully satisfied with, but the best thing i can compare it to is being left handed. in a world dominated by righties, there are challenges for those rare lefties. they aren't sick or defective or in need of correction, but they need special scissors and they hold their papers differently. sometimes they'll bang elbows with their rightie neighbors, but if a little bit of care and planning is taken, the differences can be comfortably accommodated without a lot of undo attention.<br />
<br />
that's what i try to do in brooke's life. i try to do that bit of planning and accommodating in advance so that things can flow smoothly. i'm trying to teach her how to explain herself and her differences to people in a clear and concise way so that they can understand her unique needs and still respect her as a whole, interesting, articulate little human. i'm also teaching her that just because someone is older than her, it doesn't mean they're right. i think it's really important for her to believe in herself and her own knowledge and opinions because there are so many ignorant, judgmental, rude people, adults included, in the world. she needs to trust that she's okay even if someone tells her she's not.<br />
<br />
it seems to be working so far. she considers aspergers to be her own personal superpower. she embraces her differences and feels sorry for those of us who don't see the world from her fabulously interesting perspective. i hope she'll always feel that way about herself, no matter what she encounters in her life. </div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-36224912043341968612012-08-21T16:40:00.001-04:002012-08-21T19:28:07.252-04:00facebook updates that never came to be<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">last week, my little sister sarah got married on a beach in florida. she was born when i was ten and i've always thought of her as my little baby/toy/practice child/protege. seeing her get married was happy and exciting for me.<br />
<br />
the day after the wedding, 26 of us from the wedding group of family and friends all piled onto a cruise ship and headed to key west, florida and cozumel, mexico for four days.<br />
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since i don't have internet on my phone and we were in the ocean or in a foreign country for several days, i had no way of getting online. i kept thinking of things that would have made good status updates, but i couldn't post them, so i decided to do a blog post where i share my great vacation through the updates that never came to be.<br />
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if we've got to do an 11 hr drive, this is the way to go about it. and why would anyone want the non-drowsy version of dramamine during a car ride? bring on the sleepies!<br />
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</div>the hotel and beach are beautiful and will be perfect for the wedding tonight!<br />
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you know you've arrived at the beach when you've got a butt full of rocks and sand. let vacation begin!<br />
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how did i get selected to be in charge of the flowers for the wedding? so not my thing, but with my mom and sister-in-law's help, we managed to come up with some pretty things. those boutonnieres were tricky little wastards.<br />
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sarah made a beautiful bride and rich is a lucky man.<br />
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hmm, do you think she's a paid lady of the night or just some chick doing the walk of shame at the bus stop?<br />
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boarding the ship! this is all very exciting, even if brooke is starting to come apart at the seams a bit with all the crowds and chaos and line-standing.<br />
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this room is soo tiny and windowless for the three of us. anyone else feeling claustrophobic yet?<br />
<br />
omg, we just had to wait for 45 min through the safety briefing at our muster station. no air conditioning, hundreds of people packed into one tiny, airless space, excessively loud speaker overhead, and a child who was letting her autism show.<br />
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thank God for this tiny, windowless room where we can take brooke. it's like a cocoon where she can burrow down in and get herself restarted as often as she gets overloaded. the towel animals help too.<br />
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cruises must be really great if you're traveling with no kids and lots of money.<br />
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"i thought cruises were supposed to be fun," noah, age 8.<br />
