tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29616740621235229542024-03-13T21:04:20.578-07:00The Book of DeanneThe ramblings of a middle age woman in search of life after dishesDeanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-37453727297761502162012-05-16T20:10:00.004-07:002012-05-16T20:16:57.669-07:00Million Dollar Diva - Blog Tour<br />
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Only a fiction writer would begin a non-fiction financial
self-help book with a tension filled action sequence. But then,
author Tristi Pinkston is a fiction writer, which is perhaps why I found
<i>Million Dollar Diva</i> such a pleasure to read.</div>
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Apologies to both Brett and Ethan, the financial experts of
this treaties, but when the book first arrived I thought it was a romance.
Pretty girl, holding shopping bags in front of the Eiffel Tower on a powder pink
background. I’m thinking foreign spies, racing European sports cars and an heiress
with attitude. </div>
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Actually I wasn’t that far off. This book was about a woman
with attitude sharing her financial secrets with… okay I can’t actually tie in
the European sports car, but you get the idea. </div>
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<i>Million Dollar Diva</i> is a financial book aimed at women
readers. The subtitle reads, “The Smart Woman’s Guide to Getting Rich Safely.” Co-written by bestselling authors Brett Kitchen
and Ethan Kap, this book is packed with expert advice and sound principles for
getting out of debt and accumulating wealth. But before you zone out on me,
this is actually a fun down to earth read, and that is thanks to Tristi
Pinkston.</div>
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Tristi acts as the diva guinea pig, laying out her own
family finances and allowing both Kitchen & Kap to analyze her debts and
offer advice on how to get out of the red and begin earning more green. Through
Trisiti’s experiences, we gain a firsthand look at how to take the basic
principles that these two financial wizards espouse and see how they work in a
real life situation.</div>
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What’s more they suggest ways of increasing income and using
that income to earn additional cash in ways that are safe, and secure from the
ups and downs of the stock market. </div>
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I would have liked to see these authors address other types
of debt besides credit cards/auto/mortgages. Or the situation so many of us are
in today, trying to live on more than we make thanks to job loss and the
economic downturn. But perhaps that is material for a future book.</div>
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Trisit asks all the questions she knows we would ask, and it
feels like we are sitting right there in the room with her. There are inspiriting stories (I actually used
one in my Sunday School class last week), online resources to help us analyze
our debt and the pace is light and fast moving.</div>
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If you’re female, and not yet a Million Dollar Diva, then
this book is for you. Available at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Million-Dollar-Diva-Money-Millionaire/dp/097943405X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1337223754&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a> for under $10.00, and investment
you’ll be glad you made.</div>Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-84373470457359225202011-11-25T11:09:00.000-08:002011-11-25T11:10:49.573-08:00Annual Thanksgiving Thought<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ipJn8swHMmk/Ts_nwlBA_jI/AAAAAAAAAHI/zZeL1Nduyks/s1600/gratitude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ipJn8swHMmk/Ts_nwlBA_jI/AAAAAAAAAHI/zZeL1Nduyks/s200/gratitude.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and are now ready to brave the next holiday season… Christmas. More about that subject later. Today, I‘d like to talk about some of the things I’m grateful for. Like most of you, this has been a financially challenging year, with a lot of changes, some more welcome than others, so it’s been easy to get a overwhelmed by all those problems and difficulties.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In order to keep my balance, and my sanity, I decided to start paying attention to the many good little things that happen in my life every day. The things I don’t often consider, but that make my life a little bit brighter. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Gift 1 – No snow. I’m not a big fan of snow. I don’t mind it up in the mountains, or hanging artistically in the bare branches of the trees, but I cannot stand it underfoot. I hate to drive on it, I hate to walk on it and I don’t really like to shovel it. I prefer to visit it on special occasions, and then return home without the threat of slush or black ice. So far this year the snow has been very considerate and stayed off the sidewalks and streets . I’m grateful that we are still snow free.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gift 2 – Do you ever wish you could thank the person in the next car that lets you move into a crowded lane or pass into the street from the grocery store parking lot during rush hour? The one who doesn’t honk, even when the light turned green 2 seconds before and you haven’t hit your accelerator pedal yet. I love those drivers who don’t feel the need to ride up my tail pipe on the freeway if I don’t change lanes as quickly as they might wish, or who manage to avoid an accident, even when it’s me that’s made the mistake. To all considerate and kind drivers on the road, I’m very grateful to you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gift 3 – A baby’s smile. I don’t believe there is anything that can make me feel more important and of more value than when I’m standing in the checkout line at the grocery store, and a little one in the cart ahead looks up, meets my eyes and offers a huge toothless grin. It’s like somehow I was chosen from among all the other shoppers to receive that angelic manifestation, or that the innocence of youth saw something in me worthy of joy. So to all the sweet and happy young children that smile at strangers, I’m grateful to you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gift 4 – Everyday there is something that goes my way, some bit of luck or chance of timing that makes my world go a little smoother. Hitting all green lights on my way to work, getting the last discount blouse in my size on the shopping rack, enjoying a full night sleep with a really sensational dream, or stepping out my front door just in time to see the most spectacular sunset ever. I am grateful for all those little, almost meaningless moments that mean so much to me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because Christmas is now on its way, bringing the temptation to get lost in the stress and guilt of creating the perfect holiday with less and less resources every year, I think it’s important to keep our eyes open for those exceptional instants that happen every day. I’m trying to keep that attitude of gratitude going through the next month and into the New Year.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What are you thankful for?</div>Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-52409793657205883432011-11-05T14:23:00.000-07:002011-11-05T14:23:39.504-07:00We Have Overcome!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kWWGsTLgG_w/TrWoxcKlEyI/AAAAAAAAAHA/tWLYVS_eEEs/s1600/shopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ida="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kWWGsTLgG_w/TrWoxcKlEyI/AAAAAAAAAHA/tWLYVS_eEEs/s200/shopper.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>A few weeks ago, I sent out a call to all my faithful readers to help get our economy back on track by going out and spending. I explained that according to the radio… which we all know is second only to Google in being an authority on generally everything… we as a nation were headed for another recession because consumer confidence was down and we were afraid to shop.<br />
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Thanks to my small but faithful following of readers, last quarter consumer spending was up by 2%, as reported by - the radio. We did what no politician or economic guru has been able to do. By getting out there and spending money, we are saving our economy.<br />
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I must humbly take credit for getting this economic reversal going, but I could not have done it without all of you and your tireless feet, shopping the heck out of stores and malls through the country. Only in America can we go out, with basically no money in our pockets and shop our country back onto the road to recovery. <br />
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I have been asked by several sources if my success in this great economic achievement has inspired any more lofty political aspirations. In fact, I have been getting letters from the Mitt Romney campaign for weeks. I haven’t actually opened them, but I’m certain he’s concerned about his chances in running against a woman shopper-of-the-people like myself.<br />
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For the record, I do not plan on running for president. I feel like one of the first qualifications for a leader of the free world is to have a handle on keeping their own house bathrooms clean. So, for at least another four years, or until all my kids move out, I will not be running for any public office.<br />
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I am, however, available for any White House dinners, shopping mall grand openings, or private consultations. I am an American, and I must do what I can.<br />
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One last note. I can only take credit for this startlingly good financial news, with the understanding that I can’t be accountable for everything. After all our hard work, should the economy dip again, Mr. President… we know where to place the blame!Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-12848077030991166352011-10-26T11:24:00.000-07:002011-10-26T11:26:58.848-07:00A Halloween Tale of Terror<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lWy5tR1zNL8/TqhQMF7GyTI/AAAAAAAAAG4/9BuVdAAzY28/s1600/zombie+better.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lWy5tR1zNL8/TqhQMF7GyTI/AAAAAAAAAG4/9BuVdAAzY28/s200/zombie+better.jpg" width="153" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">With Halloween fast approaching, I thought this would be a good time to share one of the most horrifying Halloween stories that ever happened to me. Please don’t read this in a darkened room, and it’s best if you make certain that you’re not alone. You have been warned!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Back in the year 19 something, I was in my last year of elementary school in the town of Pleasant Hill, California. Across the road from our school was the local police station. It was an old building then though I’m sure it’s since been replace with something made of steel bars with lots of glass. Back then they used a remodeled old house with a very dark basement. Every year, the police officers and their families would convert this dark basement into the “Basement of Horror!” It was a great Halloween activity and the money they raised was used for charity.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This particular year I chose to dress up as a Chinese maiden in a silk kimono top and matching silk pants. After our traditional Halloween party at school, my friends and I decided to go through the police station’s “Basement of Horror!” and though I never much liked being frightened, I was more concerned about letting down my friends then any possible fear factors.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My memories of the tour are pretty vague for the most part. I remember huddling in a group with my friends as we passed through each scenario, screaming when one creature or another would jump out or touch us. But there was one moment that is etched into my memory permanently.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As we came around a corner, I saw a large white wooden coffin leaned up against the wall. I don’t know what it is about a coffin, but its mere presence gives me the creeps. Of my group of friends, I was the one standing closest. I tried to move away but my friends and I were pretty much hemmed in on either side and by masses of other scared kids.