tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86355418461426862062024-03-13T11:11:16.144-07:00Mlog and ClogUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-33167008506513258592017-05-15T15:13:00.001-07:002017-05-15T15:13:17.385-07:00Mother's Day Talk 2017Yesterday I was given the opportunity to speak in my church's congregation. My assigned topic was "Women in the Book of Mormon and the New Testament." I had a somewhat unconventional approach to the topic and had many people ask for copies of the talk afterward. Because of that, I decided to post the transcript of my talk here:<br />
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I have been asked to speak today about an obscure topic. The topic
given to me was “Women in the Book of Mormon and the New Testament”. On face
value, it doesn’t sound that obscure, but once I started researching I realized
just how obscure it is. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Let’s
take the Book of Mormon, for example. There's only six women mentioned by name
in the Book of Mormon and three of those are referencing the Bible (Eve, Sarah,
Mary). Out of the three remaining women, one is a prostitute, so probably not appropriate
to talk about on Mother’s Day, and then I am left with Sariah and Abish - Great women, but my pickings are fairly small
as far as stories to tell. (source:
http://eom.byu.edu/index.php/Women_in_the_Book_of_Mormon)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
women are mentioned generally in the Book of Mormon, there are a few cool
references ("we do not doubt our mothers knew it”), but there's also quite
a few times where women are mentioned as sex symbols (harlots, concubines,
etc). (Source: B of M index: women)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Those
of you on Facebook know that this week I put a little poll in the ward facebook
page asking who your favorite Book of Mormon heroes are. I had thought—“well
maybe even though there’s only a few women mentioned by name, people may really
like those few women or maybe the women who are mentioned but don’t have names are really meaningful and ward members may and
have great insights about them”. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Nephi,
Enos, Moroni, Mormon, Brother of Jared, Benjamin and Abinadi were the heroes
mentioned. And don’t get me wrong—those are great figures in the Book of Mormon
(Enos has always been my favorite), but it doesn’t help me with my fairly obscure
topic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Additionally,
there is no book in the Book of Mormon told through the perspective of a woman.
The Book of Mormon is a book written by men and dominated by male protagonists.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Realizing
that the stories of women during the Book of Mormon times go largely untold may
cause many to feel that the Book of Mormon is a sexist manuscript that can’t be
true. Though I may agree that it is sexist, I contest that this is part of the
testament of it’s veracity. The Book of
Mormon is a part of history and the history of the world has been largely
dominated by sexist beliefs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Political
Science professor and Mormon Scholar Valerie Hudson Cassler wrote, “</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #272a21;">It is very difficult to be raised in one of the Abrahamic
faiths (Judaism, Islam, and Christianity), as I was, and not come away with
some fairly unpleasant conclusions about women. Depending on the religion and
sect involved, one may be taught that the first woman was feeble-minded or a
murderess and that all her daughters are marred by that fact, that a woman’s
body is unclean, that God meant women to submit to their husbands and in
general be subservient to men, and that divinity is male and male alone. (Of
course, echoes of such teachings can be found in other faith traditions besides
the Abrahamic, as well.)” SOURCE: http://mormonscholarstestify.org/1718/valerie-hudson-cassler<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #272a21;">My guess is there are many here
today who have felt this way. Her article later describes one very important
story about a woman that is clarified only in the Book of Mormon – the story of
Eve. In the Bible we learn that Eve tempted Adam and Adam fell and it is easy
to blame Eve for our misery. The Book of Mormon, of course, clarifies this
story and helps us to realize that what Eve did was essential to our existence
on earth. I’ll read an excerpt from 2 Nephi chapter 2:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">18 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And because he <b>[SATAN</b>] had fallen from heaven, and had
become miserable forever, he sought also the misery of all mankind.
Wherefore, he said unto Eve, yea, even that old serpent, who is the devil, who
is the father of all lies, wherefore he said: Partake of the forbidden
fruit, and ye shall not die, but ye shall be as God, knowing good and
evil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">19 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And after Adam and Eve
had partaken of the forbidden fruit they were driven out of the
garden of Eden, to till the earth. <b>[So
at this point, Satan probably thinks he got his way—that Eve did what he said
and therefore people would be miserable forever, just like he was hoping for.
It appears, though, from the next few scriptures, that Eve knew better than
that]</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">20 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And they have brought
forth children; yea, even the family of all the earth. [<b>Of course we know here that they couldn’t
have had children in the Garden of Eden, so this was the only way for us to be
born]<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">21 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And the days of the children
of men were prolonged, according to the will of God, that
they might repent while in the flesh; wherefore, their state became a
state of probation, and their time was lengthened, according to the
commandments which the Lord God gave unto the children of men. For he gave
commandment that all men must repent; for he showed unto all men that they
were lost, because of the transgression of their parents. <b>[Our loving God created an opportunity for
us to be born and then to repent—all because of that decision that Eve made]</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">22 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And now, behold, if Adam had not
transgressed he would not have fallen, but he would have remained in the garden
of Eden. And all things which were created must have remained in the same state
in which they were after they were created; and they must have remained
forever, and had no end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">23 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And they would have had
no children; wherefore they would have remained in a state of innocence,
having no joy, for they knew no misery; doing no good, for they knew
no sin. [<b>So Adam and Eve would have
stayed in this state of perfection, but it wouldn’t have been a state of joy
because they were unable to have all emotions when they couldn’t contrast]<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">24 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But behold, all things have been
done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">25 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Adam fell that men
might be; and men are, that they might have joy. [<b>Though it doesn’t say it in this often
quoted scripture, we know from the scriptures above that Adam would not have
fallen had Eve not eaten of the fruit first. So, in essence, we owe our
existence and our ability to feel joy to the story of Eve]<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">[And in the last verse I’m going
to read to you, we learn God’s solution to the fact that we are born in a
fallen state]:</span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">26 </span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And the Messiah cometh
in the fulness of time, that he may redeem the children of men from
the fall. And because that they are redeemed from the fall they have
become free forever, knowing good from evil; to act for themselves
and not to be acted upon, save it be by the punishment of the law at
the great and last day, according to the commandments which God hath given. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This
scripture passage I read is a very clarifying moment in the Book of Mormon for
women. It turns that Christian-notion that women were the first temptresses on
it’s head and shows that this story – the story of our creation - was really
about Eve and her courage to think outside the box and do things slightly
unconventionally—for the good of the entire world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mormon
Scholar Hugh Nibley expounded on this idea, saying, “it is the woman who sees
through Satan’s disguise of clever hypocrisy, identifies him, and exposes him
for what he is. She discovers the principle of opposites by which the world is
governed and views it with high-spirited optimism: it is not wrong that there
is opposition in everything, it is a constructive principle making it possible
for people to be intelligently happy. It is better to know the score than not
to know it. Finally, it is the “seed of the woman” that repels the serpent and
embraces the gospel: she it is who first accepts the gospel of repentance.”
SOURCE: https://publications.mi.byu.edu/fullscreen/?pub=1065<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;">Let’s
move to the New Testament now—which does have more stories of women.</span></div>
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Those on Facebook also know that the day after I asked for your
Book of Mormon heroes, I asked for your favorite New Testament stories. Not as
many ward members chimed in on that post, but out of the ones who did, one
person mentioned the story in John 8 of Jesus being asked about the woman
accused of adultery. This story reminded me of one of the reasons that I love
the New Testament and the example set by Jesus in it. Christ always treated
women with complete respect and love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Writer Dorothy Sayer, said of how Christ was depicted in the New
Testament, “They [women] had never known a man like this Man—there never has
been such another. A prophet and teacher who never nagged at them, never
flattered or coaxed or patronized…who took their questions and arguments
seriously; who never mapped out their sphere for the, never urged them to be
feminine or jeered at them for being female; who had no axe to grind and no
uneasy male dignity to defend; who took them as he found them and was
completely unself-conscious."<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll read the story from John 8 now, starting in verse 3:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>3 </b>And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him
[<b>JESUS] </b>a woman taken
in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>4 </b>They say unto him, Master, this woman was
taken in adultery, in the very act. <b>[Of
course, if she was caught in the act of adultery, there was a man caught in the
act of it as well, but they weren’t concerned about that]<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>5 </b>Now Moses in the law commanded us,
that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>6 </b>This they said, tempting him, that they might
have to accuse him. But Jesus stooped down, and
with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he
heard them not. <b>[I like how at this
point where these men are taunting him, he doesn’t let it bother him. He merely
gives himself some time to think and for them to cool down]<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>7 </b>So when they continued asking him, he lifted
up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let
him first cast a stone at her. <b>[He’s so matter-of-fact about this. He gives them a clear opportunity
to think of their own actions rather than focus on this poor woman]<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>8 </b>And again he stooped down, and wrote on the
ground.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>9 </b>And they which heard it, being
convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the
eldest, even unto the last: and Jesus was left alone, and the woman
standing in the midst. <b>[so here he put
them in their place. They couldn’t do it anymore and had to leave.]<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>10 </b>When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none
but the woman, he said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no
man condemned thee?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>11 </b>She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto
her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more. <b>[He truly was so quick to forgive and
showed so much love to her.]<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Another example of Christ treating women with respect occurs in
the story of the woman at the well. Christian pastor Greg Cantelmo tells the
story as he depicts it like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We see in the gospels that Jesus treated women with incredible
respect. A classic passage in this regard is Jesus’ interaction with the
Samaritan woman.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="P66_26133"></a><a href="https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women#P66_26132">34</a> This is a remarkable exchange,
since Jesus was not only interacting with a Samaritan, a member of a race that
was despised by Jews,<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="P67_26280"></a><a href="https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women#P67_26279">35</a> but also a woman. And Jesus’
conversation with this woman is probably the most profound discussion of
theology in the gospels. Women were not encouraged to have interaction with
male strangers.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="P68_27705"></a><a href="https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women#P68_27704">36</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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“But Jesus went beyond the cultural ethnic and gender barriers and
treated her as a person who was worth his offer of the living water of eternal
life.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="P70_28304"></a><a href="https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women#P70_28303">37</a> He didn’t treat her in reference to
what others said about her, her accomplishments or possessions, and he didn’t
deal with her based on her appearance. He establishes through this woman that
whoever accepts his offer of living water, that person will receive it. The
woman saw the barrier as ethnic,<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="P71_28622"></a><a href="https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women#P71_28621">38</a>whereas the disciples returned and made
an issue of gender.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="P72_29240"></a><a href="https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women#P72_29239">39</a> But for Jesus, gender and ethnicity
are irrelevant in his offer of salvation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“She comes to the well at noonday, the hottest hour of the day,
which whispers a rumor of her reputation. The other women come at dusk, a
cooler, more comfortable hour. They come not only to draw water, but to take
off their veils and slip out from under the thumb of a male-dominated society.
They come for companionship, to talk, to laugh, and to barter gossip—much of
which centers around this woman. So shunned by these women, she braves the
sun’s scorn. Accusing thoughts are her only companions as she ponders the
futile road her life has traveled. She’s looked for love in all the wrong
places, going from one dead-end relationship to another. For her, marriage has
been a retreating mirage. Again and again she has returned to the matrimonial
well, hoping to draw from it something to quench her thirst for love and
happiness. But again and again, she has left that well disappointed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“And so, under the weight of such thoughts she comes to Jacob’s
well, her empty water jar a telling symbol of her life. As her eyes meet the
Savior’s, he sees within her a cavernous aching, a cistern in her soul that
will forever remain empty unless he fills it. And there she meets Jesus.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="P75_30510"></a><a href="https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women#P75_30509">40</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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“This encounter shows to all women that regardless of past
mistakes, hurts, pain, and failures Jesus wants to fill women with his love
because women are people intrinsically whom he values. Every woman is created
in his image, a daughter of Eve, and he offers the greatest ministry ever;
cleansing, forgiveness, hope, meaning, significance, and a life of power and
purpose.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Source: <a href="https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women">https://bible.org/article/how-jesus-ministered-women</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We see from this and several other stories from the New Testament
how Jesus discussed religion with women. He taught them and clearly felt it was
important that they played an integral role in His gospel. After his ministry,
when he was resurrected, it was women who first found the empty tomb and were
given the responsibility to share the message of the resurrection. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Matthew 28
tells the story:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>1 </b>In the end of the sabbath, as it
began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene
and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>5 </b>And the angel answered and said unto the
women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>6 </b>He is not here: for he is risen, as he
said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>7 </b>And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he
is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there
shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>8 </b>And they departed quickly from the sepulchre
with fear and great joy; and did run to bring his disciples word.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>9 </b>¶ And as they went to tell his disciples,
behold, Jesus met them, saying, All hail. And they came and held him
by the feet, and worshipped him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>10 </b>Then said Jesus unto them, Be not afraid: go
tell my brethren that they go into Galilee, and there shall they see me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This story not only shows the faith of these women, it shows the
importance that Christ placed on their responsibility. He entrusted them to
testify of His resurrection – at perhaps the most crucial time in history.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The scriptures and stories that I’ve shared today were chosen in
hopes to help the women and girls in the congregation who may have struggled
with the gender roles they’ve seen in the scriptures and in the church.