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"i had 5 ice creams, cheesecake and lucky charms for breakfast. and orange soda and chocolate milk. can i have a pizza now?" sure, kid, go get yourself a pizza. maybe this cruise is looking up for the kids after all.<br />
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we just dropped the kids off at a nightclub on the ship for a kids only dance. they say they're just going for the free soda. looks like we finally get some adult time!<br />
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while trying to decide where to go on our free evening, we were spying on brooke through the club window. we saw her walk to the door and saw a child care employee let her right out into the hallway alone, beside the casino that was filled with hundreds of adults, many of whom were drunk. holy crap, i think i'm going to puke.<br />
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after a few choice words with the kids staff, we let brooke go back in after using the restroom. but then we sat directly outside the door and didn't move until it was time to retrieve her. so much for a parents only night of fun.<br />
<br />
if you accidentally use a family member's toothbrush, are you obligated to tell them about it or can you just let it be your own little secret?<br />
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<br />
is that really the ocean we're in or did we enter neverland and we're sailing in a sea of blue gatorade?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmPFlDZINApmDOMw8GK4746L7gvFugLhr3xOG3oUNJLasz8vt5Hp9NnjzBnsy6AJV6ZcQNyzuNZRdq32DpFQUgnY1ptFW7Ukk1mFpoSK1qZWZYZeEPNAR_O9g3UTRgq5KN9Fq0gQ2L0jsT/s1600/IMG_3155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmPFlDZINApmDOMw8GK4746L7gvFugLhr3xOG3oUNJLasz8vt5Hp9NnjzBnsy6AJV6ZcQNyzuNZRdq32DpFQUgnY1ptFW7Ukk1mFpoSK1qZWZYZeEPNAR_O9g3UTRgq5KN9Fq0gQ2L0jsT/s400/IMG_3155.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
no matter how huge this ship seems, it's very insignificant compared to the ocean. God makes some massive stuff.<br />
<br />
we got off the boat in cozumel and we're in a back alley with some mexican guys in hopes that they'll give us a great deal on snorkeling. fingers crossed that we don't get sold into human slavery.<br />
<br />
no slavery, just fun. other than the multiple stings by jellyfish, my first time snorkeling was really fantastic!<br />
<br />
how many times can i apply sunblock in one day before my skin starts boycotting it?<br />
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you know how sometimes you'll see a toilet brush hanging from the bottom of a gas station bathroom sink? well i just saw a sink that had salad tongs hanging from the bottom instead. i wish i'd had my camera handy!<br />
<br />
you know you're home from vacation when you've got three suitcases filled with wet, nasty laundry, you're cleaning up cat puke off the rug and all you can think about is how happy you are that you're going to be able to use your own toilet again.<br />
<br />
and with that, my friends, i bid you farewell. the laundry is calling my name and i've got to get back to the salad diet and say goodbye to the potatoes and cheese.<br />
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</div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-16711117758363287742012-08-12T22:04:00.000-04:002012-08-12T22:04:33.226-04:00little known fact<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">i always like learning new things about people. i also like holding some things about myself back in reserve to whip out and surprise people at unexpected times. i have one friend, <a href="http://www.4timesmorefun.blogspot.com/">jana</a>, who i've known for about 13 years and we've spent countless hours talking, laughing, and crying together. she thinks she knows me so well, but then out comes something random about my life that makes her shake her head and wonder if she even knows me at all. like the fact that my brother has called me choc for most of my life. and no, it has nothing to do with chocolate.<br />
<br />
i'd love to hear something about you. something that maybe is a secret or maybe isn't secretive at all. perhaps it's just something that you haven't thought of in a long time. or something that goes way back to your childhood and has nothing to do with you now, but you can still claim it as your own.<br />
<br />
i'll go first.<br />
<br />
in my childhood i spent a lot of time swimming. my grandparents had a nice pool and i was always up for any opportunity to go for a dip (not of the skinny variety). i'd taken some swimming lessons over the years and felt that i'd mastered the craft of the different strokes and the end of pool flip, along with some basic dives.<br />
