tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3267166648017872532024-03-14T04:28:19.211-05:00Life makes me LaffAmy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.comBlogger179125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-38984101005774162652018-12-14T16:03:00.000-06:002018-12-14T16:03:15.953-06:00"I'm fine" and other lies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you ever heard the phrase, “You never know what someone
else is going through. Be kind. Always.” That is truly now my mantra. You have
no idea what is going on with anyone else. And, I am probably a poster child
for that. For as prolific as I’ve been in the past documenting my kids’
milestones, funny stories, and even challenges in parenting, turns out I am
actually intensely private when it comes to the deep stuff. The stuff that
makes you vulnerable. The stuff that makes you real. That I kept hidden deep
inside and didn’t share with anyone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, here goes: I am divorced. That is literally the first
time I’ve typed that out. But, it’s my truth. I know a lot of people were
shocked when I told them that it was happening. People tried to convince me to
do something different. To try something to fix my marriage. They admitted that
they wished we would get back together. To them it was a shock, and they
couldn’t wrap their minds around it. But for me, it was the last step in a
years-long process of introspection, work, depression, despair, sadness, and
ultimately acceptance. I was enormously hurt by this reaction. I was hurt that
people would think that we hadn’t thought this through, that we hadn’t tried,
that we hadn’t considered the consequences. But, then, was I partly to blame? I
kept all that inside, all the while smiling to people at school events, church
and anywhere else. Putting on a happy face for the girls and the rest of the
world, meanwhile, inside I was planning my own suicide. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s hard to even write that, but it is also my truth. I
fell down into a hole of depression so deep that I literally couldn’t imagine
having to make it through a day. I couldn’t comprehend the “it gets better”
statement that is being peddled around as a suicide prevention phrase because I
couldn’t fathom surviving through even a few more hours in that much pain. One
day, I was so low, I made a plan. I had pills. The only thing that stopped me
was the realization that the girls would be the ones to find me when they came
home from school. And, I couldn’t burden them with that, even when I was
planning to leave them behind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It took months before I opened up even the smallest bit to
my parents, who immediately got me into counseling. Because one problem is,
when you need the most help, it is the hardest to get. I knew I was in a bad
way, but I didn’t feel like I deserved any help, and then, even if I wanted it,
I couldn’t go through the process of researching and finding a mental health
professional because I could barely function through normal activities. The
thought of the enormous effort it would take to find and schedule help was too
overwhelming. So, I continued to suffer silently until I had a breakdown and
was essentially taken by hand for help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Counseling was not an easy process. I struggled with my
identity, who I was at my core if I didn’t do everything in life perfectly. How
could I even be worth anything if I failed? The problems I’m guessing lots of
people experience when their identities are wrapped up in being a “good girl.”
I spent most of every early session crying until my eyes swelled shut.
Meanwhile, I smiled for the girls and smiled when I went to school events,
church and anywhere in public.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During this whole process, I lost weight. A lot of weight. I
simply could not eat. I couldn’t put food in my mouth. I was never hungry and
the thought of eating usually made me sick to my stomach. If I ate anything, I
often threw it right back up. It wasn’t intentional. It was physiological.
People started commenting on it. Telling me I either looked great or that I
needed to eat a hamburger. And, I replied that I was running more or that it
wasn’t really anything. "I'm fine," I would say. I didn’t dare tell anyone why I was now at the lowest
weight of my entire adulthood and had to buy new pants because mine were
falling to the floor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stopped doing things. I stopped reading. I stopped
watching tv. I stopped going to events with people. I couldn’t focus on
anything, and I didn’t have the emotional energy required to interact with
others. I withdrew from everyone when I actually needed close friends the most.
I didn’t want to bother anyone. I didn’t trust that people would still love me
when they found out I had problems. I didn’t want to hear advice from a million
voices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After several months of counseling, it was suggested that I
go to my doctor to get on antidepressants. I had wondered about this for a
while, but again, felt like asking about it would mean I was trying to say my
problems were important enough for medical help, and I felt like that seemed
like I was trying to make myself more important than I was. So again, I waited until someone took me by the hand for help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was put on meds. They helped control the incessant crying.
They helped me focus on tasks. They helped me find energy again. (Though, the
emotionally devastating car accident, physically devastating bike accident, and
unexpected cancer scare over the past year were challenges I had not
anticipated having to navigate during this process.) Slowly, with medication
and intense counseling, I began to come out of my fog of depression. It was not
easy, and it was not quick. It took more introspective thought than I had ever
done in my entire life. Ultimately, Cory and I decided that a divorce was the
best option for either of us to find happiness again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I did have a few people who pushed through my behavior and
asked and asked and showed up until I finally opened up. I am forever grateful
to those people. Because what I needed, which I couldn’t see at the time, was
someone to listen. Not to compare problems. Not to judge my actions. Not to
tell me how this impacted them. Not to try to put themselves in my shoes and
tell me what they would do. I just needed someone to listen and tell me they
loved me because I was me, not because of anything I do or don’t do. Just
because I am me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know that now, of course, with the power of retrospect.
But I was in no shape to articulate it or ask for it at the time. That is the
trouble with depression. At least mine. I couldn’t ask for what I needed, even
though I’m sure if I had, many people would’ve genuinely wanted to help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I bring all this up because it is my truth. And, I have to
own it. But, also, because someone commented on my weight the other day. I’m
sure it was meant to be an innocuous statement. But, it didn’t feel innocuous.