Admittedly, it can be difficult “<span style="background: white; color: #272a21;">to
be raised in one of the Abrahamic faiths … and not come away with some fairly
unpleasant conclusions about women.” My hope and prayer is that this talk has
helped some women to see more clearly the eternal value that women do have.
Women’s opinions should be respected, and women should be empowered. Women’s
skills and minds have been crucial to the existence of humankind and the spread
of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-76432667069457293112015-02-08T16:22:00.001-08:002015-02-09T07:29:46.012-08:00I quit!Around January 16th, Camm and I had this conversation:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Me: Oh, Camm! Isn't everything just going so well right now? </li>
<li>Camm: Yeah, things are just fine.</li>
<li>Me: No, I mean, <i>really</i> well. The girls are just doing everything right. Work is going perfectly, everything is just great.</li>
<li>Camm: um, yeah, I guess so.</li>
<li>Me: I mean, I can't believe how well things are going.</li>
<li>Camm: You stopped nursing a week ago. That's the only difference.</li>
</ul>
<br />
It wasn't until he pointed it out to me that I realized he was right. Life actually wasn't going that much better - in fact Ivory had been growing her molars and hadn't slept all week. The only difference was <i>me. </i>I wasn't a hormonal basket-case of PPD anymore. It had only been a week since I'd quit giving Ivory the boob, and it had felt like the best week of my life. It's now been a month--and it feels like the best month of my life. I didn't realize I was in the trenches of PPD until I got out of it. Sure, I knew I was stressed. I knew I cried a lot. But I thought I was stressed because I have two little girls, two part time jobs, responsibilities at church, and blah blah blah. I didn't know that if you took the PPD out of it, my life would seem fabulous.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Me9yrREXOj4">that Similac commercial</a> went viral with a message to stop the mommy wars.<br />
<br />
Then there was a <a href="http://www.kveller.com/mayim-bialik-dont-fall-for-that-similac-commercial/">backlash from the lactation gurus</a> saying that it was perpetuating a myth that bottles are as good as boobs and making people feel guilty for speaking their mind when they know that boobs are best.<br />
<br />
I know breastmilk is healthier (why else would I have nursed her?).<br />
<br />
That being said, I'm with the Similac commercial. Everyone needs to do what's best for their family.<br />
<br />
Nursing is great for lots of women who love it. I know that many women love the extra bond with their breastfeeding child. I think that's great!<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I don't think it's really necessary for me to be crying all the time. I don't even think that's best for my kids. With both kids I immediately felt better emotionally within days of quitting. I don't think that's a coincidence.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheQRgrPOP7fyE2Mts_NLEdD92p4mXHlRx68DUCzze7uGr_FabKrQ3oG6JfV5OrS8paQCihUQ4sIXCtjEMpFTPSY1SS-Rjt5ROuZW4ZKbkWYKSAUY4UV6fW5zmVMtjvrcgGuL-d7QzHh2xB/s1600/DSCN1033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheQRgrPOP7fyE2Mts_NLEdD92p4mXHlRx68DUCzze7uGr_FabKrQ3oG6JfV5OrS8paQCihUQ4sIXCtjEMpFTPSY1SS-Rjt5ROuZW4ZKbkWYKSAUY4UV6fW5zmVMtjvrcgGuL-d7QzHh2xB/s1600/DSCN1033.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
So rather than making everyone do what we think is best, stop the mommy wars!<br />
<br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2f393a; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 30px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white;">"This topic of judging others could actually be taught in a two-word sermon. When it comes to hating, gossiping, ignoring, ridiculing, holding grudges, or wanting to cause harm, please apply the following: </span><span style="background-color: white;">Stop it! </span><span style="background-color: white;">It’s that simple. We simply have to stop judging others and replace judgmental thoughts and feelings with a heart full of love for God and His children."--<a href="https://www.lds.org/youth/video/stop-judging-others?lang=eng">Dieter F. Uchtdorf</a></span><br />
<br />
PS--Here are some other posts I've had on the topic:<br />
<a href="http://mlogandclog.blogspot.com/2014/10/nursing.html">This one was written a few months ago</a><br />
<a href="http://mlogandclog.blogspot.com/2011/12/so-before-ruby-came-along-camm-and-i.html">This one is a humorous post from after I quit nursing Ruby</a><br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-39121830728176440242014-10-22T20:55:00.000-07:002014-10-22T20:55:49.209-07:008 months and 10 days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Happy 8 months and 10 days to my sweet Ivory girl!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibdWKEID6pZ8ntaEUjPtm2cS6tlLSmVPKrIvMj-Ol1_UlAaFauVN-y29N96O392IFAfuKNvyufwdZBR4PMEwAYQ4ESvhmJE1O0RBVlKtDU9qeaWJL6Ea9cqmGkXHQhUK2nBk5nP7hPOOVq/s1600/DSCN0798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibdWKEID6pZ8ntaEUjPtm2cS6tlLSmVPKrIvMj-Ol1_UlAaFauVN-y29N96O392IFAfuKNvyufwdZBR4PMEwAYQ4ESvhmJE1O0RBVlKtDU9qeaWJL6Ea9cqmGkXHQhUK2nBk5nP7hPOOVq/s1600/DSCN0798.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Readers may wonder what's so significant about 8 months and 10 days. Well, unlike everyone in my facebook newsfeed (who dutifully mark each month of their babies' lives with a sweet picture of them wearing special, clean shirts that state the number of months they are old), I haven't had time to think about her month birthdays, let alone take a picture. So 8 months and 10 days it is. Oh, except that I took this picture a few days ago, or weeks ago, or possibly months ago I guess--I didn't write down the date.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But here goes my attempt to make it up to her:</div>
<br />
<h3>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Ivory Stats at 8 months and 10 days</u></span></b></h3>
<br />
Weight: Not sure, but I think I am getting tendinitis in my wrist if that's any indication.<br />
<br />
Height: Not sure again, but her pants seem to fit fine in the waist and the length--something that her big sister has never experienced as her poor big sister will be wearing high waters for the rest of her life<br />
<br />
Hair: 1 of them is 3'', the rest are 1''.<br />
<br />
Favorite food: Time Magazine<br />
<br />
Second Favorite food: Wood chips at the park<br />
<br />
(I think both of those are healthy, right?)<br />
<br />
Favorite activity: Watching her sister's swimming lessons. She sits on the side of the pool waving her arms up and down in utter excitement. Can't wait for her own lessons.<br />
<br />
Sleep Schedule: Better than some kids, but still exhausting to her mom.<br />
<br />
Enjoys finger paint (note, this is not that she enjoys finger painting, she enjoys finger paint--as in she stuck a bunch in her mouth today while Ruby and I were trying to include her and she was happy as could be about it).<br />
<br />
Sense of humor: Fantastic (She thinks I'm hilarious.)<br />
<br />
Tricks: loves rolling, sitting, playing with toys, tasting toys, tasting any food or anything, knocking over blocks, and tickles.<br />
<br />
Other Trick: Can crawl. OK, that might be an exaggeration, I mean: Can Army crawl. OK, that might be another slight exaggeration as I can't imagine any Army recruiters calling the house any time soon. She can slither forward on her belly at a rate of 3''/hour. Not bad, huh? I'm actually happy as it means Ivory normally stays generally where she was left.<br />
<br />
Cuteness ranking: #1 Cutest baby in the world<br />
<br />
Couldn't be happier to have such a sweet girl (well, unless of course, she were sleeping just a little bit more). Seriously, though, I love her cuddles, her laughs and giggles, the joy she's brought to our family. I love the way she and Ruby are developing their relationship. I love her sense of humor. I love her little personality and I'm so happy that I am blessed to be her mom.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-59675668980011967332014-10-10T14:16:00.001-07:002014-10-10T14:32:56.917-07:00Nursing<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t like breastfeeding.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I figure by starting off the blog post that way, super-duper
breastfeeding advocates can just stop reading and we can avoid a huge slew of
negative comments about my poor mothering skills below (not that I ever have
very many comments on any post anyway). </i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was pregnant with Ruby (now 3) I was sick. Typing the
word “sick” doesn’t do justice to how I felt. My schedule consisted of grad
school and working and puking in between. I’ll spare you the details, but just
know that I was sick.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though I was sick, my pregnancy was a perfectly healthy
pregnancy. Baby developed just fine and there were no complications. I’d try to
convince myself that I was glad we were “healthy”, but it was hard to remember
that when I felt anything but healthy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I couldn’t wait to have my body back. I wanted to be able to
run and swim without throwing up. I wanted to <i>feel</i> normal again. I wanted to be hormonally stable. I felt like
those 9 months would never end.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes (or a lot of the time) I would think about what
was on the other side of the 9 months. I knew I’d have my Ruby girl, I knew <b>I’d
get to bond with her</b>, I knew I’d get to experience what it is like to <b>love my
daughter</b> and <b>I was excited</b>. On the other hand, <b>I was dreading breastfeeding</b>. I
knew that though I wouldn’t be puking my guts out, I wouldn’t have my body back
to normal for a long time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I attended two different breastfeeding classes where they
filled my brain with information about how much better breastmilk is than formula and
gave lists of rules about what I should do to make sure I keep up my milk
supply. I read books and articles about what I was supposed to do. Rather than
helping me prepare and be at ease, I would come home from classes full of
anxiety and worrying about every little thing. <b>I was stressed</b>, to put it
lightly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Months passed and the day finally came where I held my
little Ruby girl. I did get to bond with her, I did get to experience what
loving a little girl is like, and it was exciting! I started breastfeeding
fairly seamlessly. Yes, there were all the normal trials about getting used to
it and the nipples hurting. (There were also the abnormal trials like finding
out I have a 3<sup>rd</sup> lactating nipple—but that’s a story for another
time.) I nursed Ruby regularly. And my stress levels were continually on the
rise. I kept trying to think of all the things that I’d learned in the classes
and books and tried to make sure I did everything right. I kept reminding
myself I had to do it for at least a year because that’s what a good mom does.
<b>And I drove myself crazy</b>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I started school and work again at 2 months, I started
introducing formula. By 4 months she was completely weaned. And I felt
fantastic. I had the flexibility I needed for my work/school
schedule. I continued bonding just fine with the little one. I felt like my
relationship with my husband was much better. <b>In essence, I replaced breastmilk
with a happy mom</b>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three years later Ruby rarely if ever gets sick and is
plenty smart. I've never regretted that decision.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The week before Ruby’s 2<sup>nd</sup> birthday I found out I
was pregnant with Ivory. Again, I had a healthy baby inside me but felt sick.
This time I didn’t feel <i>as</i> sick, but it
was still hard. It was easier mentally to think clearly as I’d gone through it
all before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decided <b>to do everything differently in regards to
breastfeeding</b> this time around. I would read no books, attend no classes and
hardly think about it. I would breastfeed for 1 day and at the end of that day
I would decide if I wanted to do it the next day. <b>That was my only goal: 1 day</b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I finished that day and did it the next day and the next.