<br />
when i was about thirteen, i signed up for synchronized swimming classes to give myself a new water challenge and hopefully become like the awesome ladies in the olympics.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fPx5g_eg7z4?rel=0" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
unfortunately, no other people wanted to participate in the class. i went every week for three months and received private lessons, which sounds nice and personal, but actually was a little bit awkward. my instructor never got in the water, so i was only synchronized with myself and my own inadequate rhythm. i learned a few cool pool tricks, like i can float on the top of the water with almost my entire body sticking out, as if i were lying on something just below the surface. and i can flail my legs about out of the water in some fun patterns that look almost fancy, and not so much like a 4 year old does when they first learn to go underwater with their face.<br />
<br />
but i never learned the synchronicity part.<br />
<br />
how about you? tell me something about yourself. something interesting or obscure.<br />
<br />
i'm waiting...</div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-44306868372014768942012-08-10T16:41:00.001-04:002012-08-10T16:46:33.357-04:00behold the power of balls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">while out walking with my honey last night, we stumbled into an amusing conversation. it was about power, or more accurately, the feeling of being powerful.<br />
<br />
the first time i remember ever feeling that i was powerful was when i was about seven years old. i was out running around the neighborhood with my posse of elementary hooligans. i'm not sure what game we were playing, but one of the boys caught me from behind. he had his arms wrapped tightly around me, pinning my arms to my sides as i struggled to find a way to free myself. no amount of squirming could break me loose, so i started kicking. one grand kick straight up and backwards bought me instant freedom. the boy released me and i scampered away, giggling and squealing, but not entirely sure why he'd let me go.<br />
<br />
when i got a few paces away, i looked back and saw him laying on his back, moaning and holding his crotch. i stopped running and cautiously walked back toward him to see what was wrong or if he was just trying to trick me. several of the other boys in the group ran over and stood around him in a circle with looks of horror and sympathy on their faces. they placed gentle cupping hands of protection over their own crotches and then turned to look at me. they looked afraid.<br />
<br />
i wasn't entirely sure what had happened with my kick, but suddenly i had the begrudging respect of all the boys on my block and there was murmured talk of balls. i didn't see any balls around, but whatever they were talking about, i knew i'd found a source of power in myself. an unexpected chink in the armor of the more physically power males of the species.<br />
<br />
and with that knowledge, i skipped off, arm and arm with my best girl friend, singing a silly ditty and pondering those mysterious balls.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_IT3ZBxNT_BTje-iT7tTai7BFo_Di_14nfsXNpDGohsoX3dq8cxRUkuIwDqNl7gswRmnePq03GeSghEeWpLBxKgNnKbVGfWz60mO0bTFTH1miJfBSd6Xq88xvOo-UFkJpS3WCnySykQ7/s1600/epic+nut+crunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_IT3ZBxNT_BTje-iT7tTai7BFo_Di_14nfsXNpDGohsoX3dq8cxRUkuIwDqNl7gswRmnePq03GeSghEeWpLBxKgNnKbVGfWz60mO0bTFTH1miJfBSd6Xq88xvOo-UFkJpS3WCnySykQ7/s400/epic+nut+crunch.jpg" width="327" /></a></div><br />
<br />
what about you? when do you feel powerful?<br />
<br />
i posed that same question to my husband and he said, jokingly, that it was when he knocked me up. i'm sensing a testicular theme here... is there power in the world that isn't linked to balls?!</div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-22700206997357292832012-07-25T21:42:00.001-04:002012-07-25T22:52:47.374-04:00i'm not invisible<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">i got married in my early twenties. i was younger than a lot of girls, but i'd dated a lot of different guys and i felt confident that i knew what i was looking for and that i'd found it when i met chris.<br />
<br />
before i was married, i felt like a confident, self-sufficient woman of the world who could handle anything that came my way. i had a lot to say and an opinion about most subjects, which i felt free to share any time with anyone.<br />
<br />
my husband is very good at holding his tongue and over time, i learned to keep my mouth shut until i'd filtered my thoughts through my brain and decided they were worth spilling out onto the people around me. i think this is a good quality most of the time.<br />