Because through everything that happened, my weight was an outward sign of my
inner turmoil. And, yes, I’ve gained a lot of the weight I lost back. But, I
still struggle. In fact, I’ve been struggling a lot lately. I've been dreading
the holidays. I haven’t been able to stop crying. I have been having trouble
focusing. I started having panic attacks. I saw myself going down the same path
as before, so, I went to my doctor to get back on medication. Because at least
this time I knew where to find the tools to work to stop that progression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have learned so much about myself during all this. I still get overwhelmed and sad. I hate not having my girls all the time. But, I no
longer contemplate suicide. And, I trust a lot more people. It's safe to say, <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am still a work in progress.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo2Hz10OM99ZaQrT8h2bkBnK4UxDvXzavSfd_D3nPp52hGXbSxA7HoW3R0U2c4ew7hKUMFJYFXiJLimJlQ55S57T_Anqp4zokrJry11kSJXGXuFe562zpsBNe6G47-fuKx2nkBBmqORg/s1600/48371438_10216153753369382_5236459092611956736_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="835" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo2Hz10OM99ZaQrT8h2bkBnK4UxDvXzavSfd_D3nPp52hGXbSxA7HoW3R0U2c4ew7hKUMFJYFXiJLimJlQ55S57T_Anqp4zokrJry11kSJXGXuFe562zpsBNe6G47-fuKx2nkBBmqORg/s320/48371438_10216153753369382_5236459092611956736_n.jpg" width="278" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, the next time you’re tempted to comment on or judge
someone’s weight, behavior, quietness, lack of interaction or interest, or the
fact that they are getting a divorce, stop. Think. Consider. There could be a
lot more going on behind the scenes than you could have ever imagined. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tell my girls every day as they leave for school: "Have fun. Learn a lot. Be kind." I think that works for all of us, too. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJOAMd3ShrOFaaceC4pG5837sRqKZ6vtDaSdmSuv_rNaNf1YBbBpPQYz_W-ORESmgZ_Q8_a_1kHALTVosRlhI5S-uOKZMJbteGRWGJ3M9DfXvGVEKnuWdnbPTRoLVVPug0u8klAfubL0/s1600/2170845_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="630" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJOAMd3ShrOFaaceC4pG5837sRqKZ6vtDaSdmSuv_rNaNf1YBbBpPQYz_W-ORESmgZ_Q8_a_1kHALTVosRlhI5S-uOKZMJbteGRWGJ3M9DfXvGVEKnuWdnbPTRoLVVPug0u8klAfubL0/s320/2170845_0.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: xx-small; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">P.S. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: xx-small; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is my truth and mine alone. And, I'm clearly not completely comfortable sharing to the wide world, because I have no intention of sharing this link around. But, at least it's out there now. </span></div>
Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-12479494946716960272016-05-16T15:49:00.002-05:002016-05-16T16:17:33.863-05:00DNA Update: Shocking news!You guys! I got it! I got my <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2016/04/dna-no-way.html">DNA results</a>. And, you'll never believe what the results said about me.<br />
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Drumroll please ...<br />
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I'm 95 percent European.<br />
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Wah wah.<br />
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Ok, so, maybe you could have guessed that. I mean, I was pretty sure that that's what it was going to come out to. So, there's nothing really shocking at all. Talk about click-bait. Jeez. <br />
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In reality, there are still some interesting tidbits of info in the results. If you're really interested, you can check out the full results <a href="http://dna.ancestry.com/public/ethnicity/3d07a30a-81b9-4593-8200-0a2f1804c065/dbc4e84c-05ad-4f49-ac9c-dfb083f036fb">here</a>.<br />
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But, here's the overview:<br />
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So, look at that. Of the 95 percent European, I am 33 percent Irish. Now, I feel like with the red hair and freckles, this would probably be most people's first guess as to my heritage. But, honestly, through the genealogy research that I've seen from my family, I was expecting mostly British and Norwegian (My grandma's maiden name was Kvool. That's pretty darn Norwegian. There's no denying that.). And, you can see that those are the next biggest portions at 31 percent and 23 percent. So, those I was expecting, but, I truly was surprised at the Irish. Honestly, we have tons of stories about being related to Robert Bruce from Scotland, but none about being related to some Irish king.<br />
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<i>Ok, confession time. I actually just googled Irish Kings to see if that was even a thing. I had no idea what type of rulers my ancestors had. AND, I couldn't read a single name that came up on the Wikipedia page. It was seriously like a foreign language. </i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f9f9f9; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">Máel Sechnaill mac Domnaill</span> and <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f9f9f9; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">Toirdelbach Ua Conchobair</span> </span><br />
<i>These are two of the names that came up. That is not English. No, seriously. I have no idea how to say those words (names?). </i><br />
<i>Man, I am such a bad Irishwoman. I've got to get me some learning on my whole ancestral homeland thing. Anyone up for a trip to the Emerald Isle? I'm sure I could learn a lot in person ...</i><br />
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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/AVvXsEjH2QHtDCObfaWBpTQQI_-Z6p4kmDxpjyxBwkWGmlNoBGem3z2BFf1oRQy5zOLw0ixhyphenhyphen8EtPJW3wbKLisCkiyDokqVSczIB8JfVMuaFarbo8NUHZkkF1IlC1vRIzw857ehbL9HcyloWvI4/s1600/13227228_10101147219540308_5590012031790117021_n-003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2QHtDCObfaWBpTQQI_-Z6p4kmDxpjyxBwkWGmlNoBGem3z2BFf1oRQy5zOLw0ixhyphenhyphen8EtPJW3wbKLisCkiyDokqVSczIB8JfVMuaFarbo8NUHZkkF1IlC1vRIzw857ehbL9HcyloWvI4/s400/13227228_10101147219540308_5590012031790117021_n-003.jpg" width="338" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A redhaired, blue/green-eyed, freckled Irishwoman with beer. Seems about right, I guess.</td></tr>