Ivory’s now 8 months and I’m still doing it—day by day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel like I’ve learned quite a bit through my two
different nursing experiences and I’d like to outline them here. Some positive
about nursing and some negative:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Nursing really has gotten easier as the baby
gets older. She latches quicker, drinks faster, and (for someone like me who
doesn’t like my boobs in the open) nursing discreetly is easier.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Since I have another kid, nursing is
logistically easier because I don’t have bottles in my already
full-of-dirty-dishes sink; I don’t have to remember bottles/formula in addition
to the diapers, wipes, crackers, toys, and books on our walks to the park; and
when I stumble out of bed in the night to get to Ivory’s crib, I don’t have to
make a bottle in the dark.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Ivory’s still not sleeping through the night. I
know that many 8 month olds aren’t. I read blogs about how babies shouldn’t be
expected to. I also know this might not have to do with breastmilk. The truth
is, though, Ruby was sleeping through the night long before 8 months and that
made life so much easier. Knowing I could get a full night’s sleep every night
did wonders for my mental health that I’m definitely lacking now.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I don’t feel any more bonded to Ivory than I did
to Ruby. I love both of them. I don’t think that breastfeeding has made any
difference on that.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Figuring out my work schedule is really hard.
Pumping isn’t convenient or comfortable or fun. I do it, but I don’t like it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I read blogs or talk to moms who absolutely
love it, I can’t relate at all. I do not feel like it is my calling in life. I
also don’t feel like every mother should do it. I quit with Ruby because <b>I felt
like having a happy mom was more important than her diet</b>. I still think I was
right.</span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m glad I can do it.
I’m glad that I’m healthy, that my baby is healthy and that we can do it. I do
not think any mother should ever feel guilty for not breastfeeding for any
reason. I’m still nursing Ivory one day at a time and we’ll see where it takes
us. I don't know how long it lasts. I know though that you will not see me nursing my daughter on the cover of Time or even hear me gush about how much I love it. I just don't really like it all that much (<i>and I know by saying that I'm still opening myself up to that slew of negative comments on my mothering skills if you breastfeeding advocates made it this far</i>).<br />
______________________________________________________________________________<br />
<br />
<a href="http://mlogandclog.blogspot.com/2011/12/so-before-ruby-came-along-camm-and-i.html">BTW: here's a humorous post I wrote shortly after I quit nursing Ruby: http://mlogandclog.blogspot.com/2011/12/so-before-ruby-came-along-camm-and-i.html</a><br />
_______________________________________________________________________________<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQTjHAgbJ1gYPQTQMk_uP1iNrLOV7VvpvXcxF8z4vwGT0RqMLAZnRtpjNDEVdUDDdpPr7VZHkN3MOzBAWNLK7DtZbkcO-H_89GojmdVlkK66afL6H73hRrx415j6akoVpbRwMmcZDtcB9/s1600/DSCN0696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQTjHAgbJ1gYPQTQMk_uP1iNrLOV7VvpvXcxF8z4vwGT0RqMLAZnRtpjNDEVdUDDdpPr7VZHkN3MOzBAWNLK7DtZbkcO-H_89GojmdVlkK66afL6H73hRrx415j6akoVpbRwMmcZDtcB9/s1600/DSCN0696.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ivory girl</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-85461689922293813742014-09-02T14:18:00.002-07:002014-09-02T14:18:30.391-07:00Snip bits from an average TuesdayI looked over at the phone hook--where normally rests our cordless landline. In its place was a hot pink and purple felt phone that jingles when you shake it. I guess Ruby decided her phone needed a charge more.<br />
<br />
I told Ruby her picture was beautiful. She smiled and said, "Thanks!"<br />
Curiosity struck as I wondered what "thanks" could mean to a three year old aspiring artist.<br />
"Ruby, what does 'thanks' mean?" I asked.<br />
"It means we love each other."<br />
She's right. That is true gratitude.<br />
<br />
Eight minutes into my first ever HIIT workout, I heard the baby cry from her crib. I've never been so happy to hear a cry from her precious mouth. Maybe I'll try HIIT tomorrow.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-4522530425988335982014-03-04T11:51:00.001-08:002014-03-04T11:51:51.039-08:00Our Functional LandlordOur landlord is a fix-it sort of man. He always gets the job done in the most functional, efficient way possible. Unfortunately, his interior design skills could use some work.<br />
<br />
When we first moved in we had a nice fireplace in our living room.<br />
<br />
"Don't use the fireplace," our landlord warned, "because it really loses more heat than it makes. In fact, before winter I'll buy some doors to put on it to keep the cold out."<br />
<br />
I pictured something like this:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://img2-3.timeinc.net/toh/i/steps/fireplace-doors-toutX.jpg" /></div>
<br />
Winter rolled around and he came over. "I just didn't like any of the doors I saw--I don't think they'd really keep the heat in. So I just made something."<br />
<br />
This is what he made:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZ9FrlCxdZaZLC-foUPwqgdu3ELqSkBWZE4o8yM7qs2VaAzeHw9AJbSwK2jc_jN5IT23G93qi36AfdK3g7QBe7A4sfXyH_Dcfl1mr2XUTzt_K4cGGy4JpjjfMUNflzwbx5iFf2kOZHafP/s1600/DSCN0305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZ9FrlCxdZaZLC-foUPwqgdu3ELqSkBWZE4o8yM7qs2VaAzeHw9AJbSwK2jc_jN5IT23G93qi36AfdK3g7QBe7A4sfXyH_Dcfl1mr2XUTzt_K4cGGy4JpjjfMUNflzwbx5iFf2kOZHafP/s1600/DSCN0305.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Functional? Yes. </div>
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Beautiful? Well, that's debatable.</div>
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Recently our toilet was leaking. He looked at it and said, "Oh, it's just sweating because the temperature inside is colder than the room temperature. I just need to insulate it."<br />
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Here's his fix:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABTGKYcfFpPmxksImaLCenZwTJDCBPr-le6w4WmLLCshBzluDErdt1XKkAS92feP4SSxSudY9tmKq5Xjij1kPGFKHGD2TPQ1IcwiyWgSJZ6OblWNdQ8YSER5uGeh9s3hlbYj42LgN9BhR/s1600/DSCN0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABTGKYcfFpPmxksImaLCenZwTJDCBPr-le6w4WmLLCshBzluDErdt1XKkAS92feP4SSxSudY9tmKq5Xjij1kPGFKHGD2TPQ1IcwiyWgSJZ6OblWNdQ8YSER5uGeh9s3hlbYj42LgN9BhR/s1600/DSCN0303.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I thought INsulation was supposed to go on the INside. </div>
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Functional? Yes. </div>
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Beautiful? Well, I don't think that's even debatable.</div>
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Someday we'll own our very own house and can fix things how we want to fix them, right?</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-13989637249744839392014-01-04T16:11:00.003-08:002014-01-04T16:11:47.910-08:00Baby Ivory's due date is 5 weeks from today!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnXfJqf1fGPZ-dFCh4Q4x_xrp3rjYxw1PmKEZrnmewK_PXbpkuQIGVqTxNUxDlWSdwgrK9-pjNCLyN75VZm_y-rfMD6zhmKKuOkkR0gKWpBXL1142yP2hc6pvvXVkulox6sE2LQ6mtS6d/s1600/Ruby+35+weeks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnXfJqf1fGPZ-dFCh4Q4x_xrp3rjYxw1PmKEZrnmewK_PXbpkuQIGVqTxNUxDlWSdwgrK9-pjNCLyN75VZm_y-rfMD6zhmKKuOkkR0gKWpBXL1142yP2hc6pvvXVkulox6sE2LQ6mtS6d/s320/Ruby+35+weeks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">35 weeks pregnant with Ruby</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj428v9UPNKCXLmdU5mIeez5SG05Uwq0US6Dswy-tTnEG7wjs_Q402GaogTn0VHko9w-4VOrzB-ie4VyJlJH-2kTbJzp-k-wMZ_wn5RhOLtrU0oY1Iq-2Omz907RARdo2tsQpL7A8m9Sujn/s1600/Ivory+35+weeks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj428v9UPNKCXLmdU5mIeez5SG05Uwq0US6Dswy-tTnEG7wjs_Q402GaogTn0VHko9w-4VOrzB-ie4VyJlJH-2kTbJzp-k-wMZ_wn5RhOLtrU0oY1Iq-2Omz907RARdo2tsQpL7A8m9Sujn/s320/Ivory+35+weeks.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">35 weeks pregnant with Ivory</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Is it any wonder that my body hurts so much more this time around?</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-29515180302859494462013-12-30T13:55:00.002-08:002013-12-30T13:55:23.244-08:002013: How did it turn out? A list of excuses...A year ago I posted my New Year's Resolutions for 2013 <a href="http://mlogandclog.blogspot.com/2013/01/plans-for-2013.html">here</a>. I just read through the list and I pretty much failed on each one of them... <div>
So rather than be upset about it, I think I'll just post my list of excuses here.<br /><div>
My resolutions will be in gray and my excuses will be in red:</div>
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<b>January</b> – Make it through the whole month without slipping on the snow. If successful, this may be the only January of my life to have succeeded in that (not counting the two Januarys I spent in South America).</div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">Actually, I can't remember whether or not I did. So we'll say that I made it through the month--at least one resolution was off to a good start.</span></div>
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<b>February</b> – Act like a 26 year old. I’ll be nearing my <i>late</i> twenties, and ought to start acting like it.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">As I reread this goal I actually was just stumped, "What does a 26 year old even act like anyway?" So, naturally I did what everyone does when they need the answer to a question--I googled "What does a 26 year old act like?" The first link were the <a href="http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080924212623AARA4mR">Yahoo answers</a>--most of which said 26 year olds should begin looking for a marriage partner. Um, I guess I already did that. So I can't very well do that now. Does that mean I'm acting like a 30 year old? </span></div>
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<b>March</b> – Pinch at least 5 people on St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve always wanted to pinch random strangers I see in the store who don’t have green. This year, I’m going to do it.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">I guess since I'm too much of an adult, I wasn't going to do something so embarrassing.</span></div>
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<b>April </b>– Plan at least three amazing April Fool’s pranks (friends/family: beware!)</div>
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<span style="color: red;">Rather than fooling anyone, I was the fool (you can read about that <a href="http://mlogandclog.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-commute.html">here</a>, I don't really want to remember the details again right now).</span></div>
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<b>May</b> – There will still be snow. My goal will be to set a cap on how much I can complain about it: No more than four times per day.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">I FULLY completed this resolution! In fact I didn't complain about the snow once! (We'll keep it a secret that I moved to Eugene before May and there was no snow here at all)</span></div>
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<b>June</b> – Celebrate Camm’s birthday . . . something comes up every year so I miss it (like I have a baby, or am in a different state, or a different country)</div>
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<span style="color: red;">I was throwing up instead. Happy pregnancy!</span></div>
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<b>July</b> – Take Ruby swimming every day. Don’t forget to get it on video so that when she’s in the Olympics in 19 years they can have it play during the commercials.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">uh, same excuse as above: throwing up instead of swimming every day. Oh well, there's always next year, right?</span></div>
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<b>August</b> – Eat a Pronto Pup at the Tillamook County Fair (haven’t tasted the goodness since 2007 – way too long).</div>
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<span style="color: red;">This is getting repetitive--but throwing up again. Didn't even make it to the fair.</span></div>
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<b>September</b> – Figure out something academic-ish to start since I won’t be starting school.</div>
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<span style="color: red;">Maybe I'll count my 6 month review at my job for this one...? Probably pushing that too much.</span></div>
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<b>October</b> – Plan my Halloween costume more than two hours ahead of time (this will be a first).</div>
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<span style="color: red;">Does planning Ruby's a week or two ahead of time count? If so, I completed this one...if not I'll use the excuse that I was busy being a mom.</span></div>
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<b>November</b> – Embrace my consumerist-American heritage and join in Black Friday (just to see what it’s like).</div>
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<span style="color: red;">I slept in and hung out at my cousins' cabin all day. Why engage in consumerism when you can be lazy, relax and eat leftovers?</span></div>
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<b>December</b> – Celebrate Festivus (somehow we missed it this year).</div>
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<span style="color: red;">Missed it again. Forgot to invite anybody. Pregnancy brain is the excuse, I guess?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">How did I do? Are my excuses good enough?</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-74898793117700037042013-11-11T09:40:00.003-08:002013-11-11T09:40:57.780-08:00Happy Veteran's Day!<div style="text-align: center;">
Happy Veteran's Day to the Veteran who has taught me the most.</div>
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I love you, Mom!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-86714633360789452722013-09-18T13:28:00.001-07:002013-09-18T13:28:24.215-07:00The awaited day...For those who don't know, I'm pregnant! and today I have my 20 week check-up with the ultrasound to find out the gender.<br />
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We have an elderly widow friend down the street who we often visit. The other day she was alarmed to hear we were finding out the gender before the baby comes. "You don't want a surprise?" she seemed rather indignant. "Well, don't tell me what you're having early."<br />
"I want a surprise," I told her. "I just want to have that surprise on the 18th instead of waiting till February." She laughed and told me I had a point and that maybe she would like to find out when we do after all.<br />
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That being said, maybe it's not a surprise that I want really at all--if I could have found out before conception I would have. But, since that's not possible I have done everything I can to guess.<br />
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According to ancient Mayan and ancient Chinese tradition (as explained by google), I should be expecting a boy.<br />
When I took those Mayan/Chinese gender tests I asked Ruby what we should name our baby boy.<br />
"Girl!" she exclaimed emphatically.<br />
"I know you want a girl, Ruby, but if he's a boy, what should we name him?" Again, she told me "Girl". I tried to tell her that we can't name a boy "Girl", but she couldn't see why not.<br />
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A few weeks later I tried asking Ruby what she thought the baby would be, "So Roo, do you think we'll have a boy baby or a girl baby?"<br />
She smiled up at me and said "Cheese baby!" I clarified many times to make sure I was understanding her correctly. There was no misunderstanding.<br />
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This morning Ruby crawled into my bed and starting talking, "My baby brother cute!" So maybe she's decided he's not cheese after all. Camm told her we were taking pictures of the cute baby today and we'd find out if the baby would be a sister or a brother. She kept insisting on calling the baby "my baby brother."<br />
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So in an hour and a half I will be finding out for sure whether I'm having a girl baby, a boy baby, or a cheese baby. Any guesses in the meantime?<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-4588302451548477892013-08-23T20:34:00.001-07:002013-08-23T20:34:53.738-07:00The convincing power of a two year old<div class="MsoNormal">
I was sitting on the toilet today when suddenly Ruby entered
the bathroom stark streaking naked. “Uh hi Ruby!” I’m still getting used to the
idea that my days of privacy in the bathroom are long gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Mama, diaper, diaper!” She was carrying her wet diaper and
obviously concerned about where to put it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Ruby throw it in the garbage. But why are you naked?” She
really hasn’t entered the wanting-to-spend-her-life-naked stage that it seems
like most kids go through. Rather, she hangs out mostly at the other extreme
(always clothed, never wants to be naked, even to change clothes or take a
bath).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before she waited for me to even finish asking she was gone.
