tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-369457352024-03-07T17:29:02.102-06:00The days are JUST packedHonestly, how much can one person do in a day?hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.comBlogger1118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-72304392225817981802013-10-21T12:45:00.002-05:002013-10-21T12:45:55.964-05:00Defending myselfA few weeks ago, I walked into preschool to pick up Elizabeth, and one of the teachers started laughing and said, "Oh mama, do I have a story to tell you." My heart sank. There are lots of embarrassing things Elizabeth could have told her teachers, the question was which one.<br />
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Here's the transcript.<br />
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<b>Classmate:</b> Why do I have to come to school every day? I want to stay home.<br />
<b>Teacher:</b> You come here because your mom and dad go to work. They have jobs and earn money for your family.<br />
<b>Elizabeth:</b> Not my mom. She doesn't have a job.<br />
<b>Teacher:</b> Even if she doesn't work outside the house, it's a big job taking care of you and your brother and sisters. She keeps the house clean and does the laundry and cooks dinner. There's lots of work at home.<br />
<b>Elizabeth: </b>No. She makes me and my brother and sisters do all the work. She doesn't do anything.<br />
<b>Teacher:</b> Well what does she do all day?<br />
<b>Elizabeth: </b>She plays on the computer.<br />
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At this point, I started sputtering. "But I do have a job! I really do. I'm a writer, so it looks like I'm playing on the computer but I'm actually working. And the kids do chores in the house, but I still do most of the cooking and cleaning."<br />
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I was mortified.<br />
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The teacher, however, just laughed, and said that they know not to believe everything the kids tell them.<br />
<br />hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-5946556650212168252013-08-29T19:17:00.004-05:002013-08-29T19:17:46.585-05:00What I did on my summer vacation, Part 1So. . . we've survived the summer, mostly. It's still stupidly hot. Yesterday afternoon I came up with the brilliant plan of going running while Campbell was at soccer practice. It had cooled off all the way to 96 degrees, so I figured I'd be fine. My run quickly turned into a walk and then into a slow shuffle with lots of stops in the shade. In related news, I'm an idiot.<br />
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Anyway. The kids are back at school. Ella is in 7th, Lily is in 5th, Campbell is in 1st, and Elizabeth is in preschool three mornings a week. They are all mostly happy to be back with their friends. Not so happy about the early wake-up calls, though.<br />
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I finally feel like I can sit down and catch my breath. Or, at the very least, I can go for more than five minutes without being asked to referee a "she started it first" argument.<br />
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It was a good summer.<br />
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Ella and I started it off with a trip to South Florida for a climbing comp. We flew into Ft. Lauderdale late on a Thursday night, and ended up not getting to the hotel until 1:00 am Friday. My plan had been to request a late check-out at the hotel, sleep in, and then play on the beach for a few hours. Then I saw the hotel. The place had the word resort in its name. I don't think that word means what they think it means.<br />
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Instead of sleeping late, I woke Ella up early, and we went out for breakfast at the beach. It was lovely. Honestly, I am happiest any place where I can see water and smell salt in the air. I could have sat on the restaurant's deck for hours.<br />
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After breakfast, we went to the beach for an hour and then checked out of the dump. From there, we drove down A1A all the way to South Beach and then over to Key Biscayne. On a whim, I decided to stop at the Miami Seaquarium. I have a big philosophical objection to marine parks, but it disappeared when I watched Ella watching the dolphins.<br />
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She was able to go eye to eye with dolphins and sea lions and otters. And she loved it. She also got to go on the rope course. She was so good at it that the guys running the place couldn't believe it was her first time.<br />
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<i>That's her, way at the top.</i></div>
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After the Seaquarium, we checked into the hotel where the rest of the team was staying. Ella let out an audible sigh of relief and said, "Oh thank goodness" when I opened the door to our room. It was new and spotless and I didn't have to throw my shoulder into the door to get it to close. </div>
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The comp itself was not great. In my humble opinion, it was poorly organized and run. I signed up to volunteer at some of the sessions and ended up unbelievably frustrated at how they were treating the volunteers. Plus, the AC had gone out the night before. So we were in a warehouse, in Miami, in June, with 200 people. By the end of the day on Saturday, it was a sauna. A friend of mine was going to come watch the comp on Sunday, but I waved her off. There was no need for her to sit in there and broil. </div>
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Ella climbed well considering that she missed 9 months due to injury and surgery. She took the disappointment of not making nationals a lot better than I did. I was actually quite proud of how she handled herself. </div>
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Once the comp was over on Sunday, she and I went down to the Keys. I lived in Florida from 1978 through 1994, and I had never once gone to the Keys. When you live within 10 minutes of Siesta Key Beach, there's not much need to go anywhere else. </div>
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We stopped at a little pull-out area and floated around for about an hour. I really wanted to drive all the way to Key West, but I didn't want to drive back from Key West at 9:00 at night, so I resisted the temptation. </div>
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The next day we got up at o'dark early and flew back home to reality, which included three happy kids and one very relieved dog. </div>
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Next up, how I flew to Atlanta with four kids and didn't need to resort to getting drunk. </div>
hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-39071348749415317332013-07-25T16:32:00.001-05:002013-07-25T16:51:59.867-05:00Listserv folliesI had dinner last night with my cousin-in-law, and he and I had a discussion about how the older we get the less patience we have for stupid people. Lately, I seem to be surrounded by stupid people. Either there are more of them around, or my stupid-person sensor is extra sensitive these days.<br />
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Our neighborhood listserv is filled with stupid people. People who make me yell, "Don't you have anything better to do??!!" at my computer. I think the heat of summer is making the stupid people even stupider. I'm ready to move.<br />
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Last summer, the listserv was filled with complaints about non members, misbehaving teenagers, loud music, vandalism and trash at the pool. "Why doesn't the management company do something about this?" people asked. So this summer, the management company hired a pool monitor to make sure everyone signs in, keep the place neat and prevent teenagers from acting too much like punks. Within 24 hours, there was a note on the listserv complaining about the Nazi pool monitor. I think that has to be a record.<br />
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Apparently this particular resident didn't like that Jason the super-friendly pool Nazi dared to tell him that glass isn't allowed on the pool deck. The complaints flowed from this point on. Everyone posted things that the pool monitor did or said that they didn't like. It was insane. It also turns out that several members of our neighborhood threatened the pool monitor with physical harm. Charming.<br />
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At this point, the moderator stepped in and shut down the thread. Peace reigned for about a week, at which point people started complaining about rude teen-agers ding-dong ditching. Each time someone had their doorbell rung, the person would post the time and date to the listserv. One could argue that the continual e-mails were more annoying that kids playing pranks. But I'd never dare suggest such a thing to this group.<br />
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While we were in Atlanta, a listserv announcement arrived with the subject ROBBERY IN HIGHPOINTE! There have been reports of smash and grabs in neighborhoods out here lately - a "cable" truck pulls up in front of a house, the door gets kicked in, and all the electronics disappear. This is what I expected based on the subject line of the e-mail.<br />
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But no.<br />
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Sometime after 10pm the night before, someone had snuck into this resident's yard and stolen 6 - SIX - of their solar-powered landscaping lights. But ha! the joke was on the thieves because they broke two of the lights in the process of yanking them out of the yard. In all likelihood, some bored punk-ass teenagers had yanked the lights out and run off with them. This was not a crime warranting an ALL CAPS e-mail.<br />
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The resident then went on to inform everyone on the listserv that she owned a gun and had every intention of exercising her second amendment rights should any criminals set foot in her yard again. Then came the chorus of "me too" e-mails where other residents begged crooks to make their day.<br />
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I was thisclose to wading in to the thread to point out that a. the 2nd amendment doesn't give you the right to shoot people who walk into your yard, and b. I wasn't so sure I wanted to live in a neighborhood where amateur Dirty Harrys were going to shoot my kids for chasing their ball into the wrong yard. But then I remembered that it's a bad idea to poke the crazy and deleted my draft.<br />
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From there, the threat devolved into a discussion of why we live in a gated community if the gates are never closed and how some people moved here specifically because of the front gates.<br />
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Then we had the four zillion messages reporting door-to-door salespeople in the neighborhood. "At 4:10 a guy from Ben's Bug Service rang my doorbell. I told him to go away" read the typical message. And then everyone else who had met Ben the Bug Guy had to chime in. One resident pointed out that our neighborhood has a "No Soliciting" sign at the entrance and asked what good the sign did if all the door-to-door people just ignored it. Another said she called the sheriff's department to report that a salesman was violating the no soliciting rule and that the person at the sheriff's department had told her they wouldn't do anything about it. The nerve.<br />
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A reasonable person waded on in to the fray and pointed out that our No Soliciting sign has absolutely no legal standing. The sheriff's department is under no obligation to enforce our HOA's rules. That led to more demands for closing the gates during the day.<br />