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The coffin door swung open and a corpse stepped out of the box, right next to me. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs. Suddenly I had a strange sensation in the lower half of my body. No, I didn’t wet myself. Even worse. I looked down and my silk Chinese pants were now sitting in a puddle around my ankles where they had slid off, leaving my bare legs and pretty pink and yellow panties for everyone to see. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Truthfully I don’t know who was more startled, me or the teenage boy who was playing the undead zombie. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My fight or flight instinct had kicked in big time, and fighting wasn’t a consideration. I had two options, simply run out of the room leaving my pants and any dignity I had left behind or I take a few precious terror filled moments and pull up my pants before making my mad dash. I chose the second option.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">That pretty much ended any future visits to haunted houses, gardens, basement, forest or any other October attractions for me. However, I’ve often wondered about the boy playing the spook. I imagine he went home to his family, proud to inform them, that he had been so frightening, he had literally scared some poor little girls pants off.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span>Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-21435363817418226432011-10-12T13:06:00.000-07:002011-10-12T13:06:17.795-07:00When is A Truth Not A Truth - When Deanne Writes it!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LWJfI9Y8YjE/TpXzLUGehYI/AAAAAAAAAGw/rL5658seyEg/s1600/crazy+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LWJfI9Y8YjE/TpXzLUGehYI/AAAAAAAAAGw/rL5658seyEg/s200/crazy+mom.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It has come to my attention that last week’s blog raised some concern among my extended family. While this is a good thing, it means they are reading what I write, it also caused me to take a look at my writing style, and realize that maybe I should clarify what is actually fact and what is exaggeration/fiction/humor/bull each week in my blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">For the record none of my children were in a car with a bunch of drunken smokers who crashed into a tree. If they had been, I would hope they’d been wearing their seatbelts or at least taken out a sizeable life insurance policy with me as beneficiary, because if the accident didn’t kill them, I would.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">What did happen last week, was I got into a discussion/argument with my indignant and testosterone filled youngest <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>teenage son who asked why I had the right to come up with punishments for him. I took if form there.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In my blogs, I like to take a little event from my home life, then blow it so out of proportion that the child or adult in question wouldn’t recognize it should they stumble across the story on the web. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">For example, this week’s blog is based on an exchange between my nearly 16 year-old-daughter and myself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came into the kitchen and announced that she would be going to school early to attendance school to make up a couple of absences. She explained that 4 tardys equal an absence, and that her science class is held out on the far side of the school in the green house where it’s hard for her to get there one time. That’s it, a very normal somewhat boring parental exchange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And then I started to work on it….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Secret Inner World of the American Mom</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I don’t know if it’s because the media is constantly reporting on all the ill’s befalling our society, or a kick back to my own teenage days where I watched my friends and other school mates participate in risky and sometime dangerous behaviors, but I have grown into an extremely paranoid mom. I suspect my children’s motivates and behaviors at every turn as I try to keep them on the straight and narrow. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Take for example the exchange with my daughter last Thursday night after dinner.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Mom,” she announces with that casual sing-song voice she uses when she’s trying to play down some soon to come confession.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes?” My ears perk up at that tone in her voice.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I missed some classes this last month, and I have to go to attendance school tomorrow morning to make them up.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Missed some classes? When could this have happened? I think I know my daughters every move. If she wasn’t in school she’d be home sick or with me at the dentist. Unless… </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Had she started to cut classes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had those wild friends of her convinced her to leave the campus and walk down to the Purple Turtle for a burger? No, teenagers don’t cut class for food. Maybe she went to get a tattoo? If she has a tattoo I’m going to murder her. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">What if they didn’t walk? What if they got a ride from some crazy 16 year-old boy driving his parent’s mustang while he kissed his girlfriend up in the front seat, trying to stay on the right side of the road?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I tried to control the panic in my voice. “When did you miss class?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She flips her head and grins. “I didn’t miss class, you know that. But I was late a few times. Four tardys are counted as missing a class.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She was late? That could only mean one, or two… or several things. She was smoking grass under the trees by the end of the field with her new druggy friends. Or she was busy texting a guy, maybe a Senior guy and lost track of time. I’m so going to take away that cell phone of hers. Or maybe she was being harassed at school. Why wouldn’t she tell me about the bullies?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“It’s right after lunch” she continued. “So it’s hard to get there and eat too.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bulimia!!!! That sounds just like what someone would say who was busy throwing up her lunch every day. I had to get her to a therapist right away. If only I’m not too late!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Uh where is the class?” I ask, trying not to let her see how anxious I am.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Way on the other side of the campus. I have to run the whole way. But I told my teacher I’ll try to be better at coming on time so I don’t have to go to attendance school again.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I can breath. She is making responsible decisions. She is the good girl I always thought she was.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well thanks for letting me know,” I say as casually as I can. “It’s good to know I can always trust you.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She slides out of the room, smiling from ear to ear as her younger brother makes his way in…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Hey mom, do you remember that rule about not driving in the car with drunken smokers unless you’re wearing your seat-belt? Well…..”</span></div>Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-76541037177948845582011-10-03T13:34:00.000-07:002011-10-03T13:34:58.640-07:00The Rules of the Game<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O_6UHinCZNY/ToocLrgDAmI/AAAAAAAAAGs/AW4FmxGOlqs/s1600/arguement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O_6UHinCZNY/ToocLrgDAmI/AAAAAAAAAGs/AW4FmxGOlqs/s320/arguement.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal">I read a bumper sticker the other day, posted on the back of a fifteen passenger van, driven by a woman with half of her hair pulled out, and a strange glazed look in her eyes. The message read, “Better Ask Your Teenager NOW, while they still know everything.” I smiled at her in motherhood induced sympathy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“You’re just trying to totally mess up my life aren’t you?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That is how the conversation with my fourteen-year-old son began late Sunday afternoon. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Apparently he felt that his discovery of a loop-hole in a family rule deserved my admiration, and not the immediate punishment that actually occurred.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“You think you know everything,” he continued. “What gives you the right to just pull a punishment out of the air, whether it’s fair or not?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An interesting question.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In my defense I didn’t cut his hands off, lock him in a dungeon or place him on bread and water for the duration of the week. I simply grounded him from playing computer or video games for the last four hours of the day, a punishment that was dramatically extended when he wouldn’t stop arguing his point.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How do parents come up with the punishments, meant to teach their young people that stupid choices bring unpleasant repercussions? My sixteen-year-old daughter suggested that a family counsel should be convened where all possible rule infractions could be considered, and an appropriate punishment decided on by popular vote, our pet dog being given the tie breaker responsibility in the event of a stalemate.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“So, the curfew is at 12:30 a.m., and everyone but the child in question, is smoking and drinking in the car, when suddenly a deer jumps into the middle of the road, causing the driver of said vehicle to swerve into a ditch, thus causing the said stinky but sober kid to show up at 1:15 a.m. What, if any, is an appropriate punishment? And can some of it be commuted if said child can prove that they were wearing a seatbelt at the time of the accident?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There in lies is the challenge, to come up with an appropriate punishment that is both humane and just, while at the same time severe enough to at least make a teenager think, before they go jumping into a car full second-hand smoke and drunken teenagers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In real life, the results of stupid actions aren’t always as mild as a simple grounding or a few extra hours of house work. They can be major big deals like income loss, jail time or death. And if we as parents don’t get these lessons drilled into our kids now, while we at least have a little control over them, we’ll have to sit and watch them screw up for years and years to come.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And so, with all the love and compassion I can muster, I give him my answer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“The same supreme power who sent you to me in the first place, who let me love and care for you, and who will hold me responsible if you don’t learn right and wrong before you walk out of my front door for good, He is the one who gave me the right… and you’re still grounded.”</div>Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-70625812335158205882011-09-28T12:28:00.000-07:002011-09-28T12:32:15.091-07:00My Plan for Economic Recovery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WmFtYmPN1T4/ToN1DXI1cOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/1bL-yuaLxL4/s1600/shopping.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WmFtYmPN1T4/ToN1DXI1cOI/AAAAAAAAAGo/1bL-yuaLxL4/s200/shopping.png" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">On my way home from work the other day, I heard on the news that the majordomos of the financial world are predicting another huge dip in the already downward spiral of our countries economy. This time it isn’t due to those greedy credit card companies, dishonest bankers or even Obama who, according to a number of my acquaintances, is responsible for everything bad, from world hunger to my favorite summer TV show being cancelled. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No, this time the fault is ours, yours and mine. According to this news report consumer confidence is down, and shoppers are keeping their purses closed and their wallets firmly entrenched in their back pockets. In other words, if we want to pull our country out of this economic depression/recession/slump/really really bad time.. the answer is simple. We need to all get out, and spend more money. It’s American.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I love this idea. It’s like saying the only way to lose weight is to eat your little heart out. What a concept. Now I’m not an economist, CPA or MBA. In fact, my main claim to fame in the financial business world is that I know where the news radio channel is so I can listen to it on my way home from work. But I figure, if some guy says it over the air waves then it must be true. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Which is what brought my husband and me together in our last discussion/fight. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“It’s simple mathematics,” he said. “If we have only so much money coming in and you spend so much plus two hundred dollars, we’ll be in the hole.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“That’s easily solved,” I counter. I have been listening to that news radio station faithfully for weeks now. “We just raise our debt ceiling, and it will all work out.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How could he respond? To deny the truth of my statement would be… well un-American.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Which is when I made my astounding proposition. Everyone should go out and spend money, now. Have a good time, and let the big bucks flow. A country wide shopping-palooza, if you will. Max out our credit cards, then raise our debt ceiling, and go out and do it some more. If we all hand over our hard earned cash, and sign our names to our checks with all the consumer confidence we can muster, the big shot on the radio promised that our countries economy would be back on the rise once again. It’s the patriotic thing to do.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can’t imagine why Obama hasn’t already suggested this.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My husband is curled up in the fetal position, his head in his hands. I think he’s overwhelmed by the audacity of my plan. And it will work too, if only I can figure out where all our disposable income has been hiding for the last few months....</div>Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-70740387328302295572011-09-14T19:22:00.000-07:002011-09-14T19:22:22.503-07:00This Just InHi,<br />
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Apparently I missed something really exciting. For those who want to purchase The Latter Rain, the author is giving my blog readers a limited time 20% discount on the purchase. That is really really good! To take advantage of special price, go to http://www.thelatterrain.net to order and put Tour in the coupon code. That's all you have to do.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-35810638757027964772011-09-12T19:02:00.000-07:002011-09-12T19:02:29.043-07:00Book ReviewThe Latter Rain: Using the Book of Isaiah As the Key to Unlock Bible Prophecies That Are Relevant Today by James Conis.<br />
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I had the opportunity this last month to read a new non-fiction book by author James Conis. Conis is a brave writer who took on a very challenging subject, symbolism from the book of Isaiah as a key to unlocking the symbolism in the Old and New Testament. <br />
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There is no doubt that Conis knows his stuff, and it was interesting to read the selections of biblical verses, many from the Old Testament, that he used to support his insights. I was particularly interested in the section on receiving revelation, where he spent a great deal of time talking about women in the scriptures who had the gift of revelation. We have so few females represented in the scriptures, and it was refreshing to know that Conis had taken the time to find them and bring their contributions to light.<br />
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I did have a couple of problems with the writing. There seemed to be a lot of repetition as Conis explained various points. Not in the sense of using a point or scripture to make different points, but in explaining the same point several times to make sure the reader understood the concept. <br />
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I also had some trouble figuring out exactly where the writer was going sometimes, and who his target audience was. Sometimes it felt that he was directing this book to an LDS audience, and other times is appeared that it was pointed to readers that were unfamiliar with the LDS doctrines.<br />
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The writing on the whole though was easy to follow, and he had some very interesting insights into Biblical symbols that I had never heard before and found very interesting. I think this book is definitely a beneficial addition to the library of any individual who is studying the Old Testament.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-87821788000295624592011-09-01T21:29:00.000-07:002011-09-01T21:34:46.768-07:00She's Back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Like my favorite TV shows, I’ve been on a summer hiatus for the past five months. And like those same TV shows, I’m ready to get back into the weekly groove again, unless of course I’ve been canceled, but that’s another story.<br />
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And, speaking of stories I have the opportunity this week to review a really interesting non-fiction book by Jen Brewer. <br />
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Real reviewers start their blogs with a summary of the book or the back cover blurb. But since I am only a fake reviewer, I’ll jump right into my thoughts. If you want to read the back cover blurb, go to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0983514070/ref=cm_cr_mts_prod_img">Amazon</a> or buy the book.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WqVqPnt6xMg/TmBb6R8WoJI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Hj2uY9_LGx8/s1600/bookcover+all+diets+work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WqVqPnt6xMg/TmBb6R8WoJI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Hj2uY9_LGx8/s1600/bookcover+all+diets+work.jpg" xaa="true" /></a></div>Brewer’s book <em>All Diets Work that’s the problem</em> approaches a common issue with American men and women, yours truly included, the difficult if not statistically impossible challenge to lose weight, especially when you’ve moved into that “next” stage of life. <br />
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This book is not a diet; in fact one could say it is the anti-diet book. Now before you get to thinking that this women espouses chocolate chip cookies for breakfast and buffet-it till you drop, let me warn you. Jen Brewer has an RD after her name which means that she is a registered dietitian. It is from this stance as a professional medical person that she expresses the opinion that ALL DIETS WORK… but with the caveat, only if we can stay on them for life.<br />
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Brewer promotes a much more healthy and holistic method of losing weight, one which I personally agree with. It’s not about dieting; it’s about learning how to eat right and figuring out what obstacles are getting in the way.<br />
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The book is divided up into four basic parts: Introduction, Principles, Tools and Tool Box. <br />
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Right from the beginning Brewer says we don’t have to read the book through but can pick and choose the subheadings that interest us. I ignored that counsel entirely and read the book cover to cover and I was glad I did. <br />
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This book is a little gold mind, littered with all kind of words of wisdom and creative ideas. Let me share one that literally reached out of the book and pinched me on the nose.<br />
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I like seconds at dinner. I don’t know why, but I can’t be satisfied with just one plate of food. It makes me crazy, and I try so hard to resist the urge, rinsing off my plate, leaving the room. But before the evening is up, I’m back for that second helping.<br />
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Now we could spend time psychoanalyzing this food neurosis of mine, but instead Brewer had the perfect suggestion. Eat on a little plate. Brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that? And guess what? It works. I get my seconds and keep my calories down too.<br />
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Would I suggest you buy this book and read it? NO! Not unless you are sick to death of dieting and looking for something else, something more long term and real. The suggestions in this book are written for normal people like you and me.<br />
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The writing is fast paced and easy to follow. There are clever illustrations throughout and Brewer has collected some really clever weight loss quotes that add a touch of humor. At 123 pages it’s an easy read and at $10.50 on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0983514070/ref=cm_cr_mts_prod_img">Amazon</a>, it’s a steal. <br />
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Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-32110617048751570832011-03-05T09:28:00.000-08:002011-03-05T09:28:11.221-08:00Revolutionary Diet Plan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-wuW1MWL6_yQ/TXJyms8SKdI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/6xrnz0nb0aA/s1600/hosptial+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-wuW1MWL6_yQ/TXJyms8SKdI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/6xrnz0nb0aA/s1600/hosptial+cat.jpg" /></a></div>I’m pleased to announce that due to a miraculous life changing event that occurred this week, I am currently in negotiations with four different publishing houses for my new book Get Sick and Lose the Weight.<br />
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Last week was not the first time I became aware of the strange and yet natural connection between physical illness and weight loss. My sister lost an amazing seven pounds in four days because she was fortunate enough to contract the stomach flu.<br />
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But it wasn’t until last week when a pain motivated trip to the ER led to a 2:30 am appendix removal surgery, that the idea really began to take shape. Getting sick, really sick, almost always results in weight loss. <br />
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I’ll admit, I don’t understand how the weight loss community has missed this loop hole for so long, but their oversight simply translates into my success.<br />
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Once the anesthesia wore off and the morphine had dulled the pain of having a puss filled appendix pulled out through a small hernia in my belly button, I found that the selection of liquids I was offered for breakfast, tea, bullion, clear juice and green jello, had no appeal. Really, I wasn’t even hungry.<br />
<br />
It’s been four days now, and the phenomenon continues. Most foods taste bland and uninviting and after a few bites I don’t want to eat any more.<br />
<br />
I have watched with satisfaction as the numbers on the scale seem to be falling away at an unbelievable pace. What can I say, I’ve discovered the secret to successful weight loss.<br />
<br />
Now I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that there are one or two negative sides to this eating plan, but hey, what diet worth its carbs and fiber doesn’t? <br />
<br />
There is a certain degree of discomfort associated with things like surgery and illness, but as the old saying goes, ‘No Pain, No Gain’ or loss as in this example.<br />
<br />