A few minutes later she entered with a swim diaper on, “Mama! Swim suit? Swim
Suit?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Um, Ruby I think it’s in the laundry room,” she was gone
before I could add my next thought, “You know it’s just about naptime, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She came back in struggling to get into her inside out
swimming suit, “Help Mama! Swimsuit on peeze!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once the swimsuit was securely
in place she bounded out of the room. By this time I had finished my bathroom
business and followed her. She was headed straight for my closet where my
swimming suit lay in my swim bag. “Mama! Here! Here!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course I obliged. I can’t very well rationalize
discouraging her development of the hobby I love most. Both in our swimming
suits we headed for the backyard. Overcast and chilly—the coldest day of the
summer—we jumped through the hose and screamed from the cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A perfect pre-nap adventure. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-91502349930924122492013-06-22T21:01:00.002-07:002013-06-22T21:01:32.086-07:0027 years of Camm: written by 27 people in Camm's life<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 1 year old, he was an adorable blonde
haired little boy who loved to play in the dirt with his cars and trucks. And
he loved to tear up library books."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Jeana<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s Mother<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDNDSWHGZR_zNiKwo0wBNq4HI3Y0xV59X5BJJdXzVF74vraB0z9lseKytqI_C6vE5kaRcl0UWBudeoFypJQizTM8ZizuOAxMgf6Qo4t8oKY6x89vbGd1zumLD6eLpVgJ7FiqJ9Wau0CdR/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDNDSWHGZR_zNiKwo0wBNq4HI3Y0xV59X5BJJdXzVF74vraB0z9lseKytqI_C6vE5kaRcl0UWBudeoFypJQizTM8ZizuOAxMgf6Qo4t8oKY6x89vbGd1zumLD6eLpVgJ7FiqJ9Wau0CdR/s1600/1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 2 years old, he was a real daddy's
boy. We had so much fun together. When I wasn't at work, we
were inseparable. He would push his toy mower across the grass right
behind me as I mowed the lawn."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Lee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s Father<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IrsInP4ed_83sYqtTuwjGAO7WBWXAy0n1AzTfkotC7_nLnIyvKwgodKHmO3ffFAqauSaX0gF32MliYVQ_ShbiXRY_SoeNPZa51b1JPXU-kj71ez0fH06Q1FF47NrVCSG0g8b9B1B3L97/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IrsInP4ed_83sYqtTuwjGAO7WBWXAy0n1AzTfkotC7_nLnIyvKwgodKHmO3ffFAqauSaX0gF32MliYVQ_ShbiXRY_SoeNPZa51b1JPXU-kj71ez0fH06Q1FF47NrVCSG0g8b9B1B3L97/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was three years old, he was well-behaved
and liked to read.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Grandma Peterson<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWlL2eyTks4Q5md4LY2T-X5eRBd6CRGd3K8x9vrN2gGfjB5my0hSqVrVxbxGt8_sRNwfVK59hCMHZI0SdW6iDktkOZxUg5YyFe_FnV18G6BczKdWVTn5vTFkm5JuGk3nUwpy3GONpTwQp/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWlL2eyTks4Q5md4LY2T-X5eRBd6CRGd3K8x9vrN2gGfjB5my0hSqVrVxbxGt8_sRNwfVK59hCMHZI0SdW6iDktkOZxUg5YyFe_FnV18G6BczKdWVTn5vTFkm5JuGk3nUwpy3GONpTwQp/s1600/3.jpg" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“When Camm was 4 years old, he h</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ad super blonde
hair and skinny legs!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Rachel <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm's aunt</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWK80j6S2XsHEj3dHJh0k3BIX9O7VnMj98H984DFZH7FVpVbPEQsnGDnHQipIhILxyufytSTVfq6RyntmO6jj7pPfsb5jnQDCtCNIxlPK2p-QIFx9fA4dehjezH9n8IRdYdCBGRHaSHK_P/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWK80j6S2XsHEj3dHJh0k3BIX9O7VnMj98H984DFZH7FVpVbPEQsnGDnHQipIhILxyufytSTVfq6RyntmO6jj7pPfsb5jnQDCtCNIxlPK2p-QIFx9fA4dehjezH9n8IRdYdCBGRHaSHK_P/s1600/4.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Camm was five years old, he had hair as white as
undriven snow. He was also the best friend a kid could have."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Brandon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s first best friend</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsSk56FPuDEw1sMv83H543YjoFN5TUCge5GWj2LVq_1GyU_i_Ux02Tuj_81IBO1lixiv-rBSltFCHzrhIARHCKNEgaAfmywwYJaQp4GqKFiHSIHQ99b4La7AXeq-BkezCKLJkdRBvXzvm/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsSk56FPuDEw1sMv83H543YjoFN5TUCge5GWj2LVq_1GyU_i_Ux02Tuj_81IBO1lixiv-rBSltFCHzrhIARHCKNEgaAfmywwYJaQp4GqKFiHSIHQ99b4La7AXeq-BkezCKLJkdRBvXzvm/s1600/5.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Camm was six years old, his Peterson and Dewitt
cousins thought his name was Camuel (Cam-you-ul)."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Elaine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s aunt</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgReSn4Z-NKWngOnwYeFOTTbKGMlO2jcyP-fWQVbN473weThlzq2cwRM-He29TW0ORfLEWwjZf38zIajXovGrKGaXm6UUj7uy6ClB1ijqEYoE8jQNfD4Pt5O8iMPsFvb2i9B1QQ0qXPf_iJ/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="89" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgReSn4Z-NKWngOnwYeFOTTbKGMlO2jcyP-fWQVbN473weThlzq2cwRM-He29TW0ORfLEWwjZf38zIajXovGrKGaXm6UUj7uy6ClB1ijqEYoE8jQNfD4Pt5O8iMPsFvb2i9B1QQ0qXPf_iJ/s640/6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 7 years old, he liked to hike at the
cabin and he also went up to Ensign Peak."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Grandpa Peterson<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgPG3ZhFwmllBH0ES4GHbcoux3GwCUYU1yDesHWSpDumUjeG1-1wf-R6ne5AJllp2rPUJfNitpMdkFTDheDhrdkZg4oPgyMyk2K1_bG_h-8Sz2tzU2z7e2ndbcewcAU-K3fNmx0YZdUQ7f/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgPG3ZhFwmllBH0ES4GHbcoux3GwCUYU1yDesHWSpDumUjeG1-1wf-R6ne5AJllp2rPUJfNitpMdkFTDheDhrdkZg4oPgyMyk2K1_bG_h-8Sz2tzU2z7e2ndbcewcAU-K3fNmx0YZdUQ7f/s320/7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 8 years old, he liked swimming at
Snowbird."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Elvia<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s aunt<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ohPjhmH8rPUK-eCbrYrOGRO7wfK8bbL1Q8l5enjWzoF1wLBXZkSSaD01B8BWtrvyDqv2yv2VINnmaYi98GChJ3qhb6F6V62gvEjpx1AkamcFvb3TtHorubFVKgVCVzeBXTF_cdcV5BAl/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ohPjhmH8rPUK-eCbrYrOGRO7wfK8bbL1Q8l5enjWzoF1wLBXZkSSaD01B8BWtrvyDqv2yv2VINnmaYi98GChJ3qhb6F6V62gvEjpx1AkamcFvb3TtHorubFVKgVCVzeBXTF_cdcV5BAl/s1600/8.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was nine years old, </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">he loved sports
and hanging out at Grandma and Grandpa Clark's with his brothers and cousins.