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Alright, so we were all pretty sure that I was going to be mostly European. I mean, I'm a very, very pale redhead with freckles and blue/green eyes. Not much room in there for any cool ancestry.<br />
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But, would you look at that? I actually have 5 percent of my DNA that is something else! And, granted, it's less than 1 percent, but I do have some DNA from South Asia!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8uGvxkucIDFIdf5TOd2pYI1y0ToJo8PwMzUcVAtOix3eqGKiP1pRJd47QrOoM-qdBIH6TtMDHLhsiAVpCZieOfEanIKNRKbEuvEukIznk3VtPuqB7tbGWhn-95_Ju91ZvLScVhnOHfw/s1600/Fullscreen+capture+5162016+22010+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8uGvxkucIDFIdf5TOd2pYI1y0ToJo8PwMzUcVAtOix3eqGKiP1pRJd47QrOoM-qdBIH6TtMDHLhsiAVpCZieOfEanIKNRKbEuvEukIznk3VtPuqB7tbGWhn-95_Ju91ZvLScVhnOHfw/s640/Fullscreen+capture+5162016+22010+PM.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Guys, do you see that? I'm almost 1 percent South Asian, which includes Nepal. I'm pretty sure that this means I'm part Nepalese. Pawan Dhakal, I'm looking at you, brother! ;) I totally can pass for that, right?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the Nepalese party at the Dhakals a few years ago. I had no idea I was celebrating my ancestry!</td></tr>
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And, last but not least, I'm 4 percent West Asian ...<br />
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So, I didn't know anything about the Caucasus area, either. In fact, I still don't really. It covers quite a wide range. From Azerbaijan to Italy. I guess I just get to choose which one to associate with. I really like pizza, so maybe I'm part Italian? But, I've also always wanted to visit the gorgeous cliffs of Santorini, Greece, so maybe that's my Greek heritage beckoning me back? I literally know nothing about Azerbaijan. And, from what we've discovered about my lack of knowledge of Ireland, maybe that means that I am actually from there.<br />
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I guess this will always be somewhat of a mystery. But, at least now I know those family lores are just that. Lore. I am not, in fact, related to Pocahontas. Nope. Not even the slightest trace of Native American DNA in that whole ethnicity profile. There goes that dream.<br />
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But, who knows? Maybe when I find out any information at all about Ireland, I can discover that I'm related to the really awesome Irish Pirate Queen, Grace O'Malley. Now, that would be cool. And, I can even say her name.<br />
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Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-22857023306855741072016-05-12T19:16:00.001-05:002016-05-12T19:30:42.951-05:00The grand adventures of Freckles the DogOnce upon a time, there was a sweet dog with white fur, brown spots and freckles on his nose. His name, not surprisingly, was Freckles.<br />
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Poor Freckles the Dog was lonely. He was lost and didn't have a family. He lived on his own and walked around outside all day without anyone to love him or take care of him. He saw other dogs in houses or on leashes. He wanted to be one of those dogs. It made him so sad.<br />
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One day, a nice woman found him. She saw through his matted fur and his scared demeanor. She knew he was a good dog. So, she took him off the street and took him to a big farm in the country. There, the woman and her husband fed him and gave him a bath. This woman did this for many dogs. The farm was full of dogs to run around with and play with. But, Freckles was still lonely.<br />
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See, what Freckles wanted more than anything was a family all his own to love.<br />
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Now, Freckles didn't know this, but somewhere out there, there was a family with a mom, a dad, and two little girls who very much wanted a dog of their own. The mom heard about this special farm with lots of dogs who needed homes. She just knew that they would find their special dog at this place. So, she convinced everyone in the family to drive for an hour to reach this farm. <br />
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When they pulled into the long driveway, the mom immediately spied a very special dog. He was white with brown spots and black freckles on his nose. The lady who worked at the farm said his name was Freckles and that he was an extraordinary dog.<br />
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"What Freckles wants is a home of his very own," she explained.<br />
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The mom and the dad and the two girls got down on the ground and petted Freckles. He promptly snuggled into the loving hands. Freckles looked in the eyes of these people. He knew. This was his family.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGk3g36aespUZTFTt_RsJq5QxVSGoiDgiSOYhqzXcbhJoGKM9fXB0sQyohPYZecfoKH5hrq3bh1Vm0UGgEjNgUA3FWMR6M5UsTi-3niKqhzDPF9ZmI3tiZJb9h80JBt36ZtW66M1F1pJQ/s1600/20141101_163034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGk3g36aespUZTFTt_RsJq5QxVSGoiDgiSOYhqzXcbhJoGKM9fXB0sQyohPYZecfoKH5hrq3bh1Vm0UGgEjNgUA3FWMR6M5UsTi-3niKqhzDPF9ZmI3tiZJb9h80JBt36ZtW66M1F1pJQ/s320/20141101_163034.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting the family for the first time.</td></tr>
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The family thought so, too.<br />
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They took Freckles home with him that night.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First family picture.</td></tr>
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At first, it was a bit of a transition. Freckles had always wanted a family of his own, but he didn't really know how to live in a house with a family. The family had to teach Freckles about going to the bathroom outside. Not in the dining room. Freckles really didn't like staying in a crate, so he found ways out every time the family tried to put him in. The family could never figure out how he managed to escape, and Freckles never told his secrets. The family also learned that Freckles was an amazing jumper. He could jump from four feet on the floor to the top of the counter. Especially if there were pizza or hot dogs on the counter.<br />