And with the pain comes a certain amount of financial output for such things as medical care, pharmaceuticals and loss of productive activity… but just remember that it’s all for a good cause, a bum that looks hot in a pair of tight jeans.<br />
<br />
The real tricky part, is acquiring the medical emergency in the first place. I should also point out that problems requiring surgery aren’t always appropriate for weightless. A coma for example might work for dropping a few dress sizes, but since you’re unconscious, it’s not like you can enjoy it.<br />
<br />
In my new book, I recommend illness instead. Keep your ears open for friends and loved ones who are fortunate enough to catch some debilitation and highly contagious illness, then offer to nurse them back to health. Avoid hand washing, touch your own face often and if appropriate kissing is highly effective for sharing germs.<br />
<br />
Now, I need to caution that this diet is not doctor recommended, and if you are one of those wimps who avoid pain and aren’t willing to be laid up for days and weeks of recovery time, then I can only suggest you stick with the old fashioned method of less calories in and more energy out. But for the few adventurers who are willing to risk it all for a half inch less around your waist, my new weight loss plan is guaranteed to work… (or kill you).Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-35341615104195319342011-02-24T10:26:00.000-08:002011-02-24T10:27:42.545-08:00Falling off the Wagon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qpB7Ynhb-vs/TWaiBL3FUYI/AAAAAAAAAGM/sYJGz34I2Ww/s1600/fallingoffthewagon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qpB7Ynhb-vs/TWaiBL3FUYI/AAAAAAAAAGM/sYJGz34I2Ww/s1600/fallingoffthewagon.jpg" /></a></div>Okay, it happened and I’m ready to admit it. I took a nose dive off the wagon of my diet this last week and broke my fall on a package of double stuffed Oreo cookies, a cube of butter mixed with a little bit of baked potato and a peppermint shake from my favorite fast food restaurant. <br />
<br />
<br />
It’s a tough world out there for those of us who were blessed with a little more fat than everybody else, although according to statistics (and I always believe those things) our numbers are growing. <br />
<br />
Sometimes it feels like there is an army of marketers out there with the singal minded goal to keep us chubby and eating.<br />
<br />
Case in point, it’s almost impossible to watch a TV program without being inundated with ads for fat laden, calorie horrific foods, being daintily eaten by super models with thighs so thin, they could thread them through the eye of a needle. Just what I need while I’m munching on my after dinner snack of raw carrots and water.<br />
<br />
And when I’m feeling discouraged or overwhelmed or discouraged and overwhelmed which is more often the case, I don’t crave an apple or a nice green salad without dressing. No, I want pasta and brownies. Sugar, simple carbs and chocolate.<br />
<br />
I don’t know why the stuff I love like See’s candy and double bacon cheese burgers with a side of steak cut fries has to be so unhealthy. If we can send a man to the moon, we ought to be able to invent food that tastes decadent but is actually good for you! <br />
<br />
A lovely dream, but not very realistic. The facts are the facts, if I want to lose weight and be healthier (and I do), I have to eat fewer calories than I expend. End of discussion… sigh. <br />
<br />
So where does that leave me? Sitting in the mud of my over indulgence with a sore tummy and jeans so tight I have to unzip them to breath? Or ready to rise again, dust the cookie crumbs from my face and hands and get back into the wagon of self control and healthy choices?<br />
<br />
As Mary Anne Radmacher say’s – “Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.”” And since she’s the same author who said, “Begin each day as if it were on purpose” I think she knows what she’s talking about.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-59393975149626812672011-02-15T09:37:00.001-08:002011-02-15T09:37:57.012-08:00The Scale of the Scale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HrikcYo_pEU/TVq50paScfI/AAAAAAAAAGI/hLDKTaWNRfc/s1600/blind+justice.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HrikcYo_pEU/TVq50paScfI/AAAAAAAAAGI/hLDKTaWNRfc/s1600/blind+justice.png" /></a></div>So, after nearly two months of relatively strenuous dieting, with only a few (well maybe more than a few) slips off the wagon, I am down 6 pounds, or maybe 8 pounds or perhaps 4.5 depending on whether I’m weighing myself on the doctor’s balance beam scale, my daughter’s precision digital scale or the WII fit action board scale . This opens up the obvious question, if the scales of justice are blind why aren’t the scales of fat?<br />
<br />
<br />
All weight measurement appliances are not created equal, and can vary as much as five pounds. Plus the time of day, and the current temperature in the room can also affect results of the machine. And let’s not even go into the difference between weight based and spring based machines. The point is, some scales weigh you less than others.<br />
<br />
With this in mind, I decided to go shopping for the most weight favorable scale on the market. <br />
<br />
“You could always just set our bathroom scale lower than 0,” suggested my husband. <br />
<br />
I shook my head and smiled. He just didn’t get it. I wasn’t looking to cheat by making 395 (basically -5) my starting point. No I wanted the confidence of knowing that my scale was honest and true… but lighter.<br />
<br />
I approached a clerk in a high end department store and asked for their most user friendly scale. “I’m looking for something that will match a sky blue bathroom. I’d like the weight displayed in numbers that are positioned well in front so that I don’t have to pull back my breasts and belly just to see them, and since my eyesight isn’t what it used to be I need print that is large and bright.<br />
<br />
“I’d prefer a voice enhanced model that would say something encouraging each time I weighed myself. Perhaps ‘Well beautiful, look who got up this morning. I’m so proud of you.’ And if a little electronic smiley face appeared, well that would be great too.<br />
<br />
“I’m searching for a scale with some degree of artificial intelligence, so that on those days when I’m a little down or overly hormonal, the scale can take that into consideration. Then, rather than giving me my weight, it could politely suggest that my day would go better if I pass on the weigh-in and go straight to the chocolate.”<br />
<br />
The cashier, a fellow woman with a few pounds to lose herself, was nodding her head understandingly. <br />
<br />
“And most importantly,” I continued. “I’m looking for a product that weighs on the light side.”<br />
<br />
The saleswoman put a gentle hand on my shoulder, her eyes full of sympathy and compassion. “I know just what you mean. The problem is we don’t have any scales like that, and I’ll tell you why.”<br />
<br />
I nodded encouragingly.<br />
<br />
“Bathroom scales are designed by men.”<br />
<br />
Ahhhh that explained it. How could any man, regardless of how in touch with his feminine side he claimed to be, ever understand the weight measurement needs of a woman. Perhaps some day when girls choose science class in high school over creative dating, a woman will design the scale of our dreams.<br />
<br />
In the mean time, I’ve devised my own scientific system for weight-loss accuracy. I now weigh myself in kilograms, and at 104 K I’m feeling pretty darn hot.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-34246903925777680502011-02-01T10:30:00.000-08:002011-02-01T10:30:32.216-08:00The Skinny on Wieght-loss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TUhQGZDhVmI/AAAAAAAAAF4/ai0h4_qnT5Y/s1600/rollypollytummy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TUhQGZDhVmI/AAAAAAAAAF4/ai0h4_qnT5Y/s1600/rollypollytummy.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You know what’s funny about going on a diet? The HUGE number of people, out to make a buck, who think that fat people are either naive or desperate enough to buy their outrageous claims. The other day I saw an ad on TV that promised me rapid and easy weight loss, and all I had to do was rub a special cream made of whale eyeballs and spotted owl feathers on my pockets of fat seven times a day….</div><br />
<br />
Where do I sign up?<br />
<br />
Another clever weight-loss guru suggested eating cotton balls. Yes, those little puffy white things you use to remove nail polish and mascara. The idea was that with your stomach full of indigestible fiber filaments, there wouldn’t be room for anything else … like say food. It makes me gag even to think about it.<br />
<br />
I loved the diet that promised you could sleep your fat away. <br />
<br />
Now there’s a lot of scientific evidence that getting a full eight hours of shut-eye a night helps control chemicals and hormones in your body related to over-eating. But this clown suggested something more along the line of hibernation. Cause see – if you’re asleep you can’t eat, just ask a bear.<br />
<br />
Perhaps my favorite was the diet that recommended eating anything you want on even days and then fasting on odd days. As if the body didn’t understand the concept of roll-over calories.<br />
<br />
Believe it or not, the best diet advice I got came from my son’s basketball coach and he wasn’t even talking to me. The eighth grade team was playing against a team from a neighboring town. This was the third time the two had been matched up, and both times the other team had won. The boys were hungry to even the score and the parents even more so. <br />
<br />
Right from the start there was something different in that game. The ball seemed to be charmed and the team jumped ahead quickly. The score for our side soared, and at half time one of the happy fathers pulled the coach aside and asked him what the boys were doing differently this game.<br />
<br />
His answer?<br />
<br />
“This time we are trying to win not trying not to lose.”<br />
<br />
I thought about that a lot, and I realized there is a subtle difference between the effort to win and the effort to avoid losing. <br />
<br />
Applying it to my weight loss efforts, I’ve tried to look at this whole experience as a journey toward better health, not an attempt to shed a quarter of my body weight. I’m focusing on the foods I should eat that will give me energy and health and provide the most bang for the least calories. <br />
<br />
The second best diet advice I got came from a conference I attended, where the speaker explained that when we stay focused on a goal or an idea, our body naturally works toward that same goal. <br />
<br />
So in other words, my body is not the enemy and isn't purposely trying to thwart my dieting attempts by subterfuge and manipulation? Wow, what a relief.<br />
<br />
Okay so none of those tips will help me shed seven pounds in seven days, or allow me to “think” the fat away, but maybe they will help me face this experience more honestly. I didn’t get fat in seven days, what makes me think I could get thin in that same amount of time?<br />
<br />
Oh dear, I just looked at the clock and it’s time to rub whale eye/spotted owl cream on my pockets of fat again… gotta go.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-44918264902649406352011-01-12T11:01:00.000-08:002011-01-12T11:08:23.006-08:00To Starve or Not to Starve<div align="left" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TS34xTMHo9I/AAAAAAAAAFw/QAFBRQW8N4U/s1600/scale.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TS34xTMHo9I/AAAAAAAAAFw/QAFBRQW8N4U/s1600/scale.png" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Inside some of us is a thin person struggling to get out, but they can usually be sedated with a few pieces of chocolate cake. ~Author Unknown</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">When I was young there were certain foods one would associate with going on a diet. For example, breakfast might consist of a half a grapefruit sprinkled with fake sugar and a side of hard, dry, toasted wheat bread. Lunch could be a scoop of non-fat cottage cheese, some carrot sticks and a couple of melba toast crackers. At dinner a moderate green salad, filled with raw vegetables and drenched in a tablespoon of gelatin filled fat free dressing and half of a boiled chicken breast were expected to hold one over till the next morning. No wonder I grew up to be fat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">The problem is, I enjoy eating. A night out at a good restaurant gives me more pleasure than fitting into a pair of skinny jeans… not that I’ve ever actually fit into skinny jeans but I can imagine how it would feel. I crave things that burst with flavor, creaminess that comes from honest to goodness real cream and sugary sweetness with no strange aspartame after taste.<br />