Pretty sure the seed of laziness was in a stage of germination at this point
(just kidding) - he was a good kid at this age."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Dain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s older brother<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0mgT3VGVZ9DluimMhr-Gs4Ygsd4VBpEXrthim8nUROkd6-AsMyDAxMlVyD6RNlXfegwxGl0ivEz3j-nYOXY93GrJrdCkOieAtR5ahkEcZ5RvXBsVxTmwk29qG38x9hs4_2lwrp5SLgDz/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0mgT3VGVZ9DluimMhr-Gs4Ygsd4VBpEXrthim8nUROkd6-AsMyDAxMlVyD6RNlXfegwxGl0ivEz3j-nYOXY93GrJrdCkOieAtR5ahkEcZ5RvXBsVxTmwk29qG38x9hs4_2lwrp5SLgDz/s320/9.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 10 years old, we would box downstairs
in the basement when my parents were gone and he'd always give me a bloody
nose."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Nate </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt;">Camm’s younger brother</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqClrxGaCPjdZCG8NGW_kPRuM3KuoZADjNMHZ2Hg5Wo_hhHKQ-i8HsHSGWC43GjuClhVmaoIaIc8u8ddmfNFYqU4hq-jwPrb3uDxmOIY1VeIiaXx08nWMowcj8Qkk516UG4204JOTHHzg9/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqClrxGaCPjdZCG8NGW_kPRuM3KuoZADjNMHZ2Hg5Wo_hhHKQ-i8HsHSGWC43GjuClhVmaoIaIc8u8ddmfNFYqU4hq-jwPrb3uDxmOIY1VeIiaXx08nWMowcj8Qkk516UG4204JOTHHzg9/s1600/10.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt;">"When Camm was 11 years old, he was very into Star
Wars and he also enjoyed going to my grandparent’s cabin and to get together
for family dinners like for thanksgiving and Christmas. We would have fun
playing in the backyard at my grandparents’ house."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Brandon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s cousin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTOSwnBuKwknaeYmmT6Nl6Cg2XNNphPmy5MJ3WlMfDowxWEJtRO-HAMa6xiP5yfTY-laxcZu8nRLxG7OV3H76lgUCGRNlcNKy7Xw2xPf53K4NjGlR8YWmnfoqKnGGMMJxsbVGzeDo90ta/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTOSwnBuKwknaeYmmT6Nl6Cg2XNNphPmy5MJ3WlMfDowxWEJtRO-HAMa6xiP5yfTY-laxcZu8nRLxG7OV3H76lgUCGRNlcNKy7Xw2xPf53K4NjGlR8YWmnfoqKnGGMMJxsbVGzeDo90ta/s1600/11.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 12 years old, we would go to the stake
center and play basketball for three hours every night."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Steve<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s cousin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCDEwqAycvKGRb7Fedn9uSIYzETYtViaJE83UWy72q_Hk_8rSBYVhal76UGSJygZgyDUNqj0Go3FPWPodRK42V_N17XMxq24mG4Rmu9MPHzQKUAQ6jFxqqAxOejO1UVHy3RzKhniB7kuz6/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCDEwqAycvKGRb7Fedn9uSIYzETYtViaJE83UWy72q_Hk_8rSBYVhal76UGSJygZgyDUNqj0Go3FPWPodRK42V_N17XMxq24mG4Rmu9MPHzQKUAQ6jFxqqAxOejO1UVHy3RzKhniB7kuz6/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 13 years old, he tried to pass crushed
rocks off as cocaine at scout camp."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Mark<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s friend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYAAFe4ofSpTvKMpXQHCWy0hhWwNAxkTQKjyy3bSSywIIScJiisn8XZrz_Bj5WiCzdtqY6UA2CehbjgzzSeJN5QyLSRKoK6-yrbFyRmRBL3lOoC7nS35lzS3zbdA_Rflop_-sj1uCAfSrk/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYAAFe4ofSpTvKMpXQHCWy0hhWwNAxkTQKjyy3bSSywIIScJiisn8XZrz_Bj5WiCzdtqY6UA2CehbjgzzSeJN5QyLSRKoK6-yrbFyRmRBL3lOoC7nS35lzS3zbdA_Rflop_-sj1uCAfSrk/s1600/13.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 14 years old, he wrote a neighborhood
gossip newspaper and his only source was the moon lamp."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Andrew <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s friend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJzSaXz5gOQKqW1-1VjvL7SVuUZv5TcVXJm0WSVe2jACo2NkD3P2p0ED-qh0ZfNR9VEwaPBd4cQRXP0C1UCIyQTQAN0va2bSYZ1YqxlHDi8eGtva2uGs1WMMw6iFx1NsxB9Zfn9yHffxC/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJzSaXz5gOQKqW1-1VjvL7SVuUZv5TcVXJm0WSVe2jACo2NkD3P2p0ED-qh0ZfNR9VEwaPBd4cQRXP0C1UCIyQTQAN0va2bSYZ1YqxlHDi8eGtva2uGs1WMMw6iFx1NsxB9Zfn9yHffxC/s1600/14.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“When Camm was 15 years old, he was not <i>the</i> most
annoying but one of the top five in my Sunday school class."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Curtis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Clark Family Friend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP4fuiMbsSt-QKfEhsY-uVTxpkwcrrZwlhMzQPZPzHnwOfJ_4q2AeLV2XTzgqaU804ED9XJ4h9UQr4Ayx_PtV3vw5sxw1kATL5dWr6R1EJa3pWZTUphFtPmvfW24VgKTRuUvFciJUPUhIZ/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP4fuiMbsSt-QKfEhsY-uVTxpkwcrrZwlhMzQPZPzHnwOfJ_4q2AeLV2XTzgqaU804ED9XJ4h9UQr4Ayx_PtV3vw5sxw1kATL5dWr6R1EJa3pWZTUphFtPmvfW24VgKTRuUvFciJUPUhIZ/s640/15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 16 years old, he </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">drove the fanciest
Lincoln town car in town."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Erin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s friend</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvrwLaWBQOE8PZ-4ICytxmCjv3MZgkiAA2UUY-WH2lHItXDAghdzp30_8dKBX9dVUNPMFmdM44LbJRWu-h0c_iT8BGvHpQ9jbbcpBoI88jXnJC90tX1qFsbhyLKtEKMG5nSaT3DvUfHji/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvrwLaWBQOE8PZ-4ICytxmCjv3MZgkiAA2UUY-WH2lHItXDAghdzp30_8dKBX9dVUNPMFmdM44LbJRWu-h0c_iT8BGvHpQ9jbbcpBoI88jXnJC90tX1qFsbhyLKtEKMG5nSaT3DvUfHji/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 17 years old, he tried to run Mark's
mom off the road."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">- Devin <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s friend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiIgs829UN4HEzdjZbDlMYF9hKe5C_15MYRBU3Yhy0oqS9cLeFaeOMAGH0H28Hv1gD5zE6RdrZgO7bz42HqexsvyFyf7V4GlFam6EUYYjIp-Z0HiLXfr408i76xBRpQaL6_h1cpPlkHHG/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiIgs829UN4HEzdjZbDlMYF9hKe5C_15MYRBU3Yhy0oqS9cLeFaeOMAGH0H28Hv1gD5zE6RdrZgO7bz42HqexsvyFyf7V4GlFam6EUYYjIp-Z0HiLXfr408i76xBRpQaL6_h1cpPlkHHG/s320/17.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 18 years old, he laughed in a Lincoln
and he was always the last one at the lunch table."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-James<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s friend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-fGLFl_xziB7oBksNbTq53OvFAAxjbN-LGIUCBK_L1djpkSzFHOlKSfz6rLR6Cudu6gaRqyYfwSRHcQjN58ZFkWwFqH6h9gqLxIGkBtnuCo4TcnyJJkHe54miOJ7lXUxcXNzNM2ij2NrL/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-fGLFl_xziB7oBksNbTq53OvFAAxjbN-LGIUCBK_L1djpkSzFHOlKSfz6rLR6Cudu6gaRqyYfwSRHcQjN58ZFkWwFqH6h9gqLxIGkBtnuCo4TcnyJJkHe54miOJ7lXUxcXNzNM2ij2NrL/s320/18.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Camm was 19 years old he was a powerful missionary, making
a difference in the lives of everyone he met. He was loved and respected
by all of us who were touched by his goodness and hard work. My love
always.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Ron<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s former mission president<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 20 years old, he was one of the
hardest workers that I've ever met."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">- Curtis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Former Mission Companion<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdZLlrqBJUFgDccO8i9OhmXNI6F17wpNS3W78FCd3vTeA0xuj73EaN4P31Uf36we95oaDoeTItzNCxDhX_ZIA4prt_Ys1SQE9qoWO6Sa5A8Z75Q2PerQ9Ti1ehiNNOffgIvaR3ScM1vUC/s1600/19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdZLlrqBJUFgDccO8i9OhmXNI6F17wpNS3W78FCd3vTeA0xuj73EaN4P31Uf36we95oaDoeTItzNCxDhX_ZIA4prt_Ys1SQE9qoWO6Sa5A8Z75Q2PerQ9Ti1ehiNNOffgIvaR3ScM1vUC/s320/19.jpg" width="147" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 21 years old, he came to dinner at my
house and he tried to tell my sister he was going to marry her so he could be
in Mark's family."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">- Mary<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mark’s wife<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5Gs1PF95VokkXyXiQqBb5aKA_V1lZtx0xk2e-Ablli-5yNs0UfjNAkJ41xV-ssksGQakDz0WpGe0GQn8jHIlLACk4MCnGgV1OSjTF3UyvNUNglOW5gT5h0bVhZ4j1RUmc63LztMQpMWS/s1600/21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5Gs1PF95VokkXyXiQqBb5aKA_V1lZtx0xk2e-Ablli-5yNs0UfjNAkJ41xV-ssksGQakDz0WpGe0GQn8jHIlLACk4MCnGgV1OSjTF3UyvNUNglOW5gT5h0bVhZ4j1RUmc63LztMQpMWS/s320/21.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“When Camm was 22 years old, he shot lightning bolts out
of his eyes and killed everyone. He was a greek god when I knew him."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Nate <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s friend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXBjk9BdQoA0Bg6_tr-C6Z0cDMYwgSVtwlN9LnCy9AfLJ5iU8IxEdgdTAOGEXZKO2-OCDZVi6CRhOPmmPzs2h4AdQAzGvaZxzj-CZHQ-dA5nfQRexpUTtECLZXTUIQm9pKTstelMaH2Iw/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXBjk9BdQoA0Bg6_tr-C6Z0cDMYwgSVtwlN9LnCy9AfLJ5iU8IxEdgdTAOGEXZKO2-OCDZVi6CRhOPmmPzs2h4AdQAzGvaZxzj-CZHQ-dA5nfQRexpUTtECLZXTUIQm9pKTstelMaH2Iw/s320/22.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 23 years old, he once stared down a
fully grown mountain goat in the eye and it ran away."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Davin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s friend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AJtLFaBULOowXkCiU_2f1fkq2wJR3eNaRaF1-Nqkk9C9VHCITeTGyPqKk5G6FMO_pie8kYRwtJd2oeZ_5ma51oq76Nud5sxeTQYZt3caUBF3ci8G6D34L-Um5OVLe-40dPisOINH1Qci/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AJtLFaBULOowXkCiU_2f1fkq2wJR3eNaRaF1-Nqkk9C9VHCITeTGyPqKk5G6FMO_pie8kYRwtJd2oeZ_5ma51oq76Nud5sxeTQYZt3caUBF3ci8G6D34L-Um5OVLe-40dPisOINH1Qci/s320/23.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“When Camm was 24 years old, he </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">slept through Dr.