<br />
i learned how to delay any real decisions until such time as i had discussed them with chris. he's never been demanding about how i spent time or money, but it seemed reasonable to share those decisions rather than just rashly do whatever i felt like without thought to the other half of my partnership.<br />
<br />
then i became a mommy. it was what i'd always wanted and i was very happy to have my little girl. my life revolved around brooke and her needs.<br />
<br />
over the years, it seems like more and more of my self has vanished as i've dedicated myself to caring for my family. i ate what they liked, i slept when i needed to sleep so that i could best accommodate the lives of my husband and kid. i go where they want to go and watch what they like to watch.<br />
<br />
as a larger woman, i've dressed in a way that would blend in to the background and i didn't do anything to draw attention to myself because i didn't want anyone to look at me and think the fat girl was getting out of hand. if i was invisible, no one would notice all the ways i was lacking.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitff0W_X54ZpKDnhzG1zv_QyO6Vss6wtXBtoHaOpHjJEwNPxcrITcuk5IvR1Iq2pHVB9kf92cyOTjpOcN71Fy41EkCo5NnAqmzN0au24GV_8-KmVS6s5O7o4oJn0FRADKM-FhCSfQ_zHB0/s1600/077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitff0W_X54ZpKDnhzG1zv_QyO6Vss6wtXBtoHaOpHjJEwNPxcrITcuk5IvR1Iq2pHVB9kf92cyOTjpOcN71Fy41EkCo5NnAqmzN0au24GV_8-KmVS6s5O7o4oJn0FRADKM-FhCSfQ_zHB0/s400/077.JPG" width="395" /></a></div><br />
when i think back to the time when i felt most like i knew who i was and was in control of my own life, i picture a big mouthed, hootchie-dressed, smoking girl, with super-high heels. i see long acrylic nails, red lipstick and sleeping til noon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJcu3QXMGrJg37NOPf8NI4r7Vd3eYKUrGWUr35GYVDHwwlDse8obRsj9TsSSyX-q0AbE1I3swm6zKq0erlAv92z2diuWR9dBgXOMpLaFQNmC5-BI84ZBrUTU6Xio05ka6dQjmweXFIdYn/s1600/skinnysilverpants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJcu3QXMGrJg37NOPf8NI4r7Vd3eYKUrGWUr35GYVDHwwlDse8obRsj9TsSSyX-q0AbE1I3swm6zKq0erlAv92z2diuWR9dBgXOMpLaFQNmC5-BI84ZBrUTU6Xio05ka6dQjmweXFIdYn/s400/skinnysilverpants.jpg" width="177" /></a></div><br />
i like that girl, but those things don't fit me anymore. there has to be a way to rediscover or rebuild myself into a current version that will work for my life and not leaving me feeling like i only exist for the services i perform for others. i want a sense of self-satisfaction that isn't about anyone else, but isn't totally selfish either.<br />
<br />
this year has been a time for me to start figuring that out. i still don't know what direction it's going to take, but i'm putting some time and effort into exploring my options. i've made myself more of a priority than i have in many years and it feels good.<br />
<br />
maybe eventually i'll figure it out. i don't think the new me looks like either of those girls up above. i think she looks more like this. and she's not invisible.<br />
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</div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com60tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-90120367683883638852012-07-17T16:49:00.001-04:002012-07-22T19:46:18.998-04:00so campy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">for about a year, brooke has been talking about going to summer camp. she'd read about it in a book and seen some tv episodes about camping and she wanted to give it a try. it made me a little sick to my stomach when i first started considering actually letting her go. she's always been explosive when things got too loud or overwhelming. she likes to know what to expect all the time and she needs time to transition more slowly than most kids from one activity to the next. these are all things that would likely be aggravated by a typical camp environment.<br />
<br />
there's a place i went as a kid, every summer, called <a href="http://wolranch.org/">word of life ranch</a>. it's a wonderful, beautiful place in the adirondack mountains where college students who have done a year at their bible institute work as counselors during the summer. i have tons of happy memories of being there and i felt like, if brooke was going to camp, that's where it would need to be.<br />
<br />
i got over my anguishy belly and signed her up for a week. i decided she would only go as a day camper rather than overnight every day for a week so as to have a chance to detox and calm down in my presence if things got too overwhelming for her. i was anticipating at least one SOS call from camp admin asking me to come get her because she was freaking out and inconsolable.<br />
<br />