<br />
Still, I’m way overweight. How overweight, you ask… well according to the free online weight program Fitday that I use, if I get too much fatter I will move past the Body Mass Index of obese and fall into the black hole of BMI hell. That is bad! My feet get sore each night after carrying around my bulk all day, and I had to buy a second full length mirror just to make sure that I was wearing the same shoe on both feet.<br />
<br />
To make matters worse, losing weight is hard. According to one expert, the number of people who go on diets compared to those who actually lose and then keep off the weight is so low, it is statistically impossible. And if you add on the sluggish metabolism that comes after menopause… not that I’m admitting to any such age related situation myself… well, you might have a better chance just playing the lottery.<br />
<br />
Oh sure you can down pills or liquids that make your heart race and trade in sleep for early morning reruns of I Dream of Jeannie, or you can buy yourself a gym membership and live there all day for months, camping out in the parking lot during the four or five hours when they shut down. You can even subsist on cabbage soup and lemon water for 42 days… well I couldn’t but perhaps you can. The problem is that the weight lost with these methods isn’t actually lost as much as it’s hidden behind your couch cushions waiting to spring back onto your hips and thighs the second you stop. <br />
<br />
So what’s a girl to do? <br />
<br />
I suppose that once again I am called upon to execute the impossible. To find a way to please my palate, shed that unwanted baby fat (the baby just turned twenty), and beat the odds. I must be the next bulbous shinning light, the portly purveyor of truth, the overflowing full figured freedom from fat fighter! <br />
<br />
In other words, they might want to start looking for someone else to play Santa Claus next Christmas.</span></div><br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">This is the first in a series of humorous looks at the mission to find and release the skinny hostage held against her will within the fat inflated body of her charming but overweight captor.</span>Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-20950564736223510692010-10-11T09:38:00.000-07:002010-10-11T09:38:57.525-07:00Mother – Keeper of the Family’s Guilt<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TLM9b0ytn-I/AAAAAAAAAFo/lf3Kv0VjRj0/s1600/woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 150px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 145px;"><img border="0" ex="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TLM9b0ytn-I/AAAAAAAAAFo/lf3Kv0VjRj0/s1600/woman.jpg" /></a>Sorry for the blog delays. I was under the gun with a project that just refused to get done... </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Have you ever noticed how easy it is for many mom’s to take responsibility for all the problems that occur in their homes, regardless of whether they are actually at fault or not? As if somehow being the all knowing all wise matriarchs implies that we should be able to control the painful influences that affect our families.</div><br />
<br />
Much like the Lady of the Lake in Arthurian legend, we hang onto the Excalibur of guilt, as if by doing so we somehow protect our families from its heartrending sting.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it starts off in the early days when as a young mother, we discover that our lips have the magic power to remove the smart from skinned knees and scratched elbows. Or that a chocolate chip cookie and a few well placed tickles can ease the hurt of a playground rejection.<br />
<br />
However, as the children grow, so do the complexities of their suffering. A kiss and a cookie don’t cut it when a bully is picking on them after school. And there isn’t a mother alive who’s figured out how to repair a heart broken during the throes of rebuffed first love.<br />
<br />
It’s nearly impossible to stand by and watch those we love suffer and not do something to take away the pain, so instead we take on the guilt. We stay up at night worrying, exhausting our brains as we struggle for the solution that will make it all better. <br />
<br />
A few weeks ago my husband complained that the numbers on the scale were creeping up at and unexpected and completely unacceptable rate. <br />
<br />
“Perhaps if I started buying more healthy foods,” I said, “And if we took walks after dinner, and if I used less oil when I cook maybe…”<br />
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“You’re doing it again,” he said with a smile.<br />
<br />
“Doing what?”<br />
<br />
“You’re feeling guilty for me.”<br />
<br />
And he was right. I was taking responsibility for the food and exercise choices he was making. I was feeling guilty, as if somehow I had control.<br />
<br />
“You’ve got to stop that,” he said gently. “You’ll drive yourself nuts.”<br />
<br />
But how does one stop a feeling, even one as negative and destructive as guilt when it has become equated with motherhood? How does one walk into a parent-teacher conference for the class your high school daughter is failing without the fear that somehow you must be at fault. And how do you stand by and watch as your child suffers the repercussions of their own foolish choices without jumping in with both feet and trying to make it go away?<br />
<br />
Then I met a woman whose child lay sick in a hospital bed, suffering from a debilitation disease and I asked her the question, “How do you handle the guilt?”<br />
<br />
She was thoughtful for a moment. “I have to fight it every day because, if I don’t, it will consume me and then I won’t be of use to my child.”<br />
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I nodded as she continued. “I remind myself that there’s nothing I can do, things happen as they will and my anxiety won’t make a difference. Then I pretend that I’m letting it go.”<br />
<br />
“You pretend?” I said in surprise. <br />
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She laughed. “And you know what, it isn’t long before the guilt is really gone, and I can be there to enjoy the good hours and be a strength in the bad.”<br />
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The old fake it till you make it ploy. I’d never thought of that before, but I guess it makes sense. <br />
<br />
So, just as the Lady of the Lake happily relinquished her hold on Excalibur, I’m ready to turn the family guilt back to the family where it belongs. How about you?Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-13412392329605039872010-09-12T17:59:00.000-07:002010-09-12T17:59:36.092-07:00How do Kids Think up These Things?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TI13CPccQsI/AAAAAAAAAFg/9-x8BP4BdiE/s1600/golden+banana.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TI13CPccQsI/AAAAAAAAAFg/9-x8BP4BdiE/s320/golden+banana.png" /></a>As parents we can’t, in good faith, condone our children’s devious behavior… no matter how cleverly they pull it off. However once the kids are asleep, and the bedroom door is shut, it’s sometimes tempting to snicker admiringly at their clever, if ill begotten escapades.</div><br />
<br />
Sometimes they’re just little things, like the time my oldest son poured a whole bottle of white glue into his younger brother’s underwear drawer, and I didn’t realize it for three days. <br />
<br />
Or when my daughter got on her eleven-year-old brother’s Facebook account and, pretending to be him, started flirting with all the girls on his page. He was so embarrassed he refused to go to school the next day.<br />
<br />
But every now and then someone will pull off such a huge, amazing and creative misdeed, it goes down into the annals of family history, to be brought up and recounted for years and years of family reunions and Christmas dinners to come.<br />
<br />
Take the clever young man who, in a fit of anger, tore apart his younger brother’s bedroom. Once the crime was committed and the possible repercussions assessed this same genius managed to convince his whole family and the local police, that a burglar had broken into the house and ransacked the place. It was years and years later before he finally confessed, and when he did, the story became an instant classic.<br />
<br />
One of my favorites is the case of the mysterious kitchen hole. A teenager was goofing off with his friends one morning in the family kitchen, and as often happens, things got out of hand and a hole the size of a rolling-pin ended up marring the otherwise perfect yellow wall. <br />
<br />
Being a quick thinker, the young man grabbed a calendar and tacked it up precisely over the unsightly gap. Fortunately it was April at the time and by the end of December when the calendar was taken down and the hole discovered, no one even thought to suspect him.<br />
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An eight-year-old girl will never live down the tale of pushing her even younger brother off the second floor of the backyard play house in a box. She convinced him to participate by assuring him that the box would glide gently to the ground like a kite. They both learned an important lesson in physics that day and created their own permanent place in the chronicles of family legend. <br />
<br />
However, if tales could be rated on complexity and sheer chutzpah then the golden banana story would surely be the winner.<br />
<br />
Our parents were out-of-town, and my brother was home alone. Despite the strict rules about no social gathering, he planned an elaborate party that included setting up the camping tent in the back yard, an adventure that led completely through the house including the garage and attic and ultimately the digging for buried treasure in the school playground across the street.<br />
<br />
When the police pulled up to the school at eleven-thirty that night, they were convinced that the crazy teenagers tunneling through the tan bark must be either high or drunk. And when my brother explained that they were searching for the Golden Banana, they weren’t reassured. <br />
<br />
However when he produced an actual banana, spray painted metallic gold and resting in my mother’s chest shaped jewelry box, the police dispersed the group quickly with a severe warning about breaking curfew.<br />
<br />
How long this famous event would have remained a secret is unknown if it hadn’t been for the unexpectedly early arrival home of my parents. Telltale clues of dirty dishes in the kitchen, melted candle wax and black crepe paper in the bathroom and the unexpected appearance of the family tent set up on the left side of the house eventually forced a confession.<br />
<br />
I believe my brother was grounded for the better part of his fifteenth year, but the story remained well after his own children were grown; a small price to pay for infamy.<br />
<br />
So the next time your toddler runs out of the bathroom and into the living room where you are entertaining guests, with Kotex pads stuffed into his diaper, or your second grader rips open a double bean bag chair and sprinkles a billion tiny white pellets throughout her room because she wants to pretend it’s snowing, take a deep breath. Remember that these are the moment’s family memories are made of. <em>Then punish them</em>.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-20111780855642310092010-08-28T16:05:00.000-07:002010-08-28T16:09:02.417-07:00Take Time to Sniff the Underwear and Other Time Savers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/THmWBot600I/AAAAAAAAAFY/YMwTPx4iZ8c/s1600/dognose.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/THmWBot600I/AAAAAAAAAFY/YMwTPx4iZ8c/s320/dognose.png" /></a></div>As a mother of six active children, I’m always on the lookout for time savings tips, and I’m not above trying a housework cheat or two. There are so many things I’d rather be doing than scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees like say… anything. And if I can save a few dollars in the process, well I’m euphoric.<br />
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<strong>Tip Number One – Wash Clothes and Dishes without Soap</strong><br />