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Both Freckles and the family had to learn how to live together. But, soon, nobody could imagine it any other way. The girls liked to play games with him. And, they even liked to sleep beside him.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freckles never quite got the hang of twister.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He did like company while he slept. Especially if it was thundering outside.</td></tr>
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Most days, while the dad went to work and the kids went to school, the mom stayed at the house. So, the mom and Freckles became best friends. She even took Freckles on long runs. Oh, did Freckles love those runs. He would smile and trot and chase bunnies the whole time. You've never seen a happier dog than Freckles during a run. Even when the mom made him go a really long way, he still was happy. Though, when he made it home, he would often collapse on the kitchen floor and rest for quite a while.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freckles was so happy when he got to go for a run with his mom.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freckles would give the mom a guilt trip if she wanted to skip a run.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes, even the older girl would take him for a run.</td></tr>
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Every school day, the mom walked Freckles down to the school to pick up the two girls. The youngest girl went to half day, so they picked her up at lunchtime. Every time they turned the corner at the front of the school, all the children in the girl's class started chanting, "Freckles! Freckles is here!" He became the class mascot. He simply sat quietly as all the kids petted his head. The mom could swear she saw him smiling, even though people say that dogs can't smile.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freckles loved picking up the younger girl from kindergarten.</td></tr>
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When he wasn't on walks to school or runs with his mom, Freckles claimed the chair by the front window. He loved watching the world go by on the street in front of him. If you ever drove by the house, you could often find him sitting in front of the window checking out everything. It was his happy place.<br />
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And, Freckles was such a happy dog now. He had the family he'd always wanted. He was fed. He was taken care of. His family took him on walks and runs and gave him as many pets as he could take. He was no longer lonely.<br />
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So, one beautiful spring day, the mom was enjoying the weather with the windows open. She could feel the breeze as she worked in her office. Freckles was enjoying the breeze as well. He was watching the world go by out the window as he usually did. He saw many walkers, bike riders and cars go up and down the street. It was a wonderful afternoon.<br />
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But, when 3:40 rolled around, the mom had to go to school. And, today, she had to walk into school because she was taking the younger girl to a Girl Scout meeting. Unfortunately, dogs aren't allowed into school buildings. Which meant that Freckles had to stay home.<br />
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Freckles didn't like being left at home. He didn't like when the mom and girl left him and went on a walk without him. Freckles was sad as they walked out the door. He was sad as they walked away from the house without him. He started crying. The mom and daughter heard him crying and felt terrible, but there was nothing they could do. The school simply wouldn't let him come in the building.<br />
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So, despite feeling awful, the mom and daughter kept walking to school. The mom knew she'd be back soon and could make Freckles feel better with lots of petting. The mom and girl started talking about her meeting. She was very excited about going to Girl Scouts.<br />
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The mom and girl walked all the way down the street to the school. When, all of a sudden, they heard a commotion. Kids were yelling and the mom swore she heard the name "Freckles." The mom looked up and turned back toward the direction of their house.<br />
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You'll never guess what the mom saw.<br />
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Freckles the Dog was running toward them, smiling and trotting and grinning. He had jumped right out of that open window and came down to find his family at school.<br />
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The mom couldn't believe it. She couldn't even really be mad at him, because he hadn't run away. He knew exactly where they were going, and he just couldn't stand being left behind. So, he had jumped out of the window and headed right to the school.<br />
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The mom and girl just started laughing. Oh, Freckles the Dog. The found the older girl and they laughed. Freckles really was an extraordinary dog. And, he was their extraordinary dog. He had found his family, and he was not about to let it get away.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freckles with his open window in the background.</td></tr>
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But, one thing did come from Freckles the Dog's grand adventure to school that day. From then on, if the family ever left the house, the mom learned not to leave any windows open. No one was taking any more chances with Freckles the Dog.Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-16365357352733428692016-05-05T16:50:00.000-05:002016-05-05T17:00:35.015-05:00Kathrine Switzer and my tiny feministsSo, way back in 2013, I stumbled across the book <i>Marathon Woman</i> by Kathrine Switzer. I fell in love with book. Like, really in love with it. So much so, in fact, that I wrote an entire blog post about it. (I reposted it in its entirety below. If you haven't read it, it's got all the cool facts about Kathrine and her Boston run. Read it.)<br />