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This week's furor was started by a message from a resident threatening the "people in the gold minivan - you know who you are" who dared to walk their dogs off leash in an undeveloped section of the neighborhood. The sender complained that the owners were breaking the leash law and being irresponsible pet owners by not picking up their dogs' poop.<br />
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The people in the gold minivan replied, in a self-righteous huff, saying that they believe dogs should be allowed to run free and hunt things and that they have lived here longer than anyone else and have always let their dogs run in undeveloped areas and no one has ever complained before.<br />
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The original posters responded by threatening to call the sheriff if they saw the dogs off leash ever again.<br />
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There were a few more back and forths before the moderator stepped in to remind residents that personal attacks were not allowed. She also pointed out that the management company doesn't even subscribe to the listserv, so posting complaints about the management company and its policies does no good whatsoever.<br />
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Things have been silent for the past 48 hours. But I'm not holding my breath that the peace will last much longer. We're in for a string of 100+ days, and those always bring out the stupid.hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-10260937234010123372013-06-26T15:03:00.000-05:002013-06-26T20:17:07.143-05:00Why I went to the CapitolYesterday something amazing happened in Austin. Our current "governor" and his cronies tried to cram a piece of draconian legislation through the process during a special session. It was an omnibus bill, SB5, containing all the abortion restrictions that they hadn't been able to pass during the regular session, which ended in May. The number of votes needed to pass bills during special session is different than during regular, which means legislators love to try sneaky things.<br />
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Even though I live near Austin, a very, very liberal city, I still feel pretty disenfranchised. My state and national legislators are all right wing republicans who in no way, shape or form represent my political views. I write e-mails to them about things, but I know it doesn't do any good. If I get lucky, I get a form response two weeks later that has absolutely nothing to do with my issue. But I keep sending them, with this glimmer of hope that somewhere in the office, someone is keep tabs on the number of opposing voices they're hearing. Having worked in constituent relations for major elected officials, I know it's a dim hope.<br />
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SB5 was just one more item in the list of things I have felt powerless and voiceless about.<br />
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But then . . . Sunday night during testimony on the bill in front of the Texas House, something amazing happened. Individuals gathered to stage a citizens' filibuster. Testimony from people opposing the law went on for hours and hours. Folks camped out in the hallways of the Capitol through the night. Supporters from around the country started having food delivered to the people waiting to give their testimony.<br />
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The citizens' filibuster only slowed things down for a day, but that was enough for there to be a chance of a filibuster while the bill was up for a vote in the Texas Senate. And one senator, Wendy Davis, with the support of the rest of the Democratic delegation, announced her intent to stage a filibuster. The rules in the Texas Senate are incredibly strict. The speaker has to stay on topic the entire time, cannot sit down or lean against anything, is not allowed to eat or drink or use the restroom. Senator Davis was looking at a minimum of 13 hours on her feet talking nonstop.<br />
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Groups started putting out calls for people to submit testimony on how SB5 would have affected their lives, and Senator Davis's office was inundated with heartbreaking stories from women who had had abortions for one reason or another and who, if SB5 were enacted, wouldn't have had access.<br />
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On FB, I started seeing pictures from friends who were in the gallery to support Senator Davis. They wanted her to know that she wasn't alone during this ordeal. I really, really wanted to be one of those people there in support, but I didn't see a way for it to happen.<br />
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But then, while I was at climbing practice with Ella, I saw more posts on Twitter asking people to come reinforce the crowd in the Senate gallery through midnight. And that's when I decided I was going to go and I was going to take Ella with me.<br />
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In the car we did have a difficult discussion about what abortion is, exactly. I kept my tone neutral and only answered the questions she asked. I emphasized that I was upset because I'm tired of legislators, mostly male legislators, telling women what they can and cannot do with their bodies. I'm tired of being told that we are less than, that our opinions and feelings don't count. I'm just tired of it, and I wanted to stand up and say "No! This isn't right."<br />
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On the way to the Capitol, I envisioned a few hundred people milling around and texted Wendi Aarons to let her know we were on our way. What we found when we got there was beyond belief.<br />
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When we joined the line, we were halfway down the flight of stairs to the second floor. From there, the line went up the stairs and all the way around the rotunda, down a hall, up a second flight of stairs, around the rotunda once, through the Capitol library, around the rotunda again, and then down the hall to the gallery. As spectators left the gallery, guards would let in an equal number of people. </div>
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And here's the thing. No one, and I mean NO ONE, was complaining. Thousands of people standing in line, and there were no problems. No one argued about having to be in line, no one tried to cut or cheat. It was like the happiest, most positive party you could ever imagine. </div>
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Every once in a while a person would come through with a cooler and hand out bottles of water to anyone who wanted one. And then a bag of granola or trail mix would be passed down the line. People let strangers use their phone chargers and took pictures. </div>
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I still get weepy thinking about it. </div>
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After an hour of standing in line in which we managed to make it around the rotunda once, Ella and I gave up and went off to explore. I knew the odds of our making it into the gallery by midnight were slim, and I was just happy that we were there to witness the goings on. </div>
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When we got out of the line, it snaked down to the first floor, across the rotunda, out and back down one wing, to the front door and down the sidewalk. And again, there were no problems. Ella and I went up to the fourth floor just to take in the sight. </div>
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From there we went over to the Capitol Extension and found the auditoriums where CCTV had been set up so people could watch. Both were standing room only. People were yelling and cheering and legislators were popping in to thank everyone for being there. The crowd was men and women and families and people of all ages, and it was amazing. </div>
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We sat on the floor of one auditorium for a while, only to have nothing happen. The president of the Senate, David Dewhurst, had called a point of order, and the legislators were debating the rules of a filibuster away from the microphones. Senator Davis was still not allowed to sit or lean or eat or drink while the debate was ongoing.<br />
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I decided to show Ella around the Capitol. I used to work in the complex and spent a lot of time wandering the halls. The view from the underground rotunda still gets me every time. That's the statue on the top of the Capitol poking up.<br />
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We were back in the main rotunda when word filtered through that Dewhurst had called a third point of order and ended the filibuster. The roar from the crowd was deafening. We stood there for half an hour, joining in. Ella did ask why people were cheering when the bill was going to go through after all. I explained that it was important to make noise and to make ourselves heard, to make sure the Democrats in the Senate chamber knew we were still out there.<br />
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Organizers finally got everyone quiet enough to announce that the Democrats were arguing the point of order and trying to stall for more time. As long as the session ended without a vote being taken by midnight, the bill would fail. So everyone just sat down and waited quietly.<br />
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At this point we heard roars from outside the Capitol. Dewhurst had ordered that the doors be closed and locked and no one else allowed in. Hundreds of people on the steps were chanting "Let Us In!"<br />
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My phone was dying by now, and I my terror of crowds was starting to kick in, so Ella and I left the building and sat on the front steps for a while. We talked to friends, we talked to complete strangers. It was just amazing. I know I keep saying that. But it was.<br />
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Ella desperately wanted to go back in the building, so we went around to the north entrance hoping the line for security would be shorter, but the doors were still locked and no one was being let in.<br />
<br />
So we went home, intending to watch the live feed from the Senate floor. But I fell asleep. Whoops. I woke up at one and went online for updates and was stunned that the whole thing was still going on. I stayed up until just after three, when Dewhurst issued his snippy little statement about how an "unruly mob" had made it impossible to vote on the bill properly before the session ended. <br />
<br />
Now this is a brief victory. There is absolutely nothing stopping "Governor" Perry from calling another special session and bringing the bill back up. In fact, he probably will make an announcement soon. But at least last night, we made our voices heard. We stood up with Senator Davis and said NO.<br />
<br />
I'm beyond proud that I was there to do my tiny part. And I am glad that I was able to show Ella that people can stand up to injustice and have it make a difference, no matter how small.<br />
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There's now a petition afoot to draft Senator Davis to run for governor, and if she does, I will be campaigning for her.hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-59803666898058964712013-05-31T11:07:00.003-05:002013-05-31T11:07:31.842-05:00This is why we can't have anything niceYesterday afternoon I noticed Elizabeth sitting on the floor concentrating hard on an art project. I did a a double take and screamed in horror.<br />
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Her art project was my floor.<br />
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When I sent her to her room, she had the nerve to look surprised.hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-9085911671666844522013-05-02T10:42:00.000-05:002013-05-02T10:42:06.996-05:00TruantThis school year has been a tough one around chez hok health wise.<br />