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A few years back a neighbor was selling these plastic balls that she told me where full of special ionized water. When added to a dishwasher or washing machine, clothing and dishes came out sparkling clean without the use of detergent.<br />
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I was skeptical, but agreed to give them a try. On a Saturday morning I set up my own scientific test. I washed three loads of clothing, one with regular detergent, one with the ion balls and one without adding anything at all. Per her instructions I pretreated all stains before washing them, and amazlingly enough all three loads came out pretty much the same. The dishwasher experiment was equally as surprising. <br />
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Needless to say I returned the ion balls, but it gave me serious pause to think that plain hot tap water just might be the best cleaning agent of all.<br />
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<strong>Tip Number Two – If You Can’t See it, It’s Not Dirty</strong><br />
<br />
This is a trick I learned from my twelve-year-old son who is a master at hiding the entire contents of a dirty room in such a way as to make them disappear. He’s discovered nooks and crannies in his room that I hadn’t imagined even existed. One time he managed to cram all of his dirty clothes behind the sheetrock through a hole in his wall. We weren’t any wiser until strange smells began to fill his room without any noticeable cause.<br />
<br />
Now I don’t recommend hiding dirty clothes for extended periods of time, but I have been known to grab a laundry basket and sweep everything on the surface of a cluttered table inside, before stowing it out of sight. This works well when my mother-in-law calls to say she’s in the neighborhood and wants to drop by.<br />
<br />
<strong>Tip Number Three – The Occupied Bathroom Ruse</strong><br />
<br />
We have three bathrooms, one of which is the exclusive domain of the boys and upon passing through the door, you’d have no doubt about the truthfulness of this statement. It badly needs a new paint job and flooring, especially in the vicinity of the toilet, but we’ve decided to wait until the last guy’s a little older before investing the money to redo it. In the mean time though the guys aren’t bothered, I’m hesitant to have someone walk in there accidentally.<br />
<br />
My trick is to simply lock the door before guests arrive, then direct those that ask to one of the two other facilities. Should someone decide to investigate on their own and find their way to the bathroom of terror, the door will be locked and they’ll be left to assume that the restroom is already in use by someone with a serious and possibly smelly bowl condition. For the rest of the visit they’ll be secretively searching the faces of everyone else in the house, looking for the poor victim.<br />
<br />
<strong>Tip Number Four – Smell the Laundry Before Washing</strong><br />
<br />
A few years ago I went on this kick of riding the kids to clean their rooms. I would scrutinize the furniture and floor each night before bed, and if the room wasn’t up to my exacting standards I’d make the negligent inmate arise from the comfort of his or her cot and finish the job. It only took a few of these nightly inspections before the kids got the idea and made sure their rooms would pass muster before retiring.<br />
<br />
A few days later I noticed a sudden and unexplainable influx of laundry coming through. At first I thought that it was a backlog from all the weeks of sloppy bedroom upkeep. But after a week when the volume didn’t diminish I began to get suspicious, and it was then I noticed how many folded shirts and pants were showing up in their dirty clothing piles. I washed several swimming suits, even though it was the middle of January and there was at least three feet of snow outside, and socks that hadn’t fit my youngest for at least two years where coming through the dryer with frightening regularity.<br />
<br />
The following morning I got up early and hung about the hall watching my children get ready for school. Sure enough as each opened a drawer they would throw five or six outfits onto the floor before located something they liked. Blouses and skirts were knocked off of hangers, and one little boy emptied half the underwear drawer until he found a pair with Spiderman swinging across the back. No doubt by tonight, all these clean cloths would be scooped up and unceremoniously deposited on the laundryroom floor.<br />
<br />
Now, I employ the famous sniff test on all questionable clothing, which has saved me hours of time, and probably gallons of detergent free water. It’s simple really. If a piece of clothing looks questionable, I take a quick whiff. If it smells like lavender, orange blossom or spring morning fabric softener, it goes back to the room and if it smells like… well anything else, into the wash it goes.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-48310817608261442192010-08-17T10:30:00.000-07:002010-08-17T10:30:32.762-07:00The Emergency Room Journey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TGrGoIlZOUI/AAAAAAAAAFI/q2Dy7TYtbio/s1600/angry_doc.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TGrGoIlZOUI/AAAAAAAAAFI/q2Dy7TYtbio/s320/angry_doc.png" /></a></div>A few months ago my daughter had a nasty fall that wrenched her ankle. I was almost positive that it was merely a bad sprain, but she sobbed and screamed that the pain was excruciating and that she was certain she’d heard a bone crunch as she hit the ground. It was a Saturday afternoon (of course) and our normal pediatrician’s office was closed until Monday. Our only option was a visit to the local ER.<br />
<br />
Now, I don’t know about you, but for me an ER visit ranks right up there with walking barefooted over hot coals and sleeping on a bed of nails. It’s a long torturous processes often resulting in physical and emotional pain.<br />
<br />
“Can’t we wait until Monday,” I beg my hysterical daughter.<br />
<br />
“You want me to suffer with a broken foot for two whole days?” She responds in her best abused child voice.<br />
<br />
Which is worse, the guilt trip administered by a skilled teenager or the eternal wait and condescending attitude of an ER trip? Hmmm that’s a toughie.<br />
<br />
I’ve worked in a hospital, and I know that the ER professionals are a skilled and talented group of men and women trained to deal with gunshot wounds, internal bleeding and the occasional missing finger or toe. In fact, I’m sure they’ve chosen to work in the ER because they like the challenge that comes from never being sure what horrible life threatening emergency will come through their door next.<br />
<br />
Maybe that’s why they get so exasperated with guilt ridden mothers or slightly over dramatic young people.<br />
<br />
One Sunday evening my younger son clobbered his older brother over the head with a kitchen bar stool made of wood. Fearful of a concussion I checked the young victims pupils, and asked such questions as “Are you dizzy?” and “Are you nauseous.”<br />
<br />
He replied in the affirmative to both questions, so I rushed him down to the ER. After waiting nearly forty minutes to get into a waiting room, and another thirty to see a doctor, I was humiliated when this same boy assured the doctor that he felt fine and not the least bit sick.<br />
<br />
Once the doctor left, after giving me that “over-protective-mother-wasting-my-time” look that they all have down, I turned to my son who was happily getting dressed to leave and asked him. “Why did you tell me you were nauseous?” <br />
<br />
He shrugged his shoulders. “I thought it meant hungry!”<br />
<br />
As mothers, we have debated at some length about what goes on at the ER desk while we sit in the examining rooms waiting for hours and hours with Nickelodeon or the Disney channel running incessantly in our ears. We’re pretty sure the doctors and nurses are making fun of us, and wondering why the state doesn’t require some kind of competency test in order to be a parent.<br />
<br />
Still whether it’s a bad cold, a failing kidney or as in our case, a bruised ankle that was feeling much better ten minutes after arriving at the ER, the medical personnel get paid either way. And paid well. You can’t go to a doctor’s office or clinic and get the kind of tests that are routinely prescribed by an ER doc.<br />
<br />
“Let’s get an x-ray, a CT scan, a spinal tap, and fourteen vials of blood… and I promise you, she won’t bring her kid in here again unless they have one leg dangling by a piece of muscle.”<br />
<br />
So if it’s such a pain to visit the ER, and I assure you it is! Why do we mothers keep doing it?<br />
<br />
The answer is simple…guilt. Mothers have the unique ability to carry around guilty feelings better than any other creature, human or otherwise, on the planet. What’s more, mothers have the capacity to imagine whole scenarios that include answering questions at the inquest when their son or daughter died, because the seemly innocent headache turned out to be a brain eating parasite. And had they only rushed Junior or Juniorette to the ER when they had the chance, everyone at the wake wouldn’t be staring at them with dismay and judgment in their eyes. <br />
<br />
Sure the chance that a child could die from a brain eating parasite is pretty low, probably even less than winning the lottery or being attacked by a gang of angry girl scouts. But if there is any possible chance… do you want to be the mom that wasn’t cautious enough?<br />
<br />
What this means it that I will continue to be humiliated when I take my child, who acts like she’s on deaths door, to the ER only to find out that her pony tail holder is on too tight. And the ER docs will continue to vent their frustration by taking two hours to do a fifteen minute test. (And yes guys I do know that you do this!)Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-42232012561600847252010-08-10T10:11:00.000-07:002010-08-10T10:11:39.976-07:00The Infamous Diaper Bag Dilemma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TGGHw9K03NI/AAAAAAAAAFA/iCJgLFUlKzI/s1600/CARTOON_BABY-160x159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mx="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TGGHw9K03NI/AAAAAAAAAFA/iCJgLFUlKzI/s320/CARTOON_BABY-160x159.jpg" /></a></div>My daughter and I were shopping for a baby shower gift a few weeks back and had decided to buy the mom-to-be a diaper bag. We stood before a wall literally covered with carry-alls of every style and color, but there was one thing they all had in common. They were huge, practically the size of an ice chest but without the wheels.<br />
<br />
<br />
“Do you think she’ll want something that big?” I asked as I surveyed the selection before me.<br />
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My daughter, the mother of a two-year-old, only laughed. “She’ll probably need two of them at least.”<br />
<br />
She went on to explain that today’s diaper bags have to carry so much more than simply diapers. “There are changing pads, and wet wipes and refills for the wet wipes. You have your baby powder so they don’t get diaper rash, and your diaper rash cream for when they do. You have your plastic, non-porous, odor-free plastic bags to hold poopy diapers and the cute little yellow ducky dispenser that hides them discretely out of sight. And if you’re little darling is a boy, well you have to carry little pee-pee tee-pees.”<br />
<br />
Apparently the pee-pee tee-pee is a paper cone that fits over the little male’s pee spouter to prevent unfortunate accidents. If you run out, you can also use traditional snow cone cups.<br />
<br />
“Then of course,” she continued.”You have to have room for pacifiers, bottles and milk.”<br />
<br />
“I thought she was breast feeding,” I said.<br />
<br />
“Expressed milk for those times when you need someone else to feed the baby, and a large wire-framed cover up blanket for when you do it yourself.”<br />
<br />
I was beginning to get the picture.<br />
<br />
“Then of course there are the clothes. I always carry at least three complete outfits from socks and onesies to coats and hats, four if I’ll be gone longer than an hour. You’d be amazed at the multiple ways an infant can find to soil a set of clothing.”<br />
<br />
I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate.<br />
<br />
“There are the incidentals like baby pain reliever and allergy medicine, a first aid kit, syrup of ipecac, tweezers and a thermometer. A variety of small toys and books, preferably educational in nature, and I always carry a notepad with emergency numbers and medical history for the little guy… just in case.”<br />