Seipel's lectures on a daily basis, sometimes even sprawling himself out on the
floor."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Rosey<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Friend from BYU’s MSW program</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFs-xff4k-HNcfS1a5wXdCDXvtqKzAUNjMxrEKN0iuZfEjCyf7DGzhAfAxJCIB22GvlCRZ8-duHUuarCnBjg9PEsAtfDauG55AXS3a9f2WNMFw6jni5uBmgfLbaomNcGnoqqXuuURm-3zo/s1600/24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFs-xff4k-HNcfS1a5wXdCDXvtqKzAUNjMxrEKN0iuZfEjCyf7DGzhAfAxJCIB22GvlCRZ8-duHUuarCnBjg9PEsAtfDauG55AXS3a9f2WNMFw6jni5uBmgfLbaomNcGnoqqXuuURm-3zo/s320/24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 25 years old, he was the best intern
Scenic View ever had."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Teren <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Friend from Camm’s MSW program<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkfA9s7-KhWBD56btjwizitNza0MrFXyDMDzflPj1SSSFWEU-Fo_cQ82OhWFkEMXY80AljVVcMFO85I3Wmp728QhtBrBAHxVH3ToZx5Eq7Uk2MoQWeU-2ADB9W5Q9FbuTqqSGpOv7_P5Wo/s1600/25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting'; font-size: 12pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkfA9s7-KhWBD56btjwizitNza0MrFXyDMDzflPj1SSSFWEU-Fo_cQ82OhWFkEMXY80AljVVcMFO85I3Wmp728QhtBrBAHxVH3ToZx5Eq7Uk2MoQWeU-2ADB9W5Q9FbuTqqSGpOv7_P5Wo/s320/25.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"When Camm was 26 years old, he got a job that really
wasn't a job 'cause all he did was fun stuff like rock climb - and he moved so
he didn't have to be Elder's Quorum President anymore.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-James <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Friend in Klamath Falls<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7xM0hxi-icN2UWXydMDyAro2Or4HcfO07a5zQB7wsd-RSvfvD8AUq3M-ScLWQ1eCPGs4xR4PfUn3cpWoPTObIA0hpnyE6zAJc5YjKomPh9nAs7yYhUL8HaybPc3GyZoOtlsdNWoV10WP/s1600/26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7xM0hxi-icN2UWXydMDyAro2Or4HcfO07a5zQB7wsd-RSvfvD8AUq3M-ScLWQ1eCPGs4xR4PfUn3cpWoPTObIA0hpnyE6zAJc5YjKomPh9nAs7yYhUL8HaybPc3GyZoOtlsdNWoV10WP/s320/26.jpg" width="111" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“When Camm was 27 years old, he was the best husband and
Daddy we could ever dream of!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">–Moll and Ru<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camm’s wife and daughter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc424B4teOk2EYYe5UGh7w0aiGBvcDl9fihsDgMWS0JM5RyRm3tTkk95WexKNxETeAQBlZkgf3mDp_ZmCWrcD8RqMRJKUow9kM4TUzLbFZfHJvHAfYqKWDlr3GAPaphiTnU1uMiz9EkIv-/s1600/27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc424B4teOk2EYYe5UGh7w0aiGBvcDl9fihsDgMWS0JM5RyRm3tTkk95WexKNxETeAQBlZkgf3mDp_ZmCWrcD8RqMRJKUow9kM4TUzLbFZfHJvHAfYqKWDlr3GAPaphiTnU1uMiz9EkIv-/s320/27.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-4653710515637488002013-05-17T12:07:00.001-07:002013-05-17T12:07:54.618-07:00Spoiled by Granny, Now what?About a month ago Ruby discovered OtterPops. It was love at first taste for her. It was by far her favorite treat and she would regularly point to the freezer and say "I-wan-pop!" (all of her words sort of slur together so it sounds like one word really). Anyway, we didn't mind. Sure, they're just straight sugar into the toddler's body, but at least you can buy a hundred pack for a couple bucks. It's a very cheap, very easy treat. And, being wrapped in plastic keeps the mess to a minimum.<br />
<br />
Then my mom came to visit.<br />
<br />
She bought delicious, large, and expensive 100% fruit pops. After one lick, Ruby has refused to go back to the cheap, mess-less Otter again. So, now what?<br />
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<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-48977247455791813702013-04-25T15:53:00.000-07:002013-04-25T15:53:14.609-07:00Hippies, Superfoods, and Floating.In response to a request (from my mom), I will write about the new city I'm calling "home": Eugene, OR.<div>
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<div>
Culturally, we're adjusting still. Don't get me wrong, I like this place--it's super green and beautiful, I'm enjoying my job, Ruby's enjoying her babysitter's house, people are friendly, things are going well. But, we really don't really fit in culturally here. </div>
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<div>
For those who don't know, Eugene is very green--both in color and in attitude. That's great and all, but I have a long way to go before I reduce my carbon footprint as much as everyone around here has. Everything you use is recycled, everything you eat is organic, and most prefer to avoid milk or meat, and meditation is hip. I overhear conversations about people's hatred of plastic. When I carry my re-usable plastic water-bottle around I realize I'm the only one--everyone else carries metal or glass. When I'm in the grocery store I notice I'm the only one buying veggies out of the non-organic section. At work people tell me where you can get good deals on organic food and I bite my tongue before I tell them that it's half the price for the non-organic probably genetically engineered green peppers I buy which I think taste good and they haven't killed me yet so I will stick to those (saying that would be social suicide). People tell stories about their experiences "floating" (I think that's what it is called) where they pay $50 to get put into a long, pitch-black tube of saltwater to think. Let's just say I could think of other ways to spend my $50.</div>
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Although I did make a huge social blunder with one coworker that went something like this:</div>
<div>
ME: "Hey, have you ever thought about going to grad school?"</div>
<div>
HIM: "I don't know, I mean I just have so much stuff I like to study on my own. Like, I'm really into studying superfoods."</div>
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ME: "Oh."</div>
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HIM: "Aren't you into studying about superfoods?"</div>
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ME: "Uh, no, I can't say that I really study about them."</div>
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HIM: "How could you NOT? Don't you know that they are good for you?"</div>
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ME: "I'm not anti-superfoods, I just don't spend time studying them." (I wanted to add: especially not so much time that I can't go to grad school).</div>
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<div>
Camm also had an interesting conversation with a co-worker who asked what area of Eugene we were living. "Oh, so do you like your neighborhood?" he asked Camm.</div>
<div>
"Yeah, it seems nice. But I have this suspicion that our neighbors might be dealing drugs," Camm said as he thought about all of the cars that go in and out of that driveway daily.</div>
<div>
"Oh," his co-worker scoffed, "that's a common part-time job here. A lot of people do that. My roommate deals drugs. Don't worry about it." I guess the hippie culture is alive and well. </div>
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Anyway, we're adjusting. I probably need to try acupuncture, floating, and eat organics before I'll really be a cultural resident of Eugene. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-25124242309808809842013-04-15T20:13:00.000-07:002013-04-15T20:13:10.529-07:00Bragging MomentI usually don't brag, but I'd just like to say that I am now officially a professional blogger. I received my very first payment today, and here I frame it (The real payment went into my bank account, but a quick replica ought to do the trick, right?):<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-cHpFE0Rn5okUjf7ueRNeDkTigecWCar2zAsxaJsFcQZNOrKoYMbEnwJMUw7oWt4JBhUMS1UFr6EQ9O8VmSixQ-Wxrq_l5h3JFAZ8LtypGgIwJyKzY9YmCv8Y2V0Be7Rd0htQLEZDPf7/s1600/dollar.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-cHpFE0Rn5okUjf7ueRNeDkTigecWCar2zAsxaJsFcQZNOrKoYMbEnwJMUw7oWt4JBhUMS1UFr6EQ9O8VmSixQ-Wxrq_l5h3JFAZ8LtypGgIwJyKzY9YmCv8Y2V0Be7Rd0htQLEZDPf7/s320/dollar.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Five whopping dollars! If I calculated things correctly, this means that after 17 months of blogging fairly regularly, I have made $0.005 per hour at this job.<br />
Worth it? I'd say yes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-11619654861547061442013-04-09T22:30:00.001-07:002013-04-09T22:30:06.221-07:00Opinions, pleaseCamm and I are thinking of getting family pictures taken the week of the 4th of July when we are in Tillamook for our family reunion. I contacted the photographer that took <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.454722631233370.112049.263225953716373&type=3">pictures of my grandpa and Ruby</a> back in October and we're working on setting it up.<br />
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Tonight I started to think about what we should wear and how I want the picture to look. I realized I had some research to do: Google image research. Here's a screen shot:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKapHgZE91R-xeE8vChNU2XDtBBssXuut6BdPUhYoX-8zybJmKAXbiMS119v9oxAYzA3IPowJ7qGghNI_pOdwNm4zMTbDMDuMr88s7J9a91tCOaX15Nt76FQqE06_ErlCeY5icdxVoNyud/s1600/google+images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKapHgZE91R-xeE8vChNU2XDtBBssXuut6BdPUhYoX-8zybJmKAXbiMS119v9oxAYzA3IPowJ7qGghNI_pOdwNm4zMTbDMDuMr88s7J9a91tCOaX15Nt76FQqE06_ErlCeY5icdxVoNyud/s400/google+images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Lessons learned from my content analysis: Common themes are red/blue and stripes are always a plus.</div>
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Though I love the family twinners from the pictures, I felt there was something missing. We'll be taking our pictures the same week we celebrate our country. Our pictures will undoubtedly need a patriotic theme. I have to keep in mind that it might be chilly on the Coast. And most importantly, I want it to show our family love.<br />
Here's a general sketch of how I'm thinking we should do it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN4TtGtDR70CZXjOjP8BNOS8KshvSCW-ONVOFsUwTCB03hjWMXmgOdTA7l53b8wWerywCylyw_0ai-iGRLnkeCR4HD-Wghtum7optE2rMwZJw7UtmVQqbxaONGsFYh4DzLFsxCxDzsr-J/s1600/family+picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN4TtGtDR70CZXjOjP8BNOS8KshvSCW-ONVOFsUwTCB03hjWMXmgOdTA7l53b8wWerywCylyw_0ai-iGRLnkeCR4HD-Wghtum7optE2rMwZJw7UtmVQqbxaONGsFYh4DzLFsxCxDzsr-J/s400/family+picture.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Granted, I am still open for suggestions as it is a few months down the road. What do you think? More stars?<br />
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PS--I'd love to hear stories about your matching family pictures you've been forced to be a part of or you've planned on your own!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-89405901705476023652013-04-04T22:50:00.001-07:002013-04-04T22:53:11.707-07:00Updates <div>
Ruby's growing up. Where's my little tiny baby that I think I still have? Here are some quick updates:</div>
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I spent all of a recent Sunday morning looking for the match to my cream heel. How could I have one of the shoes and be missing the other. <i>It can't be too far, </i>I kept muttering to myself.<br />
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The next morning I found it in one of the lower cabinets in my kitchen. That's funny, I don't remember setting it in a kitchen cabinet.</div>
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On Easter I noticed her hair looked glued on to the crease in her neck. On closer examination, it was sweet, colorful glue. Apparently, tiny mouths can't hold baskets of candy all at once. Sugary drool had escaped and glued her hair to her neck. Happy Easter!</div>
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Learning the word "mine" has changed my life. There's the obvious changes--like when she grabs things out of my hands and tells me "mine." But there's also the unexpected changes--like sitting in church and having her scream to the girl three rows back "MINE! MINE! MINE!"</div>
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Development of a new fear: the fear of boredom. She has always been a good sleeper, but now she seems genuinely scared that she might get bored in the middle of the night. Before allowing me to put her in her crib, she insists on finding as many toys as possible to bring to bed with her. Cars, buses, noisy animals, books, babies, and a few stuffed animals fill her bed. One night she even insisted on bringing a pack of crackers. Though crackers were crumbs lining her sheets in the morning, I'm just happy that she still lays down easily.</div>
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Self-potty training. Do all kids go through this stage? Here's the basic logic as far as I can tell: <i>I'll take off my diaper and pants and sit on the potty chair while I read some books. When the books are finished, I'll walk around the house and pee. That way I don't get my potty chair dirty. </i>I don't even want her to get potty-trained yet. She's still only 1! Take your time, and keep that diaper on baby!</div>
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<br /></div>