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But, you know, life moves on. I ran a couple marathons after that blog post. Read a couple more books. Then, a few months ago, I heard the news that Kathrine Switzer was coming to Kansas City to give a talk for <a href="https://www.girlsontherun.org/">Girls on the Run</a>. What?!?! My favorite running idol coming to Kansas City?!? Could this really be happening? As my mother's day present, my mom said she would take me to the event. Wahoo!<br />
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The morning of the event, I was explaining to Charlotte that Papa would actually be picking her up from school. "Why?" she asked. So, I proceeded to explain to her and Molly that I would be going with Gigi to this talk.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I'm going to listen to the first woman to officially run the Boston Marathon. She's going to give a talk, and I can't wait to hear it. Do you remember when I told you that women didn't used to be allowed to run in marathons? This woman was one of the first to do it."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"That is so unfair!" Molly said. "Women can do anything men can do."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"That's true, but, lots of time, people don't think that way," I replied.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"But, now women are allowed to do anything they want," Molly said.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Well, maybe in America," I said, "but in a lot of countries around the world, women and girls aren't allowed to do things like sports, go to school or drive. And, if they are allowed to run, sometimes they have to be covered completely from head to toe so no one can see their bodies." </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"What?!?!?" Molly exclaimed.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"But girls are allowed to play soccer," Charlotte said. (Because despite the skipping down the field and avoiding the ball at all costs, Charlotte loves soccer.) </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Well, yes, in America girls are allowed to play soccer. We're very fortunate to live here. But, even in America, the US women's soccer team gets paid WAY less than the men's even though they've performed better and more people watch them."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Why?" Molly asked.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I don't really know, Molly. That's a good question. But, people are fighting to try to change that."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Molly," Charlotte said, "What would you do if you were president?"</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Molly paused and thought ... "I would pay teachers more and make sure women got paid just as much as men because it is not fair that they don't." </blockquote>
<br />
At which point, I gave giant high fives to my two little feminist fighters. I also started really regretted not taking Molly out of school to come with us to see Kathrine.<br />
<br />
The event itself was awesome. Kathrine Switzer was every bit as inspiring and energetic in person as she came across in her book. I really just kind of want to be her best friend. She talked about her current venture 261 Fearless is trying to encourage all women to accomplish whatever they dream. And, also about how small victories as a younger child helped her to have the confidence to believe that she could do anything, including running the Boston Marathon. It was awesome for me to hear all things about confidence and inner strength, but it really would've been good for Molly, as an almost 9 year old, to hear. Not to mention, she was an incredibly exciting and engaging speaker. Truly. If I could be that engaging in real life ... Wow.<br />
<br />
Anyway, Kathrine was a total sweetheart and took pictures with me and my mom before her talk. I love her.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwKn8LjdMjWl6KO9N_BZssw8Slqc_DWjq-W3oCjAKy7hrSB8yJ_NXVDMp47HSWeN6mz1KesnSCXdkpLM1EmQdPm_eSpDRacyXULo6KxJr8NUxP1Tm4rxprQtfDO__j0IDTqAhXbPYy5M/s1600/IMG_20160505_163505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwKn8LjdMjWl6KO9N_BZssw8Slqc_DWjq-W3oCjAKy7hrSB8yJ_NXVDMp47HSWeN6mz1KesnSCXdkpLM1EmQdPm_eSpDRacyXULo6KxJr8NUxP1Tm4rxprQtfDO__j0IDTqAhXbPYy5M/s320/IMG_20160505_163505.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm such a dork. I couldn't help the giant cheese face.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-h_8vlrpuDTLhVGIMIWs3r0AcOeqoM8f2TMqq12xSjx3JxifoE3Fn5eHGEZy9l55oUhWccQ92HMDNjbBB4YdATDNWgNybucfLurhgbEpBTXohwy2oNQkDeNFE5i49BwGVUbUW0BEe2Q/s1600/IMG_20160504_113143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-h_8vlrpuDTLhVGIMIWs3r0AcOeqoM8f2TMqq12xSjx3JxifoE3Fn5eHGEZy9l55oUhWccQ92HMDNjbBB4YdATDNWgNybucfLurhgbEpBTXohwy2oNQkDeNFE5i49BwGVUbUW0BEe2Q/s320/IMG_20160504_113143.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking one with both me and my mom.</td></tr>
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PS. This woman is 69 years old. Yeah, I want to be her.<br />
<br />
She also signed my book to Amy, Molly and Charlotte. Because I'd actually read her book several years ago and had borrowed it from the library, I had to buy a copy there for her to sign. But, it was totally worth it. Obviously.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1P969Rqhkavl2NqRXqo_uTVUX4dpKH32fUyjbZuP055qyNtgE_Shs5DG-LbYBz9gc5GrfBPKNidH71BwcQ0MEvs-OHiXwqWaJ4f7JmoKjx9cL3p6EVcV0J1klTeu727zj4b1lAixXOcA/s1600/20160505_163233.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1P969Rqhkavl2NqRXqo_uTVUX4dpKH32fUyjbZuP055qyNtgE_Shs5DG-LbYBz9gc5GrfBPKNidH71BwcQ0MEvs-OHiXwqWaJ4f7JmoKjx9cL3p6EVcV0J1klTeu727zj4b1lAixXOcA/s320/20160505_163233.png" width="175" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I thought it was only appropriate to have it inscribed to all of us.</td></tr>
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<br />
The whole event was fabulous and amazing. I was smiling for hours after. I'm so glad I got to go. Now, if only I'd known I to bring my two budding feminists with me. Next time. Next time.<br />
<br />
<strike> </strike><br />
<br />
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<a name='more'></a><i><a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2013/08/marathon-woman.html">"Marathon Woman" Originally posted: August 23, 2013</a><a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2013/08/marathon-woman.html"> </a></i><br />
<br />
In case you missed it, I'm currently in the throes of training for the 2013 Chicago Marathon. This will not be my first marathon. It will be my third. But, if you'd asked me after either of my others, I would've told you that I would not do another one.<br />