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Thanks to knee surgery and strep, Ella missed so much school in the fall that we got threatening letters from the school district telling us she'd have to repeat 6th grade. I appealed to the principal and the attendance committee, pointing out that we had informed the school in advance of her knee surgery and had worked with her teachers to make sure she stayed current on her work. As for the strep, we had a note from our doctor saying she was sick and not allowed to go to school. Oh yeah, and she's a straight-A student.<br />
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A week later we got a letter from the principal informing us that they had wiped all of Ella's absences from her record and everything was fine.<br />
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So when I got a letter from Lily's school about her absences, I figured we'd go through the same process. Lily has been sick a lot this school year, and she has missed a lot of days as a result. But I've kept in touch with her teacher, and she has stayed current on her work. She's also a straight-A student.<br />
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All this is to say that when my kids stay home from school it's with my permission and because they are sick. They aren't skipping school to hang out behind the 7-11 and smoke. When I get a recorded message from the school informing me of their absence, it's never a surprise.<br />
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I spoke with the assistant principal at Lily's school about appealing the attendance committee's decision to deny her credit for the school year, and I explained that she really had been ill. I also pointed out that she hasn't fallen behind in her classwork. The assistant principal said she would present my comments to the attendance committee and inform me in writing of their decision.<br />
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Frustratingly, their decision was to make Lily and one of her parents (me) attend credit recovery class for 6 mornings. This means she and I have to be at school by 7:05 and then have to sit in the library doing busy work until 7:40. Lily finished her entire packet of worksheets on her first morning, so today she and I both just sat and read.<br />
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I get that there are families for whom school is not a priority. I get that there are kids who will skip school given the opportunity. I get that schools receive funding based on the number of students in the seats at 10:00 am each day.<br />
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But I also get that Lily is essentially being punished for being sick, and I am being punished for following the district's illness policy.<br />
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The result is that for the next two weeks, Lily and I will hang out in the library being bored, and for the rest of school year, I will be sending Lily to school no matter how high a fever she has or how much she's barfing. I am going to be the mom who sends her sick kid to school to infect everyone else. Yay me. But that's apparently what the attendance committee wants.<br />
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<br />hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-76182910043398685842013-04-23T16:16:00.002-05:002013-04-23T16:18:05.568-05:00The InterviewBack in September I <a href="http://hokgardner.blogspot.com/2012/09/paging-dr-tyson.html" target="_blank">wrote</a> about how Ella had sent an interview request to <a href="http://www.haydenplanetarium.org/tyson/" target="_blank">Neil deGrasse Tyson</a> of the Hayden Planetarium and his office had said yes and then we never heard back. Uncle Ty decided he was a man on a mission, and put a link to my post on a lot of forums he frequents, including the Texas Concealed Handgun Forum. And it worked! We got a nice e-mail from the head of media at Star Talk Radio letting us know that they hadn't forgotten about Ella.<br />
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We did happy dances of joy around the house.<br />
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And then nothing again.<br />
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So Uncle Ty once again decided he was on a mission and started pestering the Star Talk folks.<br />
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Last Monday we received an e-mail from Dr. Tyson's office asking if Ella was available to do a 30-minute Skype session on Friday.<br />
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There was wild joy and celebration. Uncle Ty is now definitely Ella's favorite uncle (who is actually a cousin once removed, not an uncle).<br />
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As we counted down the minutes until our scheduled time, I was a nervous wreck. Ella was calm as could be, acting like interviewing world-famous astrophysicists was an every day thing.<br />
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We had some trouble connecting to his office. You would think Skype would be relatively glitch free, but no.<br />
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When we finally connected, I might have actually gasped out loud, "Oh my gosh, it's HIM." Maybe.<br />
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My biggest worry was that Dr. Tyson would be all "OK. Let's get this over with." I wanted Ella to finish the interview still thinking he was her hero.<br />
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Turns out I shouldn't have worried. Dr. Tyson was incredibly generous with his time - Ella's interview lasted about 45 minutes. He was funny and charming. He could tell that Ella was nervous, so he warmed her up with a few questions.<br />
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I sat off to the side, holding my phone up to record the interview because we hadn't been able to get the app that records Skype to work and grinning like an idiot. It's a good thing Dr. Tyson couldn't see me.<br />
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Ella asked him about string theory, the Large Hadron Collider, going to Mars, Harry Potter, living in Austin, and he answered every single question.<br />
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It was just awesome.<br />
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At the end of the call, he told Ella to take a screen shot of their faces together. She got a big kick out of it.<br />
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Ella has posted a transcript of part of the interview over at her website, <a href="http://magnoliapost.weebly.com/neil-tyson-interview.html" target="_blank">The Magnolia Post</a>. I have posted the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phoU2J2UmGw" target="_blank">full interview</a> over on YouTube. The picture is lousy, but the audio is great. You can even hear me snort laugh when Ella tells Dr. Tyson an inappropriate joke about the Higgs-Boson. In her defense, she didn't realize why the joke was inappropriate.<br />
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Thank you to Dr. Tyson, Elizabeth Stachow, Jeff Simons and Uncle Ty. You all made a 12-year-old science nerd's dream come true.hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-40986059693863275112013-04-16T07:53:00.001-05:002013-04-16T07:53:41.578-05:00BostonI am still reeling about the explosions at the Boston Marathon yesterday. I know others have and will continue to write much more eloquently than I could ever hope to. But, still, here I am writing.<br />
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As I do every year, I watched the marathon online. It was a perfect day for the race, and I ignored my writing deadlines to spectate. I got all misty eyed watching the runners cross the finish. Having finished marathons, I know the feelings of joy and accomplishment and exhaustion the runners were experiencing. I will never be fast enough to qualify for Boston, but I can still celebrate with those who are. </div>
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I turned off the feed after a while and got back to work. Two hours later I went back on line and was shocked at what was in my Twitter feed. It was incomprehensible. This is the Boston Marathon. Bombs don't go off at the Boston Marathon. Who blows up a marathon?</div>
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I ignored my work for the rest of the afternoon and watched for updates from running friends who had been there. At long last, everyone reported in. One friend was walking up Boylston Street to meet her husband at the finish. She was yards away when the first explosion went off. Fortunately, her physical injuries are limited to cuts from flying glass and ringing in her ears.<br />
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For more than 20 years, running has been a huge part of my life, part of who I am at my very core. When things aren't good, I go running. When things are good, I go running. I've met some of my best friends through running. I've run countless races and worked as a volunteer at dozens. This year I volunteered at the finish line of the Austin Marathon. Training for and running the New York City Marathon was one of the best experiences of my life.<br />
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And this is where I lapse into incoherent rambling.<br />
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I don't know what to do or what to say. So this morning I put on my NYC Finisher's shirt, laced up my shoes and did what I know how to do - I went running. </div>
hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-42518154362708063732013-04-02T15:16:00.002-05:002013-04-02T15:16:59.182-05:00Twinsies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This is my dad, runnerdude in the comments. Except he now rides his bike insanely long distances, too, so maybe he should change his name to i'm67andcankickyourassdude. </div>
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Anyway. </div>
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Runnerdude is tall and skinny. When he is not in business casual attire, he wears a pretty standard uniform: jeans or khaki shorts, a t-shirt from a 10k race, and running shoes. He also loves doing crossword puzzles.</div>
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I think one of the best days of his life was when he was finally old enough to qualify for the senior discout at McDonald's. He will drive past Starbucks to get his "senior coffee" at McDonald's. Also, he usually has exact change.<br />
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Last week, Lily had a dentist's appointment, and after she was finished we went to McDonald's for a "yay! no cavities" treat. (I know. I know.) As we were waiting for a our food, a man walked up to the register next to ours to place his order. I would not have paid the least bit of attention to him had he not ordered a "senior coffee" and then handed the cashier exactly 54 cents.<br />
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I turned and looked, and it was like runnerdude was standing right there. The guy was tall and skinny, wearing khaki shorts, a race shirt and running shoes. He took his senior coffee to a table, sat down, and whipped a crossword puzzle out of his pocket.<br />
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I nearly died.<br />
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But it makes me wonder which of them is the evil twin. </div>
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hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-52829753232084639382013-03-27T07:38:00.000-05:002013-03-27T07:38:02.537-05:00Continuing the ConversationI wrote the following post four years ago when Prop 8 was enacted in California. It still says everything I believe about the issue. Since I wrote that post, we've continued the conversation with all the kids in small ways here and there about how any person should be able to marry the person he or she loves.<br />