<br />
My eyes were starting to glaze over.<br />
<br />
“Now that he’s bigger, I have to include a box of rice cereal and those bland apple snacks that taste like styrofoam. And unless I like driving down the highway with a screaming toddler, I can’t forget the portable DVD player and a selection of Elmo videos.”<br />
<br />
“Wow,” I said. “What a collection. No wonder the bags have to be so big.”<br />
<br />
“But you know what’s really frightening,” my daughter asked, her eyes big and her voice dramatic. “She’s having twins.”<br />
<br />
I’ve never been so happy to be menopausal in my life.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-18374774391444519012010-08-02T10:52:00.000-07:002010-08-02T10:52:39.379-07:00Is it Really a Lie if No One is Deceived<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TFcFJP2gScI/AAAAAAAAAE4/T9kew4BPO3I/s1600/pantsonfire.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TFcFJP2gScI/AAAAAAAAAE4/T9kew4BPO3I/s320/pantsonfire.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liar, liar, pants on fire</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The other day I walked into the kitchen and discovered a plastic bottle of chocolate syrup turned upside down on the counter. It was carefully balanced against the toaster its squeeze top immerged in a slowly growing puddle of brown ooze. <br />
<br />
I don’t know what the rational was for leaving the sticky sweet stuff in such an unlikely position. To be honest, I stopped asking why a long time ago. Suffice it to say, that an hour before when I’d left the house, the counter was clear, and when I returned some would-be Willy Wonka had been at work.<br />
<br />
I turned to my youngest son who was deeply engrossed in a computer game only a few feet away, and I asked the question, “Did you leave the syrup container upside down?”<br />
<br />
Without looking up for his game he responded quickly. “No.”<br />
<br />
“Are you sure? Cause it looks like your work.”<br />
<br />
My husband says this child is naturally destructive, I say he is creative in the damaging sense of the word. One day I found a small black stain on the top corner of his bedroom ceiling. From my vantage point it appeared to be smoke residue. When I called the kid in and confronted him with the mark, he assured me that there had been no fire involved. Black spray paint was at fault. <br />
<br />
Why he was standing on a chair in his bedroom, in the corner with a can of black spray paint to begin with, I’ll never know. And what possessed him to dispense a brief spurt to that lonely spot is also a mystery, but not out of character.<br />
<br />
“No,” he said again, “I didn’t even touch the chocolate. Why would I?”<br />
<br />
“Maybe you wanted to make chocolate milk, but the syrup was all at the bottom,” I suggested<br />
<br />
He glanced up, giving me the look that only an arrogant thirteen-year-old male child can pull off. “Oh yeah, right. Like I’d do that.”<br />
<br />
This is the same kid that spent over an hour at the kitchen sink, when he was suppose to be doing the dishes, mixing Kool-aid powder and dish soap to create florescent pink bubbles that smelled like lemony-fruit punch. By the time I realized what he was up to, the foam had filled the basin and overflowed onto both counter tops and the floor.<br />
<br />
“Why do you always blame everything on me?” he said, the volume in his voice rising with his apparent indignation. “There are lots of other people who live here too.”<br />
<br />
“That’s true,” I said, keeping my voice calm, “But no one else was home. Are you suggesting the dog was messing about with the chocolate syrup?”<br />
<br />
“Maybe,” he said, unmoved by my show of parental logic. “All I know is it wasn’t me.”<br />
<br />
I still made him clean up the mess, despite his constant insistence that he was innocent. and I was being unfair. But it got me to thinking. This young man in smart enough to realize that he’s been caught; the evidence of his guilt is air tight. So why would he continue lying in such a useless defense attempt?<br />
<br />
The conclusion I arrived at is this. Perhaps it isn’t so much about deception as independence. Maybe these pointless arguments are a way of stretching his wings and testing his intellectual faculties against a worthy opponent. <br />
<br />
Through the years of broken toilets, mangled mini-blinds and chunks of wood super-glued to the carpet, I’ve retained a hope that as my son grows his power of thinking outside the box will turn into a force for good. And his determination to cling to his convictions, regardless of the obstacles in his way, will someday be a strength rather than simply an amusing stubborn streak. <br />
<br />
That’s my dream, but in the mean time, if we can just get through today…Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-73722754930463893852010-07-26T10:16:00.000-07:002010-07-26T10:34:07.220-07:00eBooks - What a Concept<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TE3BWxZ4o3I/AAAAAAAAAEw/tcQDdQbbaX8/s1600/forest4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TE3BWxZ4o3I/AAAAAAAAAEw/tcQDdQbbaX8/s320/forest4.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I don’t know how many of you know this, but I recently decided to publish my second novel, <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19020">Sleight of Hand</a>, as an eBook. I haven’t had much luck getting an agent for this project, and since it didn’t cost me anything to list, I figured it couldn’t hurt to have it online. <br />
<br />
<br />
I didn’t know much about eBooks when I started so it’s been an interesting adventure. <br />
<br />
The eBook world carries books from all sorts of genre’s, written in a wide range of skill levels and sporting its own spelling system… hence the term <strong>eBook</strong> not <strong>ebook</strong> or <strong>Ebook</strong> or even <strong>ebOOk</strong>. And unlike traditional publishing where you have to convince some agent or editor that your book is worth their time, in the eBook world all you have to do is cut and paste.<br />
<br />
I’ve been spending time over the last few days perusing the books available on <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19020">Smashwords</a>, one of the sites that carries my book. The books available are an interesting combination of the inane and the ridiculous with a few gems thrown in every now and then. <br />
<br />
I’ve discovered a huge market for books about women getting into bondage type relationships and then becoming confused about who they are… really? Go figure? And Tolkien would be shocked to learn the extensive array of soft porn that passes for Fantasy… or maybe he wouldn’t.<br />
<br />
While browsing through the summaries of some of the newest releases the other day, I came across a few that tickled my funny bone and I thought I’d share them on today’s blog.<br />
<br />
<ul><li>One writer describes her newest novel as:<br />
<br />
<em>an action adventure that is <strong>rich in vocabulary</strong> and real-world adventure.</em><br />
<br />
Rich in vocabulary - which no doubt means there are a lot of different words in her book, an absolute requirement for any good story.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>Another nonfiction writer wants to make sure we know how comprehensively his volume covers the subject.<br />
<br />
<em>A teleological view of the human condition is considered from a bio psycho social techno spiritual perspective. Cultural foundations, scientific advancements and practical apps will be explored as concepts from modern physics,energy medicine,theology,philosophy, psychology,nutrition,the arts,the humanities,and conventional medicine are integrated in meaningful,goal oriented ways.</em> <br />
<br />
What more is there to say?</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>A fantasy novel touted as “A Gender Switch Adventure,” starts off with the ambiguous line, <br />
<br />
<em>Her people conquered, Coruna turned to piracy</em>.<br />
<br />
Did Coruna actually conquer her own people and then head off to sea, or in a state of depression after her people where conquered by someone else, did she run off to join the pirates… and then switch genders? I guess you’d have to read the book.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>The following are a couple of first lines which quite frankly don’t need any commentary what so ever.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth... ...and then he died?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Coralynn Levine does not like people. In fact, she would rather spend her life doing what she does best, killing them.</em><br />
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And of course the ever frustrating scenario<br />
<br />
<em>Alena was just like the rest of the crowd until she realizes that deadly creatures from folklore are real and that she is a key player to their existence</em>.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>Sometimes the authors try to sum up the whole plot in two or three sentences with surprising results.<br />
<br />
<em>Reincarnation ideas spark a child’s coming of age quest for truth about his beloved uncle’s puzzling death, unearthing family secrets that lead to severe consequences…</em> hu?<br />
<br />
<em>Freddie is robbing the place, Victor has come to kill him, Steve is caught in the middle and Holly is looking for a quiet evening at home.</em></li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>One can only assume that the popular book <strong>The Promise</strong> was this writer’s inspiration,<br />
<br />
<em>The essence of our existence on this planet is survival. It is therefore a breath of fresh air to discover a method of success that requires only applying specific principles and strategies to one’s life—the principles and strategies of Universal Sense.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Using universal sense to solve problems… now that is a concept I could get behind.</li>
</ul><br />
<ul><li>And lastly an author who is probably just as lovely, sweet and verbose as her book…<br />
<br />
<em>Let strength give you wings to fly and if you believe, you can touch the sky. "I Believe I Can Fly," is filled with true inspiration that will help guide you through the journey of life's magic ride. May you be intrigued and enlightened for years to come as you soar above the clouds and follow your hopes and dreams!</em></li>
</ul><br />
<em>FYI - </em>You can follow the link above to download Sleight of Hand onto your computer or digital reader for $3.99 at both Smashwords or Amazon.com.<br />
<br />
Also, I've started a new blog the follows my experiences listing and trying to market my eBook at <a href="http://www.ebook-adventure.blogspot.com/">http://www.ebook-adventure.blogspot.com/</a>.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-36133833306259325482010-07-19T10:41:00.000-07:002010-07-19T10:45:21.019-07:00Five Things You Can Only Do If You’re a Ghost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TESOBNexxcI/AAAAAAAAAEo/YVoG4ayiLa8/s1600/ghost.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TESOBNexxcI/AAAAAAAAAEo/YVoG4ayiLa8/s320/ghost.png" /></a>Death and taxes, they happen to everyone, and while taxes happen on a daily basis, death usually happens but once. So I say, if you have to go, then why not enjoy the trip. Not in some morbid zombie like way, and I’m not suggesting an Edward the vampire living-death kind of thing either. No, what I’m talking about it enjoying the whole invisible life after experience.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
1. <strong>You get to watch all the movies and plays you want without paying a dime.</strong><br />
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I’m a big fan of theater but the cost of attending more than a few plays a year can get high. And if you want a view from the first few rows, the price goes up even higher. Not so if you happen to be a disembodied spirit. You can choose the prime locations from which to view every show on Broadway. You want to sit cross legged in the orchestra pit or float lazily above the actors heads? Go for it.<br />
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2. <strong>You can get the best gossip before anyone else.</strong><br />