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As a first time mom, I'm not sure if these are all normal developmental things that all kids experience, or if this is Ruby's personality at it's best (seasoned mothers, clue me in, please!). But either way, I'm actually really enjoying this stage. Ruby keeps us laughing every day!</div>
<div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-79329274283208367232013-04-01T21:27:00.001-07:002013-04-01T21:27:13.648-07:00the commuteFor those who don't know, I got a job in Eugene, OR in February. Camm got a job up here that doesn't start until April 15th, so he's been commuting each week to and from Klamath Falls. The drive is about 3 hours (or 4 if it's snowing) and Camm has gotten really good at making it over that mountain pass.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, starting April 1st, the highway he takes would be closing at 8pm for construction. April 1st is today so we had to make sure he would be passed that part of the trip before it closed. If he were to miss it, he would have to drive basically all the way back here and then go the long way. It would probably add 4 hours to his normally three hour trip. At 8:20pm tonight, I got a text from Camm:</div>
<div>
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"In mountain bad reception. I missed tunnel by 4 min i am too tired to drive around i am getting a motel in oak ridge."</div>
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<div>
My heart sank. <i>oh poor Camm! </i>I just felt so badly for him. <i>If only I hadn't talked to him an extra four minutes! It's all my fault. Now he has to sleep in some nasty motel where it probably smells like smoke in the non-smoking rooms and they probably haven't washed the sheets in years. Poor poor thing!</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
So I texted him back that I would call him at the motel since he had such bad reception. I asked him at what motel he was staying and I got no response.</div>
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<i>Oh poor Camm! </i>I kept thinking. <i>And now he has such bad reception he probably didn't get my text so now he not only has to stay in a nasty motel, but he thinks his wife doesn't care about him!</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
I googled motels in Oakridge, OR. There were only four so I decided to just start down the list calling them. "My poor husband," I would start, "missed the closing of the tunnel on 58 by four minutes and now he has to spend the night in Oakridge and doesn't have cell reception. Did Camm Clark check in there within the last hour or so?" </div>
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<div>
One by one they told me the same thing, "Camm Clark? Doesn't sound familiar. Sorry, he must be at one of the other ones."</div>
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<div>
When I reached the last one on the list, more realizations started hitting me, <i>Poor Camm! He probably decided to save $45 and sleep in the car. He's going to freeze to death. Does he even have a blanket?</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjqcX3bded0ZiqZxAGWhL_yll0fyZ7q75FFwy1NT20GywcfMOkiI9tc2GUUzj6dfI20qbIPhmlDW60s3CrPqKikUggHjnVdp2q6m5WMNYUp8WLFZ3pIYbufHJ9By9rnMHLOkYvm1dAjZT/s1600/April+fool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjqcX3bded0ZiqZxAGWhL_yll0fyZ7q75FFwy1NT20GywcfMOkiI9tc2GUUzj6dfI20qbIPhmlDW60s3CrPqKikUggHjnVdp2q6m5WMNYUp8WLFZ3pIYbufHJ9By9rnMHLOkYvm1dAjZT/s640/April+fool.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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As I sat in my bedroom wondering how I could make his night just a little more pleasant (<i>Can I order pizza to his car on the side of the road?), </i>my phone suddenly rang. It was Camm.</div>
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"Oh, Camm! I love you so much! I'm sorry you have to go through all this," I blubbered.</div>
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He responded with two simple words: "April Fool's!"</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-66868112434696440052013-02-23T20:23:00.006-08:002013-02-23T20:34:23.352-08:00why I haven't been bloggingOnce, when I was a girl, my mom gave me a little lesson on what stress is.<br />
<div>
She got out a glass and poured a little bit of water in it:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbkQdLqUkKSiym6OR_KOITVr_7ojgAXEFBkbQ33UkRnjuvokR_c-qFGLXa20FYn-f-1Nb6YczkkbbrFuzxN1SyWNu5jNZrk1Kq3ZDqZAf9X5y_HLf9GRo6bLB25TmoB46Nv7VO89sRWXK/s1600/stress1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCbkQdLqUkKSiym6OR_KOITVr_7ojgAXEFBkbQ33UkRnjuvokR_c-qFGLXa20FYn-f-1Nb6YczkkbbrFuzxN1SyWNu5jNZrk1Kq3ZDqZAf9X5y_HLf9GRo6bLB25TmoB46Nv7VO89sRWXK/s320/stress1.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<div>
"Just like this glass has some water in it, everyone has some stress in their lives," she told me.</div>
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She told me that different things will add more stress to your life, and sometimes it feels like the water tension is getting really tight and you are just barely hanging on:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3uQ9iKNmQNqbmR6XB7YmRmfw1a7iDtW-fesBolp9wVfkvmMd_ACYiOZwuqATXkQdN6L1qx6UzCVSTnsyUot1hzbMXQ985aUijffcHy5feBg5TZfFuoSYgTqKf80wt2OE-CHwKgrZnPmpg/s1600/stress2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3uQ9iKNmQNqbmR6XB7YmRmfw1a7iDtW-fesBolp9wVfkvmMd_ACYiOZwuqATXkQdN6L1qx6UzCVSTnsyUot1hzbMXQ985aUijffcHy5feBg5TZfFuoSYgTqKf80wt2OE-CHwKgrZnPmpg/s320/stress2.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
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"Sometimes," she explained, "When you feel this way, a small thing that normally wouldn't be that difficult comes and breaks the water tension and you feel completely overwhelmed."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCUhM3FYioTH4cJo3ZCN6xzd6dS8hWkE5Tp1cE_mSlj1jbJ-ovvJAC-_XJpDBjhnVu5zFHo5mW0_JBoMm-syQRsiFDGDydo6XK09SvV1q6OynFx0CFSRV8pXUNAPTr0wOk0o3_NeOpqpg/s1600/stress3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCUhM3FYioTH4cJo3ZCN6xzd6dS8hWkE5Tp1cE_mSlj1jbJ-ovvJAC-_XJpDBjhnVu5zFHo5mW0_JBoMm-syQRsiFDGDydo6XK09SvV1q6OynFx0CFSRV8pXUNAPTr0wOk0o3_NeOpqpg/s320/stress3.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
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Well, right now I'm sort of feeling like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rb6JsaGfK48SVZq8R4rQ3Y5nX96aFzOJoz6tQ7QNI_LM5N-C410mC6BuW80AHNFgSMmGtx7DQ3Ufst79aeLel9z37jmtE10vfP2YvkqOvBEzu7q32sQj5R_iky4Yp1WMfuzZDt8AeSEN/s1600/stress4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rb6JsaGfK48SVZq8R4rQ3Y5nX96aFzOJoz6tQ7QNI_LM5N-C410mC6BuW80AHNFgSMmGtx7DQ3Ufst79aeLel9z37jmtE10vfP2YvkqOvBEzu7q32sQj5R_iky4Yp1WMfuzZDt8AeSEN/s1600/stress4.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div>
And that is why, dear friends, I haven't blogged for a few weeks.<br />
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<br />
(As a clarification: a lot of that water is good stress--I like swimming you know--but there's still a lot of water!)</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-33724314166414989782013-02-12T07:26:00.001-08:002013-02-12T07:26:35.340-08:00The Morph--not so badAbout two years ago--when I knew I was having a baby girl and was just playing the waiting game--I started getting curious how the baby girl would look. As with any good question, I decided googling it was only appropriate. "What will my baby look like," I typed. And I found this awesome website: <i><a href="http://www.morphthing.com/">morph thing</a>. </i>This site is genius. You put in a picture of yourself and one of your partner and out pops a photo of what your child will be like. The child looked about one and a half and was a perfect mix of Camm and me. Since Ruby is now around that age, I decided to compare her real picture to the morphed picture:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijx8lBBRZKCTiY_3-agbGUgkgz_EDW8X_y7b0eFyVJmny9FS3GNN0XAJyvi9JNBhz210ZdewqsXwISvv7a3DFpMiB4Ga2g62avFh6Yq01YUicpE5P9zb4d-IShJfY5TUBD2GLWLt-eTouB/s1600/morphed_real.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijx8lBBRZKCTiY_3-agbGUgkgz_EDW8X_y7b0eFyVJmny9FS3GNN0XAJyvi9JNBhz210ZdewqsXwISvv7a3DFpMiB4Ga2g62avFh6Yq01YUicpE5P9zb4d-IShJfY5TUBD2GLWLt-eTouB/s640/morphed_real.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Not so bad, huh? Can you tell which one is morphed and which one is real?<br />
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Anyone else found a real gem of a website from googling a random question?<br />
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<a href="http://www.topmommyblogs.com/pages/index.php">VOTE FOR MY BLOG BY CLICKING THIS LINK!</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-23547756441024869392013-02-09T12:19:00.001-08:002013-02-09T12:23:05.724-08:00Reminiscing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I just started missing Ruby. I mean, obviously I still play with Ruby every day. But I started missing the BABY Ruby. She's so different now! And while I enjoy the cute things she does and says, I decided to take a minute to reminisce about how she used to be.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBE8NW4rIyMRyEcJFQtJyOow-WVP_E1CkfHrbNLhK7cTWi3RpEYOw71ECuUDfqF808hEDuMyCv6liVS9JTjQJHZsfFrjfBI-sSpITSkRaXbgdN976BH5vwe18qs6crDUULo9cnEg_2joH/s1600/camm+bday+and+ruby+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBE8NW4rIyMRyEcJFQtJyOow-WVP_E1CkfHrbNLhK7cTWi3RpEYOw71ECuUDfqF808hEDuMyCv6liVS9JTjQJHZsfFrjfBI-sSpITSkRaXbgdN976BH5vwe18qs6crDUULo9cnEg_2joH/s640/camm+bday+and+ruby+011.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Daddy, I will not play with toys, no matter how much you want me to!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzguSJkYhCkunCo0DjUwMqBFn5-AG3qwIPGEsUr2VNq9_c40jD3uomYbaXCddYNC6kC0-S0A8_A9_tzORoPnnhYqba68sXYJilD0z0VMyjSi6FGqeYVU21sQ1OyVosSbDtzHg9LPbaoQ38/s1600/ruby+cutie+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzguSJkYhCkunCo0DjUwMqBFn5-AG3qwIPGEsUr2VNq9_c40jD3uomYbaXCddYNC6kC0-S0A8_A9_tzORoPnnhYqba68sXYJilD0z0VMyjSi6FGqeYVU21sQ1OyVosSbDtzHg9LPbaoQ38/s640/ruby+cutie+002.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Uh, excuse me? Can someone please take the large blue cups off of my ears?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSqBs4zHoelEzO2bAKqbXHuB8XPHUuLB9gLEaspxRzeFkOcikf7_ySLUGfnbFIVJ58qOUyn9BfetbT7zpQb8ns2HMFoPETGTy-1HczZoK3HUJYnM8to6rpDkHhBN6szJ_W__hZr0wItZGV/s1600/ruby+cutie+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSqBs4zHoelEzO2bAKqbXHuB8XPHUuLB9gLEaspxRzeFkOcikf7_ySLUGfnbFIVJ58qOUyn9BfetbT7zpQb8ns2HMFoPETGTy-1HczZoK3HUJYnM8to6rpDkHhBN6szJ_W__hZr0wItZGV/s640/ruby+cutie+027.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Why did the parents stuff me in this bag? Is this supposed to be fun?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GzgmIWDkCkhzngS2EslLXxKp2R5TajZKsczDh76NL4VqLs_vi4Mixr0wi7keskaWLCQ5cIMoP32AW6Gx9vcQXribqhSBu60z6H3-AvRzmRxtgwPllHrzVsXKsi4YNjxSh9hCrB4ftOiF/s1600/RUBY+July+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GzgmIWDkCkhzngS2EslLXxKp2R5TajZKsczDh76NL4VqLs_vi4Mixr0wi7keskaWLCQ5cIMoP32AW6Gx9vcQXribqhSBu60z6H3-AvRzmRxtgwPllHrzVsXKsi4YNjxSh9hCrB4ftOiF/s640/RUBY+July+003.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, the days when a burp cloth could double as a blanket. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlma78T-fCJlaMp8j4z26l0DLXtPV1G3L0tQFtnGjkhO-LJt37C4Ml6B3YlShii8tANakDqVYKx0vSg-wijdepyxhnJhHZoDhoj4xfXfhrJqH6biJSCA21O1dw5C51gQQl185_0AAclFB/s1600/RUBY+July+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlma78T-fCJlaMp8j4z26l0DLXtPV1G3L0tQFtnGjkhO-LJt37C4Ml6B3YlShii8tANakDqVYKx0vSg-wijdepyxhnJhHZoDhoj4xfXfhrJqH6biJSCA21O1dw5C51gQQl185_0AAclFB/s640/RUBY+July+002.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">deer in the headlights (guess the flash was too bright)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ4dDrxeoGVISXEXDfCDHzp-9-u6nqNvDNMpKHBO7UzpPB7krhPG0UN1hdjNF51vVsqFLzwtF_xBZeDKOHd8gmBkxtq4uBZ-VE6LWmFzuFNpJgHaKp-v741_tOc6sI3fCAehHWNaNKrzc0/s1600/12.5.11+044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ4dDrxeoGVISXEXDfCDHzp-9-u6nqNvDNMpKHBO7UzpPB7krhPG0UN1hdjNF51vVsqFLzwtF_xBZeDKOHd8gmBkxtq4uBZ-VE6LWmFzuFNpJgHaKp-v741_tOc6sI3fCAehHWNaNKrzc0/s640/12.5.11+044.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big cousin having fun in Ruby's pack n play. Ruby not so sure.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNlgXwu73FVCkdzdXMRB5trms2sHn7YDoeq4bqjyd8MNixonawHtrXBflFLKa_vfvILJUINARxL-RZgLfa0s3DHMrtyf04rwr9i1BKJ73pKfkR-j0G5nnHp9Sfmu6-5TUjAnNBwh36e7x/s1600/October+27th,+11+048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNlgXwu73FVCkdzdXMRB5trms2sHn7YDoeq4bqjyd8MNixonawHtrXBflFLKa_vfvILJUINARxL-RZgLfa0s3DHMrtyf04rwr9i1BKJ73pKfkR-j0G5nnHp9Sfmu6-5TUjAnNBwh36e7x/s640/October+27th,+11+048.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You talkin' to me?" </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuUqro4nXxGgVU-XcOKzYXuC3v-LovG1WlGUoOf8xUhAKRKl3oggwTAowygZgmkH2w-TcBoN3RzvZbX-1SCartNgGMjQUA9bmoKJ9qsPonMwiOOAsDIK5Bpi50FrJU6M6xroAz9xr_qIb/s1600/2FEB1+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuUqro4nXxGgVU-XcOKzYXuC3v-LovG1WlGUoOf8xUhAKRKl3oggwTAowygZgmkH2w-TcBoN3RzvZbX-1SCartNgGMjQUA9bmoKJ9qsPonMwiOOAsDIK5Bpi50FrJU6M6xroAz9xr_qIb/s640/2FEB1+(2).JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cupid Baby</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9Tnzns0_aJGQrQX8s8wNNOwDerHNA5bxw9GgC98uhIJbqj4TGHJ-uVk8O6_uwNxngwKvEnNSNFADfQJpiGpdAD9-j-ByTGAGNiX-skpsbTAo6-6hxostVXB_aU4aKrYAtKC9ETggmzKZ/s1600/9sep.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9Tnzns0_aJGQrQX8s8wNNOwDerHNA5bxw9GgC98uhIJbqj4TGHJ-uVk8O6_uwNxngwKvEnNSNFADfQJpiGpdAD9-j-ByTGAGNiX-skpsbTAo6-6hxostVXB_aU4aKrYAtKC9ETggmzKZ/s640/9sep.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back to school</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_a0HPDVzAVN-pMKjNdlVGYt3G9Ari72IOYgdELmwS9T6NeGHvdshoyqLrt6b5AiWeNUARIv9VxoShZQygY1DqqB3A30lQvX1IX68Jqsr5IhcKHdLv7tJpjdaPUnqujzueeVllNYwRP0aY/s1600/3mar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_a0HPDVzAVN-pMKjNdlVGYt3G9Ari72IOYgdELmwS9T6NeGHvdshoyqLrt6b5AiWeNUARIv9VxoShZQygY1DqqB3A30lQvX1IX68Jqsr5IhcKHdLv7tJpjdaPUnqujzueeVllNYwRP0aY/s640/3mar.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping St Patrick</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Does anyone else miss their baby? </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-56633674349915847722013-02-05T12:34:00.002-08:002013-02-05T12:53:37.531-08:00happy memory at a sad timeThis morning I woke up and immediately made pancakes. I was remembering one of my favorite evenings that happened two winters ago while we were renting a house owned by Camm's grandpa only 0.4 miles from the house he lives in.<br />