well, as it turns out, brooke was incredibly ready for camp. we drove to new york (15 hr drive) and for a couple nights we just went to the evening camper meetings and walked around the property. she had a chance to absorb the noises and smells and chaos and yelling with me at her side before i dropped her off for a whole day. she met her counselors and the kids who would share her cabin for the week. she was more than ready when i left her at 7:30 monday morning.<br />
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all day long, i waited for the phone call of distress. nothing. i enjoyed my day with family and when i picked her up in the evening, she was happy and full of sugary joy.<br />
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she got to take a horsemanship class that allowed her to spend a total of six hours with the horses over the course of the week and that was definitely her favorite part.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfpFLOCVRs2hyphenhyphen1yr1oUW6RamNlqS7MwT-4thqKbw1foRMwwDZ4n88rNqvX4iirCFLx-_AC0plngfExv_zTLoMsN9BXp4geNk-tuCdT0jDaJCHTnpjSF9LefWQA2IbaNigs99x3S06xBYg/s1600/IMG_2737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfpFLOCVRs2hyphenhyphen1yr1oUW6RamNlqS7MwT-4thqKbw1foRMwwDZ4n88rNqvX4iirCFLx-_AC0plngfExv_zTLoMsN9BXp4geNk-tuCdT0jDaJCHTnpjSF9LefWQA2IbaNigs99x3S06xBYg/s400/IMG_2737.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKh4AZt1itPzVz0o37NZOz1dAcPXXSulY_xZ9SNBTLDIBBABV7oYo5s-PkRXgo8acS6q7YTgnipr6eddGI00QuSAnaDxQjE6Fe13vsDdLbxcx3OSUi2ssiG1LRT2zeoysod6FrWtgb4Al/s1600/IMG_2710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKh4AZt1itPzVz0o37NZOz1dAcPXXSulY_xZ9SNBTLDIBBABV7oYo5s-PkRXgo8acS6q7YTgnipr6eddGI00QuSAnaDxQjE6Fe13vsDdLbxcx3OSUi2ssiG1LRT2zeoysod6FrWtgb4Al/s400/IMG_2710.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
brooke functioned happily through so many various new things all week long. she had to learn how to go through a food line and pick her own meal choices three times a day. she had to sit still and quiet through bible meetings. she had to always keep track of at least one of her counselors and she had to stay calm even when things got super loud.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim7fOS7raDxRO2npr4lqpDXka5uaan-qMbEuzPUXS65vcCVYxRQtxkmakXti6ilJpc8D25r8tE9O9Pai1CnFfbPQyuQtXQ2-UHT0XIwIBy02R_c51tTQ0JnrhcpxfuGYL8HgYznvI47MMk/s1600/IMG_2752.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim7fOS7raDxRO2npr4lqpDXka5uaan-qMbEuzPUXS65vcCVYxRQtxkmakXti6ilJpc8D25r8tE9O9Pai1CnFfbPQyuQtXQ2-UHT0XIwIBy02R_c51tTQ0JnrhcpxfuGYL8HgYznvI47MMk/s400/IMG_2752.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
each night when i picked her up, she didn't want to sit quietly with me to cool down after a hectic day. she wanted to play and squeal with her cousins and practice her newfound trick of armpit farts.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghlw-e68-5PHHCah6K9jGzRKm_tJZxA3sDBwZw1fwxqvpDfWR5UO3DlI-GRlFmK7KBKQ8u-dCAiWGNRHSR5MscrM1prnEq6xuuRt-4ThMfIw8QBVMFYVdh6yYihrcRgB7EcvZb_wtIzaf8/s1600/IMG_2665.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghlw-e68-5PHHCah6K9jGzRKm_tJZxA3sDBwZw1fwxqvpDfWR5UO3DlI-GRlFmK7KBKQ8u-dCAiWGNRHSR5MscrM1prnEq6xuuRt-4ThMfIw8QBVMFYVdh6yYihrcRgB7EcvZb_wtIzaf8/s400/IMG_2665.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
all in all, it was a fantastical week, better than i'd even dared to hope. she can't wait to go back next year and she wants to sleep over in 2013 now that she knows what to expect.<br />
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it's amazing to see my little aspie girl absorbing and applying all the coping skills she's learned so that she can go new places and try new things without becoming overwhelmed or freaking anyone out in the process. my soul is a happy place.<br />
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</div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-18687449660037857422012-07-03T16:32:00.000-04:002012-07-03T16:32:54.652-04:00God won't let me go naked<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Five months ago, i had just started dieting. i wasn't entirely sure how it was going to go or if i'd be successful, but i was determined. i remember saying to my mom that i didn't know what i'd do if i shrunk out of all my clothes. i can't afford to buy new ones just because the older ones don't fit anymore. she assured me that God wouldn't let me go naked.<div><br />
</div><div>i've been volunteering with a thing my church does called "the closet." it's a place where anyone can drop off clothing or linen donations, much like goodwill, but instead of selling the items cheaply, everything is free to anyone who needs it. they have shopping days 4 times a year and everyone who comes in can take what they need for their family. i love this organization. i've donated tons of our clothes and brooke and i work there - sorting, organizing, carrying, hanging, painting, helping customers, etc. </div><div><br />