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*****<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Today I'm going to talk politics, which I don't usually do, because this isn't that kind of blog. I don't know exactly what kind of blog this is, but it isn't a political one. Also, if you're going to leave a hateful comment or send me an e-mail telling me I'm going to hell, don't bother. You're not going to change my mind, and I don't believe in hell, anyway. I'm open to polite discussion, though.</span><br />
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This morning I was listening to NPR while driving the girls to the bus for camp. Of course, the lead story was about the overturning of Prop 8 in California. This led to an interesting and encouraging discussion with Ella about the issue. Lily didn't say much, but I could tell she was listening intently.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Do you understand what the news is about?</div>
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<b>Ella:</b> Yes. It's about whether two girls or two boys can get married to each other, like Aunt P and Aunt S.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<b>Me:</b> Right. The law right now says that only a boy and girl can marry each other, not two girls or two boys.</div>
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<b>Ella:</b> Why can't two girls or two boys marry each other?</div>
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<b>Me:</b> That's a good question. Some people think that it's wrong. Some people say that it shouldn't be allowed because of the bible.</div>
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<b>Ella:</b> What do you think?</div>
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<b>Me:</b> I think that two people, boy-girl, girl-girl, boy-boy, if they love each other and aren't married to anyone else already should be allowed to get married.</div>
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<b>Ella:</b> And they can't be brothers or sisters.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Right, they can't be related.</div>
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<b>Ella:</b> So Aunt P and Aunt S should be able to get married if they want to?</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Yes, if they want to.</div>
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<b>Ella:</b> The only problem I see is that if too many boys get married to boys or too many girls get married to girls, there won't be as many babies born. But I don't think that's going to be a big problem.</div>
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<b>Me: </b>No, probably not. There are lots more straight people than gay people. And gay couples can have children.</div>
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<b>Ella: </b>What do you mean "straight"?</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Well, when a boy likes girls and a girl likes boys, that's called being straight. When a boy likes boys, that's called being gay. There are some people who think that gay people choose to be gay and that they should just choose not to be. But scientists who study the brain say that whether you like boys or girls is part of how your brain works. You don't choose to be gay or straight any more than you choose to have brown hair. </div>
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<b>Ella: </b>Gay also means really, really happy. Like SpongeBob.</div>
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<b>Me (trying not to laugh): </b>Yes, SpongeBob is totally gay.</div>
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The discussion ended there, but I was pleased with how it went. I answered her questions as she asked them and put things in terms she could understand. My hope is that my kids' generation will grow up believing that of course any two adults can get married if they want to.</div>
hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-57842178641510056072013-03-25T10:15:00.000-05:002013-03-25T10:15:00.866-05:00Push and PullI haven't been writing about Ella much, not because I don't love her, which I do, but because she's 12 and I'm very conscious of respecting her privacy. She's had a tough year, but that's her story to tell someday, when she's ready.<br />
<br />
Today I'm breaking my promise.<br />
<br />
Now that Ella is 12, we are getting the full pre-teen treatment. Doors are slammed, eyes are rolled, sighs are heaved. For the most part, we just roll with it, grateful that it's not anything worse. But we definitely see her pushing for more independence and freedom.<br />
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Her teen-age-ness is popping up in some unexpected places. Last Wednesday I picked Ella up from school. As I had done every day for six weeks when she was in the wheelchair, I walked across the school driveway and met her on the sidewalk. She was mortified. Like hand covering her face so her friends wouldn't see her mortified.<br />
<br />
She marched to the car 10 paces ahead of me the whole way.<br />
<br />
Me: So am I not supposed to cross the driveway anymore?<br />
Ella: Eye roll.<br />
Me: I should just wait for you over on the grass?<br />
Ella: Huge sigh<br />
Me: How about I stand over on the grass and yell "Ella, sweetie! Over here baby!"<br />
Ella: You wouldn't dare.<br />
<br />
What she doesn't know is that I absolutely would dare.<br />
<br />
The next morning I had to drop Ella off at school early for a field trip. It was still dark when we arrived, and I didn't see any teachers out supervising, so I parked, intending to get out of the car.<br />
<br />
Ella: You don't need to get out of the car.<br />
Me: I just want to make sure you're in the right place.<br />
Ella: I know where I'm supposed to be.<br />
Me: But I just want to confirm with your teachers.<br />
Ella: You don't need to get out of the car and talk to my teachers.<br />
Me: I don't see anyone here. How do you know it's the right place?<br />
Ella: MOM! I see other kids who are going on the field trip. You don't need to get out of the car.<br />
Me: So what you're saying is that you don't want me to get out of car?<br />
Ella: Uggghhhhhhhhh<br />
<br />
So that's fun. Ella's siblings are not pleased with her attitude, either. She has this need to prove that she is the smartest person in the house. And her sense of righteous indignation about any perceived slights or injustices is tiring.<br />
<br />
But then there are times when Ella reminds me just how awesome a kid she really is.<br />
<br />
On Friday, the middle school was shut down due to a broken water main, and all the students were sent home at 9:00. Ella came home with grand plans to ride her bike to meet friends and go to the playground. I told her she could, and then came the surprising part - she offered to hook the trailer to the bike and take Elizabeth with her.<br />
<br />
Elizabeth was thrilled to go on an adventure with the big girls, and I was thrilled to have an empty house.<br />
<br />
Maybe we will all survive her teen years, after all.hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-39778586860136898762013-03-18T10:11:00.000-05:002013-03-18T10:11:28.824-05:00Campbell's True LoveI had been feeling very much like a neglectful and unloving parent the past few months. Any time another mom asked me what sports my kids did, I'd talk about Ella's climbing and Lily's ballet, and then I'd trail off. I had never enrolled Campbell in any kind of sports or classes or anything.<br />
<br />
So when the e-mail from the Dripping Springs Youth Sport Association arrived announcing registration for spring soccer, I signed Campbell right up. When I told him, he protested that he didn't know how to play soccer, and he wasn't comforted by my suggestions that maybe no one else on the team would either.<br />
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But then we went to get his soccer gear. He wore his shorts, shin guards and cleats everywhere and carried his soccer ball with him. </div>
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On the day of his first practice, he asked me approximately eleventy-mabillion times how long it was until we left. During the practice he ran and laughed the entire time. I'm not sure he had any idea of what was actually going on, but he had so much fun. </div>
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The night before Campbell's first game, B gave the kids the option of staying up late and watching a movie. Campbell announced, in all seriousness, "I should go to bed on time. I do have a soccer game in the morning." And then he went to bed. </div>
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Unfortunately, he poked me awake at 5:15 whispering, "Mom! Mom! Don't forget! I have a soccer game this morning." He was not happy when I told he we still had four hours before we needed to leave. </div>
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B took Campbell to the soccer game while I was at ballet with Lily. About halfway through I got a text that said, "This is what Muppets would look like if Muppets could play soccer." </div>
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That afternoon, Campbell and I talked about his game.</div>
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Me: Did you score any goals?</div>
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C: I don't know.</div>
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Me: Which team won?</div>
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C: I don't know.</div>
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Me: Did you at least have fun?</div>
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C: Yes! And we got popsicles!</div>
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I think soccer's a success. </div>
hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-5481137445340199502013-03-05T11:59:00.001-06:002013-03-05T11:59:28.774-06:00Flashback TuesdayThe kids are all supposed to have their rooms cleaned and ready for inspection by 11:00 am each Sunday. Campbell, Lily and Ella had finished their chores at about 10:55, but Elizabeth was screaming that there was just too much to clean and she needed help. I tried the trick of having her just pick up clothing or just pick up dolls or just pick up five things, and none of them worked.<br />
<br />
So I got mean and told her she had to stay in her room until she had picked up enough things that I could tell the difference.<br />
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<br />
Instead, she emptied the entire contents of her dresser on the floor. The other side of the room was even worse. FeeBee likes to sleep in Elizabeth's room next to the bed, but she couldn't even get to her spot.<br />
<br />
This morning Elizabeth and I worked on getting her room under control. At one point, while standing on her rocking chair with her hands on her hips, Elizabeth told me, "This is the upstairs. Kids can do whatever them wants upstairs."<br />
<br />
As I was convincing Elizabeth that she really didn't need to keep bent wire hangers and wadded-up stickers, I remembered <a href="http://hokgardner.blogspot.com/2008/01/hill-i-died-on.html" target="_blank">this post</a>. And its <a href="http://hokgardner.blogspot.com/2008/01/toy.html" target="_blank">thrilling conclusion</a>.<br />
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Some things never change.hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-44736887489145556482013-02-22T13:56:00.001-06:002013-02-22T13:56:38.395-06:00Just read the bookI have had a lot of favorite books through the decades. In elementary school, <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> and <i>Little Women</i> were at the top of my list. In high school, I was obsessed with <i>Jane Eyre </i> and <i>A Room With a View.</i> During college, I focussed on Jane Austen's rather large catalog. In grad school, I was all about Edith Wharton. I still maintain that <i>Age of Innocence </i> is the best American novel ever written. As a grad school dropout, my favorite books were those that didn't require any thought or analysis. I seem to remember a lot of John Grisham.<br />
<br />
These days, I don't have a favorite. I'm kind of all over the map with what I read. According to Ella, though, my Kindle is filled with nothing but "books about mass murderers, serial killers and assassinated presidents." I'd protest that she was being unfair, but she does have a point.<br />