<br />
What sparked this memory is something sad. Camm's grandpa is not doing well at all right now. He's in the hospital on complete life support and they will probably pull the plug before too long. It's a sad time for everyone.<br />
<br />
In this sad time, I'd like to remember that happy wintry evening two years ago:<br />
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I was pregnant. For me, this meant that I was usually tired and sick. But, this particular January evening was out of the ordinary. A blizzard came and the roads and houses were covered in snow. At around 7pm (which to me when I was pregnant felt basically like midnight) I looked outside and it looked so magical. All thought of the pregnancy sickness and the tiredness vanished and I longed to be outside. I told Camm we were going on an adventure. I got out all the snow clothes I could still fit over my growing belly and kept piling them on. I think by the time I was ready, I had four layers on the bottom and about six on top. I could barely bend enough to get my three pairs of socks and then my boots on. Camm was dressed similarly and we set out on our adventure in the snow.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6oiauWIkvtYehsQgxx1pvAxf8PPny4BrUCEeaBva98yYrk11sP7Zp0s_AFVuF1MylvCoAlCSxGsvY3WW-EQS7T8EMdKjy1qGFp0ll-lgVYsTQtmkRF5L768gptNL2T5bKb1TtZl56Yvl/s1600/snow.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6oiauWIkvtYehsQgxx1pvAxf8PPny4BrUCEeaBva98yYrk11sP7Zp0s_AFVuF1MylvCoAlCSxGsvY3WW-EQS7T8EMdKjy1qGFp0ll-lgVYsTQtmkRF5L768gptNL2T5bKb1TtZl56Yvl/s640/snow.png" width="640" /></a></div>
We went outside and threw some snow balls and walked through the empty streets covered in snow. It felt like we were far from home in a distant land--even though we were in our own neighborhood. We ended up walking to the street where Grandpa and Grandma Clark live. We knocked on the door and I'm not even sure they could recognize us underneath all of our clothes, but they let us in all the same.<br />
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As soon as I walked in, I began sweating--I was, after all, wearing enough to clothe a small village. So I started stripping. I remember Grandpa Clark laughing as we kept taking off layer after layer, scarf after scarf. Eventually I stripped down enough that I just had black long johns tucked into my pink knee-high wool socks. Camm looked similarly bizarre and we began to chat with Grandpa.<br />
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"Have you guys had any supper?" he asked. I realized it had been about two hours since my last meal so I could use a snack. "Well, let's make some pancakes." He rummaged through his downstairs food storage and pulled out a box. "You make the pancakes," he handed the mix to me, "and I'll get working on the sausage."<br />
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I started mixing the pancakes but though I had followed the recipe exactly, the mix refused to thicken. I kept adding more and more of the mix and it just stayed thin. I glanced at the "sell by" date and realized it had expired twenty years earlier. "Grandpa, do you think that this might be old?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could.<br />
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"Nah, that stuff doesn't go bad!"<br />
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So I kept adding the mix until <i>eventually</i> it was thick enough to cook.<br />
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We ate the twenty year old pancakes(no one got sick) and enjoyed the sausage (though I decided to eat mine without ketchup when I saw a little mold--there's only so far you can push your luck).<br />
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Grandpa Clark laughed equally as hard when we got dressed up to leave again, and it was a night I will always remember.<br />
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As I ate my pancakes this morning I thought of the hilarious, loving, compassionate man that Grandpa Clark is. I will always remember his example.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-43941152247820253962013-02-01T13:53:00.002-08:002013-02-01T13:53:19.517-08:00Please Interpret My DreamThis is my dream last night that I keep thinking about and am in desperate need (want) of some interpretation:<br />
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I was pregnant--in my third trimester but not about ready to pop yet. I was walking around some kind of place where a bunch of kids were and the lady in charge of the kids tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Ma'am," she said, "This just fell out of you--you just had your baby." She said it with the same tone of voice like she would use if a pack of tissues had fallen from my purse.<br />
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I looked down and did not see a baby at all--or at least not a real one. It was a doll. I was confused but she looked up and said, "Don't you want to take your baby?"<br />
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So I picked up the doll and suddenly a huge crowd appeared with tons of people congratulating me on my new baby. "Oh, she's so precious!" "Oh, how cute!" Then they started to get worried about me. "Don't you need to get to a hospital? You just had a baby!"<br />
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I looked around and said, "Well, I didn't even have any contractions. Don't you think I should have had one, at least?"<br />
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The crowd chalked it up to luck but told me I ought to get to the hospital. I kept looking at the doll I was holding wondering why everyone thought it was a baby. I began doubting myself "Well, maybe at the hospital they can do an ultrasound and see if I'm still pregnant or if this is a real baby."<br />
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Someone called 911 but after waiting a few minutes I called them back, "You know, I think I'll just have my husband take me to the hospital."<br />
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On the way to the hospital I kept staring at the doll. Every few minutes she would look like a real baby for about a second, but then look like a doll again. I walked into the hospital, bewildered, confused, and curious. Then the baby doll started crying and looked like a real baby. It sobbed and sobbed and I knew it was real.<br />
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Please interpret this dream for me. Or at least give me an idea!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.topmommyblogs.com/pages/index.php">And don't forget to vote for me by clicking this link!</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-32190032780474701142013-01-29T14:17:00.002-08:002013-01-29T14:29:44.375-08:00The Love LanguagesWhen Camm and I were engaged, we registered at Target. The night we were registering, we got distracted in the book section by the book <a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000613802463762&pid=UBM9780802473158&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.cdsbooksdvds.com%2Fproduct.jhtm%3Fsku%3DUBM9780802473158&usg=AFHzDLuEcv7A5S8cnqqQXxdO1MALIAkE3g&pubid=617589" rel="nofollow">The 5 Love Languages</a>. (For those who haven't heard of it, there are five different ways that people feel and show love: words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch). Camm's arm was around me, I had a big rock on my finger, and we were holding the registry gun as we skimmed the book together: obviously a mushy, engaged couple, right?<br />
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Suddenly this 20-something guy with his red Target employee badge and greasy dirty blonde hair came up to us. In this fake (yet serious) sensual voice he said to us, "That's a really good book to learn about <i>love</i>."<br />
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<i>Oh great</i>, I thought, <i>last thing I need is a lesson from the greasy Target employee. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"Are you dating anyone?" the thick-wannabe-lustful voice asked me.<br />
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"Yeah, we're together," I said with as much politeness as I could muster in the situation--<i>really? How could we not be together?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Determined to finish his (trying to be) arousing speech, he said in the same voice"Well my love language is physical touch."<br />
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Wow, we put the book down and continued registering....<br />
<br />
That happened 3 years ago. Today I remembered the book (not really thinking about the incident), and decided to check what my love language is. I went to the company's <a href="http://www.5lovelanguages.com/">website here</a>, and took their little test.<br />
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The result? Well my love language is physical touch. (imagine I said that in the same greasy voice from above). Ironic?<br />
<br />
What are your experiences with this book? Do you find it helpful? What have you liked about it?<br />
<br />
Don't forget to <a href="http://www.topmommyblogs.com/pages/index.php">vote for me here</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8635541846142686206.post-46391693396515709802013-01-25T22:13:00.000-08:002013-01-25T22:13:00.040-08:00Stick StraightAs you know, my hair looks like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKD7L_enVH1D4bV9kxSExY_rn0xdHnaQRZKPfIjjEnLhYJRcuLIOcdueYULpfdLpFK84Qn2oZOhgw26EtlE4spUeqq1KeVZThl6HvXfz_Eiq1AeNhzv_2h9GyJRTE5lfXRUiFiXLyr7jp/s1600/hair.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKD7L_enVH1D4bV9kxSExY_rn0xdHnaQRZKPfIjjEnLhYJRcuLIOcdueYULpfdLpFK84Qn2oZOhgw26EtlE4spUeqq1KeVZThl6HvXfz_Eiq1AeNhzv_2h9GyJRTE5lfXRUiFiXLyr7jp/s400/hair.png" width="400" /></a></div>
My friend's hair looks like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUKgS1ByWHVvOhXEcDjxKncgg19T-Qw6K0__mv53hdWffzZHSt3lZLIPZjIHnhYTw01C-bKU5u3BD6H_XXQ02Sj960I_BIP32MHIqReoiNZWE9PpOjCcwreptS7U4ZmRvoh1eSBqHrrgw/s1600/hair3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUKgS1ByWHVvOhXEcDjxKncgg19T-Qw6K0__mv53hdWffzZHSt3lZLIPZjIHnhYTw01C-bKU5u3BD6H_XXQ02Sj960I_BIP32MHIqReoiNZWE9PpOjCcwreptS7U4ZmRvoh1eSBqHrrgw/s400/hair3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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She told me she does this REALLY EASY thing called the "no-heat curl". She directed me to <a href="http://shauna-thereedlife.blogspot.com/2012/02/no-heat-curls-shauna-reed-style.html">this blog</a> and I followed the directions. You wrap your hair around one hair band and sleep in it. In the morning you look beautiful. I followed perfectly:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfLhpCsj9XGYHHRumJCHii0GxVwABTtmBbkGiAsqZt8xGSZCV-SrxFk3VP9M4nzmD6g2RbKNSq7SYLzoy1cYhsfkZ0x_xqL5i7mx997_k8rLnzyFT07otmjAi9xSICp4tv_qVyM_Why06/s1600/hair4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfLhpCsj9XGYHHRumJCHii0GxVwABTtmBbkGiAsqZt8xGSZCV-SrxFk3VP9M4nzmD6g2RbKNSq7SYLzoy1cYhsfkZ0x_xqL5i7mx997_k8rLnzyFT07otmjAi9xSICp4tv_qVyM_Why06/s400/hair4.png" width="400" /></a></div>
When I woke up I looked like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojZpQI5Rsc67ScOQuwjMXjtSZfB0iMYtiA2UTCq3KQ5p1185TXilQeXQK3oXDwqPwQ_YtKgIgxrt_1VC6l_-Fjp796I2MYmfgLbaVo8ymKSXyt1aidV1CQRV8YrXKO7mttQnmRYo6k961/s1600/hair2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojZpQI5Rsc67ScOQuwjMXjtSZfB0iMYtiA2UTCq3KQ5p1185TXilQeXQK3oXDwqPwQ_YtKgIgxrt_1VC6l_-Fjp796I2MYmfgLbaVo8ymKSXyt1aidV1CQRV8YrXKO7mttQnmRYo6k961/s400/hair2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
My sweet Camm said something like, "Maybe you were supposed to curl more than one hair."<br />
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I think I'll just stick to the straight look.<br />
<br />
DON'T FORGET TO VOTE FOR MY BLOG <a href="http://www.topmommyblogs.com/pages/index.php">BY CLICKING THIS LINK! THANKS!</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1