</div><div>this place has also been a wonderful source of clothes for us this year. i can't wear anything from last summer unless i'm able to tailor it. i've cut down a few things, but not everything can be altered by me, by hand and i really needed a lot of new things.</div><div><br />
</div><div>today i got to do some shopping in there and i got a whole bunch of stuff, including some things for brooke and i to wear to my sister's wedding next month. i even got a pair of brand new, gorgeous heels that are exactly what i need for the couple dressy things i own. and might i also mention that the quality of my clothing has improved tremendously since i started getting second hand stuff. i've never even tried anything on in ann taylor or banana republic or some of the expensive department stores, but now i've got all that pretty, high quality stuff hanging in my closet and it was either free or really cheap from goodwill.</div><div><br />
</div><div>on a separate, but related note, i started doing P90X three weeks ago. a few months ago, i never would have been able to do most of it, but i'm keeping up fairly well, though there's room for improvement. i've lost 54 pounds now and i think i'm physically stronger than i've ever been in my life. free weights are new to me, but i like them. it's kind of cool to be able to see muscles popping in my arms and legs. and i'm discovering that i have bones that i'd almost forgotten about. collar bones, shoulder bones, hips, ribs. so exciting.</div><div><br />
</div><div>i feel like my life has gotten bigger as my body has gotten smaller. when i was fat, i wanted to be physically invisible. i wanted to wear baggy, plain, uninteresting clothes to avoid drawing the eyes of anyone i didn't know. i avoided doing fun or silly things that might cause my fat to jiggle. </div><div><br />
</div><div>so many things have changed for me internally as i've changed externally that i'm wondering why it took me so long to do it. then again, the shrinking world sneaks in, a little piece at a time, not all at once, so that you almost don't notice it until you've gotten used to it. and i wouldn't appreciate the changes as much if i hadn't lived life in chubbytown for ten years.</div><div><br />
</div><div>i'm so glad that God didn't want me to look frumpy or go naked.</div></div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086315245447814692.post-89514121065835133802012-06-12T20:48:00.001-04:002012-06-12T21:46:49.218-04:00a cautionary tattoo tale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">i've been thinking lately about the many, many foolish choices i made in my early twenties. there was an abundance and i made them all with the reckless abandon that only the young fool does. i had been fairly careful about my choices up to that point in time with only a slight swerve into the fast-moving naughty lane before my twentieth birthday.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd76jtGovM0F168IvJSDl1gEY5z_b2LWN-hlRwHFYjwoAFip_vGZV7DwUljuT7BHhij9piqFkHDaSsVm-SeJuTh38bXGeG2dIA5sFpc_YGZhv0xmqSyxsWg2DCGx_E937cBgzjgCrNvGp5/s1600/IMG_2481.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd76jtGovM0F168IvJSDl1gEY5z_b2LWN-hlRwHFYjwoAFip_vGZV7DwUljuT7BHhij9piqFkHDaSsVm-SeJuTh38bXGeG2dIA5sFpc_YGZhv0xmqSyxsWg2DCGx_E937cBgzjgCrNvGp5/s400/IMG_2481.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i look pretty normal here, don't i?<br />
but underneath that calm exterior lay the makings of a party girl.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
but when i turned twenty, i decided that i was done with the good and i was headed as quick as i could find it, into the bad. i boycotted church and started swearing excessively. i dated men who weren't future husband material and cut and dyed my hair into unacceptable colors and styles.<br />
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one of the things i decided i needed to try was body art. i got my belly button pierced and then passed out when i stood up. fortunately, the 18 year old guy who'd clamped and stabbed my navel knew enough to slide me gently down the counter where i'd flopped like a boneless jellyfish and then give me a coke when i woke up.<br />
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i got my tongue pierced a few months later, which wasn't particularly smart since it was only a few days before thanksgiving. my tongue swelled up and left me with a lisp that was hard to hide when speaking with people, like my grandma. and i couldn't indulge in anything but cranberry sauce because chewing was pretty much out of the question. i decided to take that piercing out after one night when i was making out with a guy who suddenly pulled away from my face, reached into his mouth and pulled the ball from the top of my tongue barbell off his tongue and handed it to me.<br />