<br />
As I stared at my blackened toenails and hobbled gingerly down all flights of stairs after my first one in Dallas, I swore up and down that I was a one-and-done marathoner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TS_4e0TsTdMYHhhIVuYYiYHJxjkJS73EP55cz3pFAfOam74DsGNYjC3aeHTgumDZBRxz6UlPrwaQtSWmxyEflUGJ5jltGgMCcWON4XDQU-1Rr1yh5fjTpt7roLmBw9ZpakEkRfYQ_rE/s1600/Big+D+Marathon+4-2-007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TS_4e0TsTdMYHhhIVuYYiYHJxjkJS73EP55cz3pFAfOam74DsGNYjC3aeHTgumDZBRxz6UlPrwaQtSWmxyEflUGJ5jltGgMCcWON4XDQU-1Rr1yh5fjTpt7roLmBw9ZpakEkRfYQ_rE/s320/Big+D+Marathon+4-2-007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Feeling victorious ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNcIGNFiBkcYcIWrA6lB_DGpgTOgLycp2M1HTMOVnk93-9A4g8xHrRU_8MJg1W-82FdFilfMJfHPqkrNCac2a83e7ZUVHvKCG8g5yxPI8rQMD0pjbizjYc-g0Ob_eDaoWY8KId6KXS0I/s1600/Big+D+Marathon+4-2-06+088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNcIGNFiBkcYcIWrA6lB_DGpgTOgLycp2M1HTMOVnk93-9A4g8xHrRU_8MJg1W-82FdFilfMJfHPqkrNCac2a83e7ZUVHvKCG8g5yxPI8rQMD0pjbizjYc-g0Ob_eDaoWY8KId6KXS0I/s320/Big+D+Marathon+4-2-06+088.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">but, completely dead after the Big D in 2006.</td></tr>
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<br />
Then, I had a couple kids, and felt the need to prove to myself that I could still do it. So, I signed up for another one. This time, I swore 'round about mile 24 of the Route 66 marathon in Tulsa, OK, that I would never do this to myself again.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5B_fVt6qIVt9dQvbtJe-gIIjF23gPKr41LMknVSveKbmyWDS4xn_pBTQqHQSWoASTGgOCi7cVAuV20AwSIN4rnZMFCNCwJGdsVs8aS7mLQ-hjfbB2IUvg9J8RPBGFiwPd3wIKibgJxo/s1600/PB210155+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5B_fVt6qIVt9dQvbtJe-gIIjF23gPKr41LMknVSveKbmyWDS4xn_pBTQqHQSWoASTGgOCi7cVAuV20AwSIN4rnZMFCNCwJGdsVs8aS7mLQ-hjfbB2IUvg9J8RPBGFiwPd3wIKibgJxo/s320/PB210155+(1).JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">With Sarah, who I peer pressured into running. That was it for me. I was done in 2010.</td></tr>
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<br />
Well, it's three years later, and somehow I got peer pressured into signing up for another one. This time in Chicago. I was excited about going on a trip with my girlfriends, but the daunting training miles and 26.2 race miles were not all that exciting for me. Don't get me wrong, I would do it, but I wouldn't be super happy about it.<br />
<br />
So, with all these training miles and running constantly on my mind, I happened across a blog that mentioned the autobiography of Kathrine Switzer. Switzer is the first woman to run with a number in the Boston Marathon in 1967. She's also the woman made famous by this series of pictures:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkPoLyJztuwPpktN3XeLqjhOYt9dYt0k916SHfjhcf7-OVJ9zzkQn3K0zbUlORhLRhqDI2YdUe6jfVnmINCEMgV9mQICGcahf84wWOIMvkumTvFpyW0iPvKsZNv48I-NtCLlGZ31TMb4/s1600/switzer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkPoLyJztuwPpktN3XeLqjhOYt9dYt0k916SHfjhcf7-OVJ9zzkQn3K0zbUlORhLRhqDI2YdUe6jfVnmINCEMgV9mQICGcahf84wWOIMvkumTvFpyW0iPvKsZNv48I-NtCLlGZ31TMb4/s320/switzer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Switzer being chased by race director Jock Semple who was yelling, "Get the hell out of my race and give me those numbers!"</td></tr>
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Although she'd officially registered, she'd done so using her initials, K.V., so they didn't know she was a woman. Race officials, clearly, were not happy when they found out, as women weren't supposed to run. I'd heard of this story before and knew of Switzer, but didn't know a ton about her. So, of course I was intrigued by the thought of a book by her.<i> </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<i><br /></i><i></i>
<i>I tried to find it at our library, but they didn't have it. I then discovered this handy-dandy interlibrary loan thing, where our library will borrow books from other libraries around the country if it doesn't have a book you want. This is not related to the story, but I just wanted to put it out there in case you didn't know about this awesome service. I got the book in three days and picked it up from my local library. It was a sweet deal.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>You know all those little blurbs that you are supposed to fill out about yourself on Twitter or Goodreads or wherever? On those short, little "about me" sections, I often write "wife, mother, runner, reader." These are the things that are important to me. Now, take away family and you've got runner and reader. I love to do both. So, books about running, I mean that's right up my alley. But, you throw in history and strong women, which are my favorite things to read about, well, let's just say this book was made for me.<br />
<br />
The book probably wouldn't be classified as a page-turner, but I, for one, couldn't stop reading it. While pouring through this book, I kept stopping to tell Cory something unbelievable I'd read. (I also told many unsolicited anecdotes to my running girlfriends on our long runs. Sorry, girls!) I love history, but this is not ancient history. Women were not allowed to run in the Boston Marathon in 1967. That is not that long ago, guys. In fact, women weren't officially allowed until six years later in 1973. That is a mere seven years before I was born!<br />
<br />
Switzer also talks about the fact that women's basketball had different rules than men's basketball in order to cut down on the amount of running involved. In the 60s, women had six players on a team and were allowed only three dribbles and weren't allowed to cross the center line. A women's basketball coach said at the time that women would never be allowed to play "men's" basketball because the excessive number of jump balls could displace the uterus.<br />
<br />
In fact, although the women's 800 meters was finally allowed in the Olympics in 1928, it was removed again after the top three racing women ran so hard that they "tumbled breathlessly into the infield" after the finish (as you do after running all out for a half mile). It was not added back into the Olympics until 1960, but any distance longer than that was not even considered.<br />
<br />