<br />
Over the years, the books I have always, always come back to, though, are <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> and <i>Little Women.</i> I have read them so many times that my paperback editions disintegrated and are now held together with rubber bands. I swear I could identify my copies by how they smell. I knew passages of each by heart because I had read and reread them.<br />
<br />
I wanted to be Anne. I wanted to be brave and stubborn and willing to crack a slate over someone's head. But as my <a href="http://hokgardner.blogspot.com/2010/10/being-marilla.html" target="_blank">sister once pointed out</a>, I'm much more of a Marilla. I also wanted to be Jo - free spirited and creative and willing to sell her hair to help her family. There were also times I wanted to be Beth. I envied her patience and kindness and beautiful death scene. I never wanted to be the know-it-all Meg or spoiled-rotten Amy, though. Never.<br />
<br />
After Ella was born, I started picking up copies of my favorite childhood books as I saw them. In addition to <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> and <i>Little Women, </i>I couldn't wait to introduce her to <i>Little House on the Prairie, The Phantom Tollbooth, James and the Giant Peach, From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, </i>and <i>Through the Looking Glass</i>, just to name a few.<br />
<br />
When Ella learned to read, I counted the days until she'd be ready for chapter books, stacking my favorites in her room.<br />
<br />
To my everlasting delight, Ella loves reading as much, if not more than, I do. She always has her nose buried in a book.<br />
<br />
So what's the problem?<br />
<br />
She won't read the books I want her to. Absolutely refuses.<br />
<br />
Each time she complains that she is out of books, I helpfully and hopefully hand her one of my favorites. She just rolls her eyes and wanders off to browse the book closet on her own. She has read all of the <i>Harry Potter</i> books many times over, wanting to be Hermione and hoping that her invitation to Hogwarts would arrive on her 11th birthday. She's read all of CS Lewis, which I couldn't stand, and <i>The Hunger Games </i>trilogy, which I have no interest in.<br />
<br />
She's also discovered some cool series like the <i>Mysterious Benedict Society</i> and <i>You Have to Stop This.</i> I've enjoyed reading these books along with her.<br />
<br />
But she still won't read my favorites.<br />
<br />
She finally read <i>Anne of Green Gables </i>last year as part of a school project. When she told me she had been assigned it, I did a happy dance around the room. I knew, just knew, that once she met Anne, she'd want to read the rest of the books.<br />
<br />
Yeah, no.<br />
<br />
When Lily started reading chapter books, I figured I had a second chance to introduce my favorites. I moved all of them into Lily's book shelf and offered them to her each time she asked for something to read. She is most decidedly not interested, and refuses all my suggestions as stubbornly as Ella does.<br />
<br />
Lily's been home all week sick, and I've been suggesting that she go read instead of beg to watch movies. She came in the other day to tell me she didn't have anything on her Kindle that she hadn't read yet. I did a happy dance and loaded <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> on to it. She sighed and rolled her eyes.<br />
<br />
"I don't understand," I said. "This is my favorite book. And it was Aunt Sarah's, too."<br />
<br />
"Yes, but that was you and Aunt Sarah," she replied. "I'm Lily, and I like different things."<br />
<br />
I hate it when my kids are smarter than I am.<br />
<br />
So I have resolved to back off and stop pushing books on the girls. But I still feel like a bit of a failure as a mother, English major, writer and avid reader. Some day, someone is going to look at Ella and Lily with the same shocked look I have, and say, "What do you mean you've NEVER read <i>Anne of Green Gables</i>? How is that possible?"<br />
<br />
Campbell is now reading, but I know better than to try my favorites with him. He came home from the library this week proudly clutching some Star Wars book. Elizabeth is my final chance. Her middle name is Anne-with-an-E. Maybe she'll want to read about her namesake.<br />
<br />
But probably not.<br />
<br />
****<br />
Here are the books I will never, ever try to get my children to read.<br />
<i>Where the Red Fern Grows </i>(honestly, I think I have PTSD from that damn book)<br />
<i>Sounder</i><br />
<i>The Yearling</i><br />
<i>The Summer of My German Soldier</i><br />
<i>Rumble Fish</i><br />
<i>The Outsiders</i><br />
<i>Pollyanna</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-44539370706353934322013-02-18T13:03:00.000-06:002013-02-18T13:03:18.321-06:00Someone talk me out of this<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is Robin Wright on <i>House of Cards.</i> I love her haircut. B and I have been rationing our viewings of the show, but each time we watch, I sigh about how much I want to cut my hair short.<br />
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I have always been willing to experiment with my hair. I've turned all of it pink, I've turned parts of it pink. I've cut off 10 inches for charity. I've cut bangs on a whim. I've bleached it almost white blond and I've turned it deep auburn.<br />
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My philosophy is that it's just hair and it will grow back.<br />
<br />
But I just can't quite talk myself into getting this haircut. I know better. I know it won't work, no matter how much I love it. And I know I will spend the next year wishing I had never cut my hair short.<br />
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How do I know?<br />
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Because this is what happened the last time I cut my hair short. It just sticks up in a lumpy mess. It won't matter how much product I put in it and how much time I spend with a blow dryer or a flat iron. My hair will be a sticky-upy, lumpy mess.<br />
<br />
I've been polling family and friends about whether I should try it. Knittergran says yes. Liz @<a href="http://peaceloveandguacamole.com/" target="_blank">Peace, Love & Guacamole</a> says I should talk to a professional first.<br />
<br />
B says I should get another tattoo.<br />
<br />
What to do? What to do?hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-43347010184786500852013-02-08T09:06:00.000-06:002013-02-08T12:55:38.581-06:00A piece of my childhood is gone<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you seen the news? It turns out that Mary Ingalls, of Little House on the Prairie fame, probably did not go blind from scarlet fever. A new article in the journal <i>Pediatrics</i> proposes that, instead, Mary suffered from meningitis or encephalitis. The article's author, Dr. Beth Tarini, looked through medical records from the era and studied Laura Ingalls Wilder's memoir <i>Pioneer Girl, </i>which was the basis for the Little House books. She also looked at the records from the school for the blind, which Mary attended as a teenager. According to the records, Mary went blind due to a "brain fever." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This has turned my world upside down. It also reminded me of one of my favorite posts ever. I wrote it back in 2010 for a now-defunct site called Deep South Moms. </span></div>
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</v:shape><span style='mso-element:field-end'></span><![endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">My youngest daughter recently had croup (which I call
THE CROUP, complete with jazz hands). When I posted on Facebook that the baby
had croup, my sister's immediate comment was "get the ipecac." I
laughed out loud, because I knew exactly what she was talking about.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">In <i>Anne
of Green Gables, </i>which was our favorite book growing up, Anne saves
Diana's little sister from the croup by dosing her with ipecac.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">Elizabeth
was sick enough that we ended up at the doctor's office. After he had finished
the exam and confirmed my diagnosis, I asked him about the whole ipecac thing.
He laughed when I told him about <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> and said
that he had seen that particular episode while watching the mini-series with
his daughters. Then he told me that giving kids ipecac really was standard
treatment for the time. When he was in medical school, he went to a Q&A
session with an old pediatrician, and one of the other med students asked the
doctor how he would treat croup. The doctor's immediate answer was ipecac. Go
figure.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">My doctor
said that there are two theories on why it worked. First, it's chemically
similar to an opiate, so the baby probably gets good and relaxed, which stops
the coughing fits. Second, it may just make the baby throw up enough that the
coughing stops. Either way, it's not recommended by anyone anymore.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">But all of
this reminded me of the time I diagnosed my oldest with scarlet fever, which I
told the doctor about. Ella, who was three at the time, had already been
in to see him and had tested positive for strep and started antibiotics. But
that night she broke out in a rash all over her chest. I pulled out my trusty <i>Dr.
Spock</i> and decided that it looked like scarlet fever, and I freaked the
heck out.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">I
immediately phoned the on-call pediatrician, who explained that there are
several types of strep and a few of them produce a scarlatina rash, which is
commonly called scarlet fever. This is the rest of our conversation.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">Me: But Beth
in <i>Little Women</i> DIED from scarlet fever.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">Doc: (long
pause) Yes, but that was before they had antibiotics. Ella has already started
taking hers. She'll be fine.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">Me: But Mary
in <i>Little House</i> went BLIND from scarlet fever.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">Doc: (another
long pause) Again, that was before antibiotics. Ella will be fine. I promise.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">My doctor
laughed at the story, but he also made me promise to stop diagnosing my kids
through children's literature.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">***</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When my sister first read <i>Little Women</i> she got to the end and asked what had happened to Beth. When we told her that Beth died, she looked perplexed and said, "The book said she went to a better place. I assumed that meant the beach or something."</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I fully expect the next literary medical discovery to be that Beth did, indeed, go to the beach and lived quite happily in a better place. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And speaking of beloved children's classics, have you seen what a publisher has done to <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2013/feb/08/anne-green-gables-blonde-red-hair" target="_blank">Anne Shirley</a>? Just.No. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">****</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Updated to include a note from my sister: </span></span><span style="line-height: 14.25pt;">This totally leaves out that I was seven or eight and the copy of <i>Little Women</i> I had was abridged and the fact that Beth died was NOT well explained. Mom immediately bought me the full version. I feel like my reading comprehension skills are under attack when you tell the story without all the details</span><br />