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piercings though, are just beginner stuff. they're removable and can be denied once you get tired of them. tattoos though, hold a whole different realm of stupid possibilities. don't get me wrong, i like tattoos a lot. i like the artistic aspect and the way they can mark a significant event in your life.<br />
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however, the way i went about getting tattoos wasn't artistic or significant. i decided all of a sudden, to find the name of a tattoo shop in the yellow pages and then go there. i went alone and didn't give any prior thought to what was going to be put permanently on my skin. i picked some flowers out of a book. they were boring and poorly done, but they live on my ankle for anyone to see when the weather is warm.<br />
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having a tattoo made me feel like a tough guy. like i was part of the cool kids' club, even though my ink was meaningless and tacky. i decided about a year later to get another one. i was determined to do better on my second round in the tattoo chair and i chose to put it in a location where it wouldn't be visible so often. i picked my lower stomach.<br />
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obviously, for a woman, that's a bad choice of body real estate, even if you're young and thin and can't imagine ever having kids. twenty year olds know nothing.<br />
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you see that smiling face and belly shirt? yeah, that was me, happy and stupid and about to show off my sneaky stomach tattoo. please disregard the huge beeper in my pocket.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96zwj8cU5AaUL24AUKfY6UbdQEKRKLC5y5oz1sdpSSV8dtl-fBsqOoz3LJpmMbH72KFxtNIG2-jGcnISCQdk0e6BM-4iF2jJYWfwJzWWYpJl_DRa8lNC6xnLxC4sWlV-eyLurpwhXgaDp/s1600/IMG_2465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96zwj8cU5AaUL24AUKfY6UbdQEKRKLC5y5oz1sdpSSV8dtl-fBsqOoz3LJpmMbH72KFxtNIG2-jGcnISCQdk0e6BM-4iF2jJYWfwJzWWYpJl_DRa8lNC6xnLxC4sWlV-eyLurpwhXgaDp/s400/IMG_2465.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjju_pw7TktNDnvvcFyCxoRWmX_NSm61LxLLD8jY-KV8YZkEy4EmQ-Bhe5RTpuhzuB3YdIVUnaiGgjOdMRpsqBFHU3xhyphenhyphenMFeVPfUfNA0McneQwtQ4QyWCoMdJc22CaPxs9XbmS2L3ab1q_3/s1600/IMG_2470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjju_pw7TktNDnvvcFyCxoRWmX_NSm61LxLLD8jY-KV8YZkEy4EmQ-Bhe5RTpuhzuB3YdIVUnaiGgjOdMRpsqBFHU3xhyphenhyphenMFeVPfUfNA0McneQwtQ4QyWCoMdJc22CaPxs9XbmS2L3ab1q_3/s400/IMG_2470.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
i did my best to clean up these pics so you can make out what that ridiculous mousey looked like when it was fresh and new. you can see how perfectly it fit under my bikini bottom so that it always stayed hidden.<br />
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that was fine and dandy for a while, but a few years later, i got pregnant. and once i was pregnant, all hell broke lose with that tattoo. it ceased to be a cute little mousey and instead stretched out into something alarming and grotesque.<br />
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i actually got brave enough to take a picture of it tonight. a few months ago, i never would have considered it, but i've lost 48 lbs to date and i can see it now, so i am once again aware of its existence regularly. being thinner though, hasn't helped it to become any less ugly.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_7uRki11cYJcdTc1Ms5Cgl-Da_RQqXPlp2FUDMy99YSSaU096QQg5ux4oyF-nLdX5PyZcov7nIv6rnGAHwidpUsnQCCSmxHOCG2QPGCovTghMkFMb5-TgoJKeoowFB_WZKiheIprh41Z/s1600/IMG_2463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_7uRki11cYJcdTc1Ms5Cgl-Da_RQqXPlp2FUDMy99YSSaU096QQg5ux4oyF-nLdX5PyZcov7nIv6rnGAHwidpUsnQCCSmxHOCG2QPGCovTghMkFMb5-TgoJKeoowFB_WZKiheIprh41Z/s400/IMG_2463.JPG" width="342" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">as i was taking the pictures, i kept thinking they were blurry. then i realized that the photo was perfectly clear, it's just that now it looks like an underwater </span>sewer rat.<span class="Apple-style-span"> or a jacked up elephant.</span><br />
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so let this be a cautionary tale for anyone considering a tattoo. be very careful about the location of your potential ink. if you don't have a good reason and location for it, then forget it and go get something pierced instead.</div>SherilinRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10667321154367669653noreply@blogger.com23