Switzer talks about what all her friends and detractors used to say to her about women running. She was told that she would get big legs, grow a moustache, turn into a man or turn into a lesbian. All just from the simple act of running. And, a marathon? Women just weren't capable of running that distance. That was a simple fact.<br />
<br />
The lasts half of Switzer's book focuses on her efforts, along with a lot of others, to get the women's marathon added to the Olympics. The amount of work, time and effort that it took to get something that I take for granted as a natural part of the Olympics is amazing. It was added in 1984 in Los Angeles. 1984?!?! I was alive and toddling around when this happened, people.<br />
<br />
Not only is it amazing that Switzer, and other women at the forefront of women's running, changed what it was perceived that women could do, but they did it while literally running in men's shoes. While I'm the first to admit that running shoes have gotten way prettier even since I've been running, it never occurred to me that there was a time when you couldn't buy women's running shoes. Running shoes didn't even really exist, but any kind of shoe for exercising was made for a man, along with the clothes. Switzer writes about testing out different clothes to wear (including a leotard and tights) because shorts were made for men and they didn't fit women's bigger hips and thighs. These early women runners were pioneering everything!<br />
<br />
One day, while reading this book, I told Molly what I was reading about. "I'm reading a book about a woman who was one of the first women to run in marathons. Did you know that girls didn't used to be allowed to run?" "Why?" Molly asked. "Because they didn't think girls could do it." "That's not fair," Molly said. "Girls can run! You can run. I ran a 5K." Then, Charlotte piped up, "I ran a 5K, too!"<br />
<br />
"Yes," I told them. "You both can run, and I can run. People were just silly back then."<br />
<br />
This book was the perfect choice to read during this marathon training. I have never felt so inspired and grateful just to be able to do what I love. I love that my 3-year-old and 6-year-old girls know that running makes you strong, and does not make you grow a moustache. I love that more women than men now run road races in the US. I love that this thing that I love to do was made possible by the strength of women runners before me.<br />
<br />
It may sound cheesy, but this book made me proud to be a woman, a runner and a mother. It makes me happy to show up on Sundays for my long, long training runs. It makes me excited for October 13, 2013. I will be there because the women before me fought and proved us all capable. Our triumph is their triumph and their triumph was ours before we even knew it.<br />
<br />
Seriously, get this book. It's that good.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrLPPGloQ6TEJH_rmTW44gk9OYGSGK6w1GRUSFV_Q1WjDmZ_nQqIhcjI_WyNoFuXDkQ87_cMpiOj00wt0lO7UBlgzi8ypa3Tv_P2Y2mlLOyxVxBG4R_FdW9ghFh9u5Pbi7ModHl0ni4o/s1600/DSC_0768-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrLPPGloQ6TEJH_rmTW44gk9OYGSGK6w1GRUSFV_Q1WjDmZ_nQqIhcjI_WyNoFuXDkQ87_cMpiOj00wt0lO7UBlgzi8ypa3Tv_P2Y2mlLOyxVxBG4R_FdW9ghFh9u5Pbi7ModHl0ni4o/s320/DSC_0768-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My prides and joys. Running with two strong girls who will never be told they can't run because they are girls.<br />
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Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-51400908114460957922016-04-26T17:58:00.001-05:002016-04-26T18:02:13.700-05:00Rite of spring passageI feel like I might get a couple of "amens" from the crowd with this one. So, let's go. Does anyone else experience the same rite of passage that I do every spring?<br />
<br />
I don't mean allergies. Luckily, that has never been something I've had to deal with. (<i>Knock on wood</i>.)<br />
<br />
I don't mean thunderstorms and tornado watches. However, I'm pretty sure we're going to be getting into one of those shortly.<br />
<br />
I don't mean crazy, squirrely kids anxiously counting down to the last day of school. Though, we do have those in our house. (17 days for us Olathians. Aaack!)<br />
<br />
I'm talking about the horrific experience that happens to the majority of us lighter-pigmented humans. Us pale-as-snow folk. Those of us who are melanin-challenged.<br />
<br />
I'm talking the first sunburn of the spring.<br />
<br />
<i>Dun. Dun. Dun.</i><br />
<br />
You never expect it. It hasn't been warm enough. You've been wearing jeans, jackets, and light sweaters on most days. Not much of your skin is even exposed. Then, comes a warm, sunny day. It is beautiful, in fact. And, you're just just sitting outside on this beautiful day.<br />
<br />
Perhaps watching your 6-year-old's soccer game. A light breeze is blowing, so you don't feel hot. You're enjoying the sun and the breeze. You don't even think about the fact that your skin is as pasty as a powdered donut. You're not thinking of the fact that this pasty powdered donut skin is definitely not prepared to be exposed to the vitamin D rays that come along with that warming sunshine.<br />
<br />
So, you're just sitting there, happy as a clam. Or, as happy as I would be if I were actually eating said powdered donut. And, you don't feel a thing. You finish watching this so-called soccer game. Cheering loudly for your daughter, even though she mostly just prances down the field and avoids contact with the ball unless it is kicked directly at the spot where her feet happen to be standing. <i>Ahem. Anyway. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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The game finishes. You pack up your chair and pick up your camera (though you have no shots of her actually touching the ball, so you're not sure why you continue bringing it).<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
You head home and prepare to enjoy a leisurely Sunday evening with a friend on the back patio, drinking delicious Leinenkugel Summer Shandys and eating hot dogs off the grill while the kids all play. It's setting up to be simply a lovely Sunday.<br />
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Then, as you're enjoying this delightful time, you start to feel a little heat radiating from your legs. Hmmm. What's that about, you wonder. It is then that you make the fateful move and stand up. Your knees bend at a slightly different angle and your skin creases differently.<br />