</div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-63398020996591907822013-01-30T07:26:00.001-06:002013-01-30T07:26:28.716-06:00Not a viable career choiceThis week at school, Campbell's class has been discussing careers. The teachers have asked parents to send in short videos of themselves at their work place explaining what they do for a living. I don't think a video of me sitting at my kitchen table in my pajamas, drinking tea and cursing writer's block will be of much interest to the kids.<br />
<br />
One of the assignments for the week was to have the kids draw a picture or make a collage representing what they want to be when they grow up. When I told Campbell what he had to do, he looked stricken. "But I'm only 6! I don't know yet."<br />
<br />
After Lily and I reassured him that he could, in fact, change his mind at a later time, he hustled off to draw his picture.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkyBK0CiQDJTFIDx-lnzTXff0YNUhUjad-D22pUW2dIdpbMLLqQX3PV7jZKSjJGn2R74I0do8bydJuOOKEPtowBsFFBh82rYlZNC6vwkqvlFPvxN2C3H5deAbd8KjuhpOz53Mhg/s1600/spider-man.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkyBK0CiQDJTFIDx-lnzTXff0YNUhUjad-D22pUW2dIdpbMLLqQX3PV7jZKSjJGn2R74I0do8bydJuOOKEPtowBsFFBh82rYlZNC6vwkqvlFPvxN2C3H5deAbd8KjuhpOz53Mhg/s320/spider-man.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
Campbell's whole career path depends on his being bitten by a radioactive spider.hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-73545733192931889002013-01-24T09:32:00.001-06:002013-01-24T09:32:24.643-06:00The perfect Christmas giftWhen I was little, we moved to a small town outside Albany, NY called West Sand Lake. It was a very Rockwell-esque place. There was a Woolworth's and the annual Dairy Festival parade. My babysitter was Dairy Festival Queen one year. There wasn't a whole lot to do, other than go to swimming holes, go fishing, and have clambakes. At least those are my memories of the place.<br />
<br />
As with many small towns, West Sand Lake had a volunteer fire department. When we moved to West Sand Lake in 1973, my dad, AKA runnerdude, joined the VFD. Some of my earliest memories involve his being a firefighter. I remember going to the fire station with him to raise and lower the flag, I remember getting to explore the fire trucks, I remember the big radio thing in his closet that went off when there was a fire.<br />
<br />
Runnerdude served on the WSLVFD until we moved to Massachusetts in 1976.<br />
<br />
At some point this fall, runnerdude mentioned to Campbell that he had been a firefighter, and Campbell's eyes got all big. This started me wondering. Did the WSLVFD still exist? Did they sell t-shirts or hats? Could I get one for runnerdude?<br />
<br />
Thanks to da googles, I found the <a href="http://westsandlakefire.org/" target="_blank">West Sand Lake Volunteer Fire Department website</a> in about 10 seconds. Further exploring turned up an e-mail address for the president. So I sent off a note about how my dad had been a member in the 70s and was there any way I could get him a shirt. I really didn't hold out much hope for a response.<br />
<br />
One random evening, my phone rang displaying the 518 area code for Albany. This puzzled me, because while I still have family there, they aren't likely to be calling. Instead it was the head of the WSLVFD membership committee calling about my e-mail. I'll call him Larry.<br />
<br />
I think he was as delighted to talk to me as I was to him. He had me on speakerphone with his wife in the background. He explained that it took so long to reply because they wanted to verify that runnerdude really had been a member. This involved going to the old fire station, climbing in to the attic and sorting through 40-year-old log books. But they found the one that contained runnerdude's information.<br />
<br />
Larry said that he had taken my request and the log book with runnerdude's registration to the membership meeting and put it to a vote. They voted unanimously to send runnerdude a shirt.<br />
<br />
I had a hard time keeping this whole thing secret from runnerdude. I almost slipped up and mentioned the shirt or the call from Larry any number of times. But I'm glad I succeeded. The look on runnerdude's face when he opened the box and then realized what the shirt was was priceless. And he loved the story of Larry's calling to chat.<br />
<br />
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Runnerdude still has his fireman's badge. I sent this picture along with a note from runnerdude off to the WSLVFD thanking them for sending the shirt.<br />
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I love when stuff like this works out.<br />
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<br />hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-27199673774552341762013-01-18T09:55:00.005-06:002013-01-18T11:45:51.113-06:00When good yarn goes badDespite my annual Thanksgiving declaration that I am not knitting anything for anyone at Christmas because I don't have time, I spent the month of December knitting every chance I had. I knit while cooking dinner. I knit while at red lights. I knit in the Nutcracker pick-up line. And it worked. I managed to produce a silk scarf, a shawl, a hat, and a pair of fingerless gloves in record time.<br />
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I'm still on a post-Christmas knitting kick. I finished a pair of socks that have been riding around in my purse for months. The yarn is Unisono Zitron, which is one of my favorites, even if the skein isn't enough for two long socks. I love the rich colors and the way they stripe up. They ended up being a little snug on me, so I gave them to a friend for a very late birthday present.<br />
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While knittergran was here at Christmas, we had to go to Hill Country Weavers down on S. Congress. I walked in swearing that I would not buy a thing, but I walked out with some fabulous sock yarn.<br />
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It's Prism, colorway Maui. The photo really doesn't go it justice. I love the bold colors and couldn't wait to see how they looked in sock form.<br />
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Eh. I'm not so thrilled. The stripes are too small and the colors are muddy. But I'm knitting away. Be nice to me. Maybe you'll end up with the socks.hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-19766810530581890142013-01-15T21:16:00.002-06:002013-01-15T21:16:52.060-06:00The scientific process - updateThank you for all of your comments and e-mails on my last post about Ella's science project. I showed them to her, and I think they helped with the disappointment.<br />
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The GPS on the phone stopped when it was about 20 miles from our house - 290 and Burleson for those who know Austin. Elizabeth and I took a field trip all the way in to the last recorded location, which turned out to be a Honda dealership. Then we spent half an hour wandering through the employee parking lot, looking under cars. At one point I thought I'd spotted the payload and got really excited. But it was just a styrofoam to-go container someone had thrown under a car.<br />
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We have two theories about what happened.<br />
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a. At that point, the balloon got above 30,000 feet, which is about the height that cell phones can no longer pick up a signal. Cell phone towers are very good at sending signals out horizontally, not so much vertically.<br />
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b. The phone froze, literally. One of things we had to sacrifice in our attempts to make the payload light enough was the handwarmer that was supposed to protect everything from the coldness of space. So it's entirely possible that the project was a success but that the phone died.<br />
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At any rate, we have the phone set so that if anyone finds it and manages to get it to power back up, it will display a message asking the finder to call us. So far, no calls. I'll leave the phone activated on our account through the end of the week and then shut it down.<br />
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Fortunately, Ella had another project to finish, which provided a distraction. For math class, the students had to build a toothpick tower that was at least four inches tall and that could support the weight of a baseball. The class worked together to come up with rules about how many toothpicks could be next to each other in a bundle and what supplemental materials were allowed.<br />
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Ella's tower is made of 940 toothpicks and an entire bottle of Elmer's glue.<br />
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On Friday, Ella's class will go to the weight room and see whose tower can hold the most weight. Given the amount of glue in Ella's, I'm guessing hers will be one of the strongest.<br />
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Now we're on to making a Roman shield out of a tri-fold board and duct tape.<br />
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Why does every project have to be so sticky?hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-36658032833249141062013-01-10T11:51:00.002-06:002013-01-10T12:46:36.801-06:00The scientific processWe launched Ella's weather balloon this morning. Conditions were not, shall we say, optimal. The skies were clear, but the wind was whipping through, which made inflating the balloon challenging. And things went downhill from there. Clusterf*ck is the word that comes to mind.<br />
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I took Ella, Elizabeth and all the gear down to the soccer field in our neighborhood. I figured it would be a good place to launch because it was clear of trees and power lines and anything else that might damage the balloon. What I hadn't figured on was that the field would be pretty much underwater. We squished our way to what looked to be dry ground and started setting up. </div>
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It took us about half an hour to get the balloon inflated, and then we attached it to the parachute and payload. Nothing happened. The payload was too heavy, and the balloon just dragged it across the muddy field. Ella chased it down, and we conferred on our options.</div>
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We untied the balloon and worked on eeking every last cubic centimeter of helium out of our two tanks and tried again. </div>
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No luck.</div>
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This time we tied down the balloon and worked on making the payload lighter. We started by removing the heat packs and insulation from the inside of the box and by taking a few of the washers off the thing that is supposed to measure gravity. </div>
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Nothing.</div>
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At this point, Elizabeth retreated to the car and pretended to drive, only honking the horn at us a few times. </div>
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Ella and I got extreme and cut the payload box in half and took off another washer. </div>
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This time the payload hovered a few inches above the ground and got dragged sideways across the soccer field. Ella managed to catch it before everything went in the nearby pond. </div>
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We anchored the balloon again and went back to the car to consider some options. I briefly considered leaving Ella in the field to keep an eye on the balloon and then driving to the store for helium. But the party store isn't open at 8:30am. </div>
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Instead, we redesigned the payload. We got rid of the box and took two pieces of the styrofoam that we had been using as insulation and duct taped them together. Then we attached the gravity thing and Harry Potter and the parachute. That's when we discovered that recording our first hour of failed attempts had drained the phone's battery halfway. </div>