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No matter how well connected you are on facebook or how lucky your timing is while you’re alive, most of us still have to wait for the juiciest tidbits to make their way to us through the grapevine. But when you’re a see through specter, you can achieve the ultimate in on the spot gossip-getting by literally becoming a fly on the wall. You can actually watch as Perfect Patty, your neighbor from down the street, stuff’s silk scarves in her purse. You’re there when the store security stops her in the parking lot and makes her empty her bag. And when the police arrive to hauling her off to jail, you are close enough to smell her Channel Number 5. All before anyone else has heard a word. And with a whole spirit world of people to share this “secret” with, you could be passing on the shocking details for eternity.<br />
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3. <strong>You can skinny dip and run around the city naked and no one will ever know.</strong><br />
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There’s a sense of freedom that comes from acting out your most embarrassing nightmare in public and not getting caught. It’s kind of like actually telling your boss what you think of him, in any words you choose to use, and then walking back to your desk without losing your job in the process.<br />
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4. <strong>You can visit places like museums and zoo’s whenever you like and beat the crowds.</strong><br />
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Imagine strolling through the Louvre at two in the morning or dancing in the Roman Coliseum in the middle of a private tour. Locked doors, security camera, even laser beams can’t stop a true art loving ghost. And if a sign warns “No Entry Past this Point” they aren’t talking to you. Go ahead, sit on the chair that Thomas Jefferson used when he wrote the constitution, lay on the bed where Cleopatra had her fateful encounter with the poisonous asp or stand on the top of the Washington Monument and sing <em>Jeremiah was a Bull Frog</em> at the top of your voice. You’re dead so you can do what you please.<br />
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5. <strong>You get to hang out with other dead people.</strong><br />
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Think about it. There are actually more dead people around than living people and some of them would have great stories to share. Imagine swapping tall tales with Napoleon Bonaparte or fish stories with Jonah. Solve such pressing mysteries as the whereabouts of Miss Amelia Earhart’s plane, the truth behind the Kennedy assassination and whether the King of Rock and Roll is dead and well or pumping gas in a BP station in Pocatello, Idaho. <br />
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Sure being alive is great, and there is the whole breathing the air, eating real food and enjoying the society of your loved ones stuff. But when that day comes, and it’s time to meet the grim reaper, you can clap the old guy on the back and give him a wink cause there’s no fun like ghost fun.Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-79314147271378483102010-07-13T12:58:00.000-07:002010-07-13T13:01:12.481-07:00The Tale of The Dead Ant<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TDzFPPvrihI/AAAAAAAAAEg/AvBo-CIE-Bg/s1600/ant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" rw="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TDzFPPvrihI/AAAAAAAAAEg/AvBo-CIE-Bg/s200/ant.jpg" width="200" /></a>Sometimes when I begin a blog I have to add a few words of warning before proceeding and so let me do so now. </div><br />
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Warning number one: This blog may embarrass my mother. Yes I know I am a grown woman, and have been grown for many more years than I chose to remember, however I am still completely capable of shaming my poor mother, who did in fact try very hard to teach me all the womanly homemaking skills to which she so excels and to which I so expel.<br />
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Warning number two: This is a crazy busy summer. I’m in the process of working on three books all of which are in the mid or final phases of writing, editing and all of which have interested third parties who are harassing me on a daily basis for final results. The kids are home which means more of everything except quiet writing time. I had to stay up till one three nights in a row to finish a baby quilt I’d agreed to make for a good friend’s, son’s eagle project. And thought I am trying to change my lifelong image (see warning above) I am not a Hannah Homemaker.<br />
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The downstairs bathroom has always been the safe house of toilets when it came to entertaining guests with over filled bladders, and noses in need of wiping. When someone would ask to use the facilities we would point them toward the stairs with the words, “Down and to the left. It’s really the safest one in the house.”<br />
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The reason this bathroom was so designated was first, because only my youngest daughter uses it, and secondly, without brothers to mess it up, she usually keeps it pretty clean.<br />
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So about a week ago this same daughter woke me up at four thirty in the morning to tell me that she had lost-her-cookies all over her bedroom floor and into the bathroom. Now when both she and I were much younger I might have dragged myself out of bed, cleaned up the stinky mess and tucked her into bed. But those days are long over.<br />
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“I’m sorry sweety,” I mumbled. “Just clean it up and go back to bed.” Then I fell asleep and forgot about the whole incident. <br />
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It wasn’t until the following afternoon when the older kids began to complain of a strange odor emanating from the downstairs hall that I recalled my daughter’s sickness from the night before. (Did I mention the memory thing going as I get older?) So I tracked down said child, who was watching chick flicks on her DVD player, and suggested she might want to clean up the bathroom.<br />
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She too remembers the days of her childhood when her job was to spew and my job was to mop up, and she isn’t too happy about the change in responsibility. But after some moaning and complaining and a really dirty look, she finally agreed to handle the problem.<br />
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I returned to my writing, assuming the issue was taken care of. (Remember note above about memory loss).<br />
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Again, she is the only child who uses the bathroom, and I rarely descent into the darker regions of the basement, so it was probably two or three days later when I sent a friend down to use that bathroom. <br />
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Fortunately, this was a very good friend, and when she returned with a strange look on her face, she was quick to explain the dilemma.<br />
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“Have you been into that bathroom recently?” she asked.<br />
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“Uh…. Noooo,” I responded hesitantly. “Why?”<br />
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She grimaced, widened eyes and drew her eyebrows up to her hairline. “You might just want to.”<br />
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Of course, I headed down there immediately and opened the door with more than a little trepidation. <br />
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The floor, normally a white and blue speckled linoleum now had tiny specks of black mixed in. Ants. Dead ants, covered the floor. Hundreds of them, maybe more. It was like those places you hear about in Africa where elephants go to die. My lower bathroom was the doorway to the great ant beyond.<br />
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However, looking closer, I discovered what had been the cause of so many insect’s untimely death. Apparently someone (and I won’t name any names here) in an effort to clean up a mess of already digested food, had poured bubble bath all over the floor. <br />
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To this day I don’t know what the logic was behind this. Maybe she was hoping to let it soak and then come back and mop it up. Maybe it spilled during the cleaning process and she thought if she spread it around it would just dry and harden like wax. Who knows. <br />
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But what it turned out to be was a monumental ant trap. Apparently every black ant in the neighborhood got word of a strawberry scented floor, conveniently located in the basement of a nearby house, and headed over to join in the fun. Little knowing that this room of delight would turn out to be a sticky mess from which they would never come out alive.<br />
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I sighed deeply as is best when confronting a humiliating situation, then turned to my friend.<br />
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“You might have better luck with the restroom at the Mobile gas station down the street.”Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2961674062123522954.post-78221333802244900252010-07-07T07:58:00.000-07:002010-07-07T07:59:08.610-07:00A Cat, A Dog, A Bird -- And A Mouse Under the Basket<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TDSVygQlt2I/AAAAAAAAAEY/FVY73acF4h8/s1600/catmouse.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Cz7YAF3XYkA/TDSVygQlt2I/AAAAAAAAAEY/FVY73acF4h8/s320/catmouse.png" /></a></div><br />
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This is a brief addition to this week’s blog... sort of a late breaking news kind of a thing.<br />
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I got up this morning, showered, dressed and walked into the kitchen and for once I could see the floor.<br />
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For the past week I have been trying very hard to get the kids to pitch in more around the house and to become more adept at washing out their dirty dishes. It's what? Wednesday? So three days down, the rest of the summer to go.<br />
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As I walk into the kitchen I notice a large cylindrical basket, the type where the mesh is large enough that one can easily see into it. It's turned upside down on what looks like a brown fluffy hair ball. I squinted and looked closer and noticed the ball had ears and a tail.<br />
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I dropped down on my hands and knees to get a closer peek and sure enough a small rodent sat miserably on the floor under the basket.<br />
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It looked like a cross between a mouse and a tiny tiny guinea pig, with long fur, and I furrowed my brow in confusion. I live in a hot dry deserty area, what freak of nature would give a poor mouse a heavy summer coat like that.<br />
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On closer inspection, the back legs didn't seem to be functioning and the critter did not look well.<br />
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I stood up and announced to the house hold in my loudest voice, one of those phrases I never could have imagined myself saying before I had children. "Alright, who put the basket over the mouse?"<br />
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The only child up and awake, my youngest son sauntered into the room. "I did."<br />
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"Why?"<br />
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"I didn't want it to get away."<br />
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I don't think it was going anywhere, but at least it kept the household pets away from it.<br />
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This is the same son who accidentally dropped an egg on the floor yesterday morning and then cleaned it up by draping a bath towel over it and walking away.<br />
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So now I'll have to wait for one of my older sons to wake up and dispose of what I hope will be a dead mouse at that point. <br />
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I'm going to have to lay down the law to my dog and cat that is for sure!!!<br />
<p> </p>Deanne Blackhursthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03215383861621611929noreply@blogger.com2