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We plugged the phone in and warmed up in the car, while Ella panicked about how she was going to get a zero on her project and Elizabeth complained that she was bored. </div>
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After 20 minutes, I declared that conditions were as good as they were going to get, and we got out of the car. Ella duct taped the phone to the platform and pressed record, and then she let go. We've placed a lot of faith in the stickiness of duct tape and the battery power of a mostly dead iPhone. </div>
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We worried that the wind was going to carry the balloon in to the trees before it had a chance to gain enough altitude, but fortunately it kept going up and up. </div>
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Now we wait. The last time we got a reading from the GPS tracker, the balloon was headed east toward Manchaca. </div>
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While I drove Ella to school, she had a freakout about how she was going to get a zero on her science project because it wasn't going to work. I reminded her that there was a whole grading rubric and that she had done all the work for the project. If the balloon crashed or the cellphone stopped working, those were conditions out of her control and therefore part of the scientific process. She wouldn't know what would happen unless she tried. I'm not sure she's convinced. And I know she's very disappointed in how everything went. </div>
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When Elizabeth and I got home, I rewarded both of us with mugs of hot chocolate and lots of mini-marshmallows.</div>
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I'll post updates as I have them, even if the update is that we lost track of the phone and can't find the payload. </div>
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It's all part of the process, even if the process is frustrating and disappointing. </div>
hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-14529708230765162382013-01-07T08:16:00.002-06:002013-01-07T08:16:24.430-06:00Science Fair Project RantI hate science fair projects with a passion. I hated them when I was in school, and I hate them now that my kids are doing them.<br />
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I should qualify that I don't hate the experiments themselves. Lord knows, I've had strange things brewing in my kitchen, growing in the refrigerator, and cooking on the sidewalks over the years. Ella loves to experiment, and as long as she's not in danger of blowing herself or the house up, I provide supplies and get out of the way.<br />
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This year's project is to launch a Harry Potter figure into near space using a helium-filled weather balloon. Turns out, you can do that. She's been researching and talking about this for months. I had to sign a permission slip from school acknowledging that I knew what she was up to. She had meetings with a friend about doing it.<br />
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But now here we are, the week the project is due, and panic has set in. We have almost everything we need to launch - the box for payload, the weather balloon, the parachute, the radar reflector, the orange spray paint, the Harry Potter figure, the camera. It's all sitting on my dining room table ready to be assembled.<br />
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Except for two crucial ingredients - helium and a GPS-enabled device to find the payload when it lands.<br />
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Turns out there's a worldwide shortage of helium, and it's hard to find enough to fill party balloons, let alone weather balloons. One party store said we could buy a tank for $300 provided we also bought the 200 balloons that went with it. Ouch. Ella is spending the morning calling welding supply stores to see if she can get a better price.<br />
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The other issue is with the cell phones we were going to use to track it. We have two old iPhones that we should be able to track, no problem. Except they are no longer activated with cell phone service. Every freaking tracking program we've looked at requires cell phone service to work, even the ones that claim to use GPS signals, not cell service.<br />
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So if we can find the helium for a reasonable price, we will be going to the cell phone store to reactivate one of the cell phones. If that works, we'll launch.<br />
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With any luck, the balloon will get up to about 80,000 feet before it bursts, and the parachute will be big enough to control the payload's plummet back to earth, and we'll be able to find the payload and retrieve the camera and cell phone, and the camera will have recorded the trip.<br />
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If all that happens, Ella then has to put it all on a tri-fold display board with pictures and circles and arrows and fancy lettering and colors.<br />
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This is the part of the process I have a huge problem with.<br />
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She has learned all about ascent and descent rates, she's learned how to find the volume of a weather balloon, she's learned about telemetry and how to track things. She knows more about tracking programs than the average 12-year-old.<br />
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I don't understand why all of this has to be translated to fit on a tri-fold display board. Can't she stand up and explain what she did and how she did it and show some cool pictures of Harry Potter against the blackness of space? Nope. She has to make a display, and her grade is based on the display.<br />
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If everything comes together like we're hoping, we'll launch tomorrow at sunrise and find the payload in the afternoon. And then Thursday night at 10:00pm she'll be frantically gluing things to a tri-fold display board and crying.<br />
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I don't even want to think about what will happen if we can't get our hands on any helium. She'll have a display board with pictures of the payload and the parachute and the deflated weather balloons and a very sad Harry Potter figure.<br />
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Yay science.<br />
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<br />hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-71503767172274077322013-01-05T16:20:00.001-06:002013-01-05T16:20:48.441-06:00Oh haiHappy Hanukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy New Year. What did I miss?<br />
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I've got all these posts backed up in my head, but then I think, "I can't write about New Year's until I write about Christmas. And then I can't write about Christmas until I write about Lily and The Nutcracker." And then I give up and watch old episodes of Big Bang Theory.<br />
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So here's the bullet point version:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Lily was an angel in the Ballet Austin production of The Nutcracker again this year. I took a friend who has four boys and never gets to get dressed up and go to the ballet with me to the full dress rehearsal. It was a good thing I saw the full dress, because when I went to buy tickets for any of Lily's shows, they were pretty much sold out. I could have paid $40 each for four seats that weren't together. That's fine for me, but I don't think strangers wanted to sit next to Elizabeth. </li>
<li>Christmas was good. Runnerdude and Knittergran came for the holiday as did my sister and her BF. He passed the kid test with flying colors. Santa was good to everyone. Campbell got a BMX bike like the big boys next door ride, and Elizabeth got a pink scooter. Lily got rollerblades, and Ella got a kindle fire. She's been hugging it ever since. The house was crowded and chaotic but fun. It's exactly what I had in mind when we bought this big house. </li>
<li>Our New Year's was quiet, very quiet. The kids spent the night at their grandfather's house, leaving me and B home to watch movies and marathons on "24." Honest to dog, Jack Bauer is the unluckiest man in history. I began 2013 by taking FeeBee on a rainy, muddy run and testing out my new Garmin. It was a good way to start the year. </li>
<li>The kids are still on winter break. They don't go back until Tuesday. They may not live that long. Or maybe I'll just lock them in the garage until Tuesday morning. </li>
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So there you have it, and I'm all caught up. I'll resume regular programming next week. </div>
hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-2679339719818337512012-12-13T10:02:00.000-06:002012-12-13T10:11:19.926-06:00Tempest in a TeapotHi. Sorry I've been so quiet. I am hip deep in a work project that has left me no time for anything extra. I've taken to knitting in the car at stop lights so that I can Christmas gifts finished.<br />
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But that's not what I'm here to talk about today.<br />
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As I've mentioned <a href="http://hokgardner.blogspot.com/2012/08/guerrilla-grammar.html" target="_blank">before</a>, our fancy suburban neighborhood has a Yahoo listserv group to keep everyone informed of important events, like how to contact someone who wants to sell a wine cooler. Most of the time, the e-mails are harmless and boring - garage sales, lost dogs, found dogs, found keys, and the like.<br />
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Then every once in a while, the vigilantes show up. These folks live for taking pictures of speeding cars and then posting them on the listserv asking if anyone knows who the car belongs to. This, of course, triggers a cascade of e-mails that fall into two groups. First are the "me too!" emails. We get a chorus of people reporting that they saw the very same car doing the very same thing the very same day. Then there are "String them up by their toenails" e-mails. These folks want justice. They want someone, preferably a punk teenager, punished. They want to call the sheriff to patrol our neighborhood 24/7.<br />
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These e-mail chains don't last very long, mostly because something else comes along to spark outrage. Last week the listserv blew up with e-mails about our annual HOA dues. The bill had come, and people were shocked, SHOCKED to find that the full dues amount needs to be paid by January 15. Nevermind that's what the HOA contract we all signed when we all bought houses here specifies.<br />
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In the past, the HOA has allowed quarterly or monthly payments. But this year they want to save money by sending fewer bills and to have more money on hand in the spring when it's time for lots of landscaping maintenance.<br />
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But a nice, reasonable answer from the poor girl at the HOA office wasn't enough. There were multiple e-mails complaining that they didn't get notice of the change, dozens of e-mails saying that no one should have to pay HOA dues because some of the street lights are out and there's a pothole at the entrance. Then there were calls for attorneys and lawsuits against the HOA.<br />
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Things took a turn for the strange when one resident suggested picketing the annual HOA board meeting next week. The idea of these middle-class suburbanites marching in circles, holding signs, and chanting because they don't like the bill from the HOA just cracked me up. Forget civil rights! We want to pay our bill in quarterly installments.<br />
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I told B the board better be ready. Next thing, residents were going to show up at the meeting with pitchforks, torches, tar and feathers.<br />
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At this point, the moderator stepped in said she was shutting the thread down and that everyone was welcome to raise their concerns at the board meeting next week.<br />
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We went back to postings about dogs and garage sales - for about 24 hours.<br />
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The new uproar is how ours is the only neighborhood out here without elaborate Christmas decorations at the entrance. "Rawr! We want our Christmas lights!" So now there have been dozens of e-mails all saying "Where are our lights?" and "Who is responsible for this?" Over and over again. And then there are the e-mails that lecture the developers, like they read this listserv, on how not putting up decoration depresses the prices of houses and no one will want to live here and then they won't be able to sell as many houses and then they will go bankrupt. All because we didn't have Christmas lights on the entrance.<br />
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Earlier this week, one resident sent an e-mail asking why the heck the inside of the amenity center was filled with decorations but not the front entrance. A helpful woman said it was all the social committee's fault because they had decorated for the neighborhood holiday party a few weeks ago.<br />
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Then came the sniffy, passive-aggressive e-mail from the volunteer head of the social committee. Her feelings were very hurt. She had had approval from the HOA to hire a party planner and decorate. She had told the neighborhood multiple times about the planned party. She had requested volunteers to work the party. And even though 150 families out of 500 showed up, only five people volunteered to help. She was just trying to do something nice to build the community y'all, but it seems like no one is interested. So she's taking her ball and going home.<br />
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But the Christmas light controversy has allowed the topic of HOA dues to rear its ugly head again. There are e-mails, some with all caps, saying "See! This is why we don't like paying our dues! We don't even have Christmas lights!"<br />
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As I drove in last night, I noticed someone had flung a balled-up, mass of lights on to the sign at the entrance and plugged them in. I was laughing so hard that I nearly crashed. They may be a mess, but at least we have lights. And I might go out in the dark of night to add to the collection.<br />
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<br />hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36945735.post-47825734262422218172012-11-26T13:18:00.000-06:002012-11-26T13:18:03.468-06:00The Perfect Christmas GiftsI love Christmas catalogs - love, love, love. I love them more than infomercials and the "As Seen On TV" aisle at the CVS. I never buy any of the stuff, because I don't want to be seen carrying something silly out of the store. (Well, there was the shakeweight, but we won't talk about that.)<br />
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Since we moved, I haven't gotten any Christmas catalogs. It turns out, they've all be going to my mother-in-law's house, where we briefly forwarded our mail in between the rental and our new house.<br />
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On Saturday, my mother-in-law delivered all the junk mail that had accumulated over the past few weeks, including a pile of Christmas catalogs. I was in heaven.<br />
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I spent most of the evening gasping and texting pictures to my mom and sister, threatening to buy them the items for Christmas.<br />
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Here are some of my "OMFG what the hell were they thinking" gifts.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6Cunk43NQUwECf_hxl9a_kjvbuMIbz7SP4JuWLt0wV-p9ylcr9Jy7qVgdjtbw3ORHe2j6Dw1ohFZ-HtTLS05kNxyyld26ABbYOZh9o7y1BI_qtKuzMTubv5EmWXe6kIV87AmkQ/s1600/xmas_bannerettes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6Cunk43NQUwECf_hxl9a_kjvbuMIbz7SP4JuWLt0wV-p9ylcr9Jy7qVgdjtbw3ORHe2j6Dw1ohFZ-HtTLS05kNxyyld26ABbYOZh9o7y1BI_qtKuzMTubv5EmWXe6kIV87AmkQ/s320/xmas_bannerettes.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Light-up Thomas Kinkade Bannerettes - buy two because he's dead and they are extra collectible.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgu7To04ydN5dT5FQ-ZJh1gNqtD4g8y45kCagstLAwoFaDbMQLBZiVzpC0t7FSArpqJVMeWyI26GJhQbAekUmu9GW_j2pU4KJ2IPKF_LNBhSHinvuzxy-7x3s8XSM4S_4POFvhSw/s1600/xmas_bible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgu7To04ydN5dT5FQ-ZJh1gNqtD4g8y45kCagstLAwoFaDbMQLBZiVzpC0t7FSArpqJVMeWyI26GJhQbAekUmu9GW_j2pU4KJ2IPKF_LNBhSHinvuzxy-7x3s8XSM4S_4POFvhSw/s320/xmas_bible.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I actually have family members for whom this would be a good gift. I'm looking at you, Uncle T.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgziWJJ6u1YECoGfnQbBvKu2_nG1kia2Czpo5_y5gjf8uZWINJfEJ2lnooag-6pT0a1Ylp0TEHSRFcLFgyV2mAJA6a58KJ3LcIZhPKOQk3WUiRDFP6sqroJX4RCS_3hDm5Orw_Czg/s1600/xmas_chanelier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgziWJJ6u1YECoGfnQbBvKu2_nG1kia2Czpo5_y5gjf8uZWINJfEJ2lnooag-6pT0a1Ylp0TEHSRFcLFgyV2mAJA6a58KJ3LcIZhPKOQk3WUiRDFP6sqroJX4RCS_3hDm5Orw_Czg/s320/xmas_chanelier.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Bottles not included. I suppose you'd have to drink 8 bottles of wine to think this was a good idea.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6BXbHSeY455E8kXlgCyfTnRQlqAMoR9W3XYlqgmvDamSnaHzA2g4toloJicPt_ctLBgmCTW16JRe5VMVMRmT6lxgzh8_MqGO0iltrJcByJKBF6tgwH6Hgj6rO_1PYw1Nqk09Cg/s1600/xmas_deer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6BXbHSeY455E8kXlgCyfTnRQlqAMoR9W3XYlqgmvDamSnaHzA2g4toloJicPt_ctLBgmCTW16JRe5VMVMRmT6lxgzh8_MqGO0iltrJcByJKBF6tgwH6Hgj6rO_1PYw1Nqk09Cg/s320/xmas_deer.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I just can't even. A shower curtain with deer. So you can take target practice while washing your hair?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGS_jVTNwYOUUKvSMDoajR6AKVb5o1156BbhsI6bvte4T2Ka5BzILYVw-8WetGrhZN6NkUOXn_fzow0uuea-SMtwe-d8tqNWwF1kBEjq7Sg6WREZy8Q0fhGCdn-zqm2Mw6UgUIBQ/s1600/xmas_guns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGS_jVTNwYOUUKvSMDoajR6AKVb5o1156BbhsI6bvte4T2Ka5BzILYVw-8WetGrhZN6NkUOXn_fzow0uuea-SMtwe-d8tqNWwF1kBEjq7Sg6WREZy8Q0fhGCdn-zqm2Mw6UgUIBQ/s320/xmas_guns.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Well, we are in Texas. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSanrhcAJ9H5ITCDdqXDTKE4wVOj2n9EMtVgEEZDa5Ky1YwCfzJexWXnJywk6CdIsTP9XEb9Gpv1H53yclQGnuCKCKYebhhxaU6Y-hFJF5YCam16bxD-lca3hbavr-DtoFZSk4Q/s1600/xmas_inflatable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSanrhcAJ9H5ITCDdqXDTKE4wVOj2n9EMtVgEEZDa5Ky1YwCfzJexWXnJywk6CdIsTP9XEb9Gpv1H53yclQGnuCKCKYebhhxaU6Y-hFJF5YCam16bxD-lca3hbavr-DtoFZSk4Q/s320/xmas_inflatable.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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B, Ella and I all think these are awesome. But we all also agree that Campbell would be on his way to the ER about 15 minutes after opening them. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQyNxMR7tecU6aOFH1mWgocMTpcF7enQSxajilUAo8yuTHbeTXEDWQptC_b-mt6-WNLHpMhpLmYXoKFdxuN6Xa9h2AGA7y25xeKbwTm3CkbD3gc5lIp__b31W2PK-B49spm93LA/s1600/xmas_mensjeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQyNxMR7tecU6aOFH1mWgocMTpcF7enQSxajilUAo8yuTHbeTXEDWQptC_b-mt6-WNLHpMhpLmYXoKFdxuN6Xa9h2AGA7y25xeKbwTm3CkbD3gc5lIp__b31W2PK-B49spm93LA/s320/xmas_mensjeans.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Faux jeans with faux rips and faded spots. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-d9Qhmsrt0GXUADVswA-lfwdtkNPhITJkNtRruIsB91hTU87rgsCqSlZSaO5sNa2jHNEDJFhcltEbcpBD35P02MbXDZ7Nu8PPISWhdUv_um5l-3xI4fPc7y3t_s8bgNXbV4N9Xw/s1600/xmas_monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-d9Qhmsrt0GXUADVswA-lfwdtkNPhITJkNtRruIsB91hTU87rgsCqSlZSaO5sNa2jHNEDJFhcltEbcpBD35P02MbXDZ7Nu8PPISWhdUv_um5l-3xI4fPc7y3t_s8bgNXbV4N9Xw/s320/xmas_monkey.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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This was actually the one that started it all. I threatened to the monkey and all the outfits to my sister. Shockingly, Ella didn't want one either. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1q4AZQp-dPYRuaVnu5Hd2yvhz0VI9EEV86B-NddZQdZDJA2RAhqqqOi9ppZwLwgBVPscaD6UyX-Zhzz1SI4ybpX5tWZEmLHm8it5evHNyHKx5IfLVSwrQ5YNmRVvoyD20jnujA/s1600/xmas_pants_w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1q4AZQp-dPYRuaVnu5Hd2yvhz0VI9EEV86B-NddZQdZDJA2RAhqqqOi9ppZwLwgBVPscaD6UyX-Zhzz1SI4ybpX5tWZEmLHm8it5evHNyHKx5IfLVSwrQ5YNmRVvoyD20jnujA/s320/xmas_pants_w.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Faux jeans for the ladies. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvN35Ivs0dw3DxnsPXV1G0kX9iG3hkTtjmmDHZqSvx1CsmBCaMyu2r1hhJmDQsO73Yly_xGcHaA8oFDh2DQaLiGRxfUUqcS1KNf2INDThejNZYgybL7rt22sSvBcXC427cDOzlQ/s1600/xmas_shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvN35Ivs0dw3DxnsPXV1G0kX9iG3hkTtjmmDHZqSvx1CsmBCaMyu2r1hhJmDQsO73Yly_xGcHaA8oFDh2DQaLiGRxfUUqcS1KNf2INDThejNZYgybL7rt22sSvBcXC427cDOzlQ/s320/xmas_shoes.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Nothing says "Klassy with a K" like wine in a shoe.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KHDIZDnHNSnAYkK7zhr26zvgxWBohdWM-Fak91NLkVeYH-BJqSyiMTIvh9yliHMg2qQD47iMiJ6KdorgP-LgofuL63pB8AwU82_vBwbTBEVRV5R4ZoT1TAkJpf3J_e0itDtx4A/s1600/xmas_thermal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1KHDIZDnHNSnAYkK7zhr26zvgxWBohdWM-Fak91NLkVeYH-BJqSyiMTIvh9yliHMg2qQD47iMiJ6KdorgP-LgofuL63pB8AwU82_vBwbTBEVRV5R4ZoT1TAkJpf3J_e0itDtx4A/s320/xmas_thermal.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I sent this one to my friend Amy just in case she needed a gift idea for her husband. She asked if it came with a flap. I'm guessing yes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfM4kegJWWw36dNQuxrzRKeyFzhZBGE7o4n9SzzDC9_bysMf1aMMDBRFpJ_ec0BbP2_4UA9KXshzfrD-dIAJusaV3Guq3qWua0T5N3FjNljFXJUPD7DFe0ZnIC0c2MSFVHg2EXA/s1600/xmas_twirlers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfM4kegJWWw36dNQuxrzRKeyFzhZBGE7o4n9SzzDC9_bysMf1aMMDBRFpJ_ec0BbP2_4UA9KXshzfrD-dIAJusaV3Guq3qWua0T5N3FjNljFXJUPD7DFe0ZnIC0c2MSFVHg2EXA/s320/xmas_twirlers.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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In case you can't read the caption, you put these on the dash of your car (or truck) and they spin when you stop, start or turn. I just can't even. Who thinks of these things?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCLWs3erTMX4mVh6MuxxvYsnuIkI4xCll-C8Gi8r5Hof7Hm9TLAEZi47af9hVcHniP7BpZAu-7F9wJ7Lt0h-4BE4Ptb0OQBbYg4Ce4xA-a9gqg-1JnEBylPBbruUyZ4iJJjh08Q/s1600/xmas_yeti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCLWs3erTMX4mVh6MuxxvYsnuIkI4xCll-C8Gi8r5Hof7Hm9TLAEZi47af9hVcHniP7BpZAu-7F9wJ7Lt0h-4BE4Ptb0OQBbYg4Ce4xA-a9gqg-1JnEBylPBbruUyZ4iJJjh08Q/s320/xmas_yeti.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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People out here in the suburbs take yard decorations very seriously. But I think these might be against deed restrictions. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6taE3x3GOyTc8ue9_vCB-ATsERk8I4tYfqfpc65FiGgJoVmmVYTeivQKXvw-XRcPU3MftPX6gFrEvtNwZK4-DSGzTw6EECEqSiSOt840sBtiThSrqovwDTCOmoOFHPOoN_CAfZw/s1600/xmas_zombie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6taE3x3GOyTc8ue9_vCB-ATsERk8I4tYfqfpc65FiGgJoVmmVYTeivQKXvw-XRcPU3MftPX6gFrEvtNwZK4-DSGzTw6EECEqSiSOt840sBtiThSrqovwDTCOmoOFHPOoN_CAfZw/s320/xmas_zombie.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Because nothing says Christmas like gnarly zombie feet.</div>
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Happy shopping everyone.</div>
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hokgardnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09971689914882302078noreply@blogger.com16