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Holy Crap! What fresh hell is this? Your eyes drift down to your knees and you glimpse bright neon red patches gleaming up at you from your pasty powdered donut skin. "Oh my god," you think, "I forgot sunscreen."<br />
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Immediately, you start kicking yourself. Especially, if you happen to be a one percenter. And, I don't mean those people who make up one percent of the wealth. I mean those people whose hair color constitutes one percent of the population of the world. Yep, I'm talking about us Gingers.<br />
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You really should know better. You <i>really</i> should. Really, really should. You have no excuse. This was entirely preventable by you. You have a house full of sunscreen. Because, really, what redhead doesn't? There is no reason that this should've happened. Sigh. Double sigh.<br />
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So, all you can do is load up on the aloe and keep drinking. What? The beer bottles are cold and feel so good on your burns. I'm pretty sure I could find a doctor who would prescribe this remedy. You don't want to go ignoring doctors' advice do you? I didn't think so.<br />
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And, still two days later, you feel the burn every time you sit down and stand up. Your arms hurt every time you move them, because you couldn't just get burned on your knees and feet, you had to get your arms, too. It's practically mocking you. The crossing guard even comments on it in the 5 seconds you see her as you're walking your children into school. But, you know what? You've learned your lesson. You went to Walgreens and stocked up on sunscreen and aloe. This will not happen again. You will be prepared.<br />
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That is ... until next Spring ...Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-91907091074268188062016-04-15T12:07:00.001-05:002016-04-15T12:07:49.699-05:00I confess, I am an EgyptaholicSince I already divulged one of my big geek interests last week, I thought I would just go ahead and get this one out there, too. I mean, as long as you're confessing, you might as well confess everything. You guys are cool with that, right? This totally public internet blog is surely just as sacred and secret as a confession booth. No one could possibly see this. We're in a safe place here.<br />
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Ok, here goes: I am an Egyptaholic. I have a weird obsession with Egyptology. Yep, I love ancient Egypt. It's true. Man, that feels good to get off my chest.<br />
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Now, don't start quizzing me about the different dynasties and and kingdoms and the years they covered. I can't quote all the minutiae. I know the basics: Old Kingdom, Middle Kingdom, New Kingdom. God of the underworld: Osiris. Sun God: Ra. Goddess with a head of a cat: Bastet.<br />
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But I've never actually taken a class in ancient Egypt or Egyptology (oh, but if I could go back to school and redo it ... ). I have watched almost every documentary available on Netflix about Egypt's history. I've also read too many books to count about ancient Egypt. Both straight history and historical fiction. (I <i>love</i> Michelle Moran's historical fiction books, <i>Nefertiti</i>, <i>The Heretic Queen</i>, and <i>Cleopatra's Daughter</i>. Seriously, if you like historical fiction and Egypt, then these are your books. It's not just me, right?)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A couple of my favorite Michelle Moran books from my personal bookshelf.</td></tr>
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I even have my very own favorite Egyptologist. I mean, doesn't everyone? Just me? Ok. Well, her name is Kara Cooney, and she is pretty amazing. You should totally follow her on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/karacooneyegyptologist/?fref=ts">Facebook</a> just to see all the interesting articles she posts. (Side note: a friend once asked me, "So, I see you like a lot of things about Egypt on Facebook. What's that about?" I had to then sheepishly explain my obsession. I sounded like a total dork, I'm sure. Just like I do here. <i>Ahem.</i>) Unfortunately, Cooney's documentaries are no longer on Netflix, but she did write an awesome book called <i>The Woman Who Would Be King: Hatshepsut's Rise to Power in Ancient Egypt</i>. I devoured it. Seriously, so interesting. I highly recommend it.<br />
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Now, in addition to the girl crush I have on Kara Cooney, I have one on everyone's favorite Presidential historian, Doris Kearns Goodwin. I had the pleasure of going with my dad to a reading she did in Kansas City a couple years ago. It was awesome. One day, I hope to get a similar picture to the one below with Kara Cooney signing my copy of her book. Fingers crossed for that day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eeek! I was so stupid excited this night. Since, I already admitted I was a dork. Let's just fully embrace it here. If anyone asks, my dream dinner party would totally be me, Kara Cooney, Doris Kearns Goodwin and Michelle Obama. I mean, I doubt I would be able to utter a word, but it would be epic nonetheless.</td></tr>
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Anyway, I'm not sure if I can explain why I love ancient Egypt quite as much as I do. In my <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2016/04/dna-no-way.html">genealogy</a> post, I wrote about my love for world history, and I suppose this obsession goes along with that. The whole history of Egypt just captures my imagination and won't let go. Think about it. This civilization began in approximately 3150 BC. That's more than 5,000 years ago. Five thousand years. FIVE THOUSAND. Can you even comprehend that? Here in the U.S., we think a building built in 1900 CE is old. Our country is not even 250 years old, yet. We've got 4,750 more years to reach the span of Egypt.<br />
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Ancient Egypt existed way before Jesus walked on water. Way before the Romans built the Colosseum. Way before the Kardashians ruined the selfie. Egypt has been around a long time, people.<br />
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A benefit of being an ancient civilization situated in a desert climate is that a lot of things managed to survive through the ages. Those dry, hot conditions tend to help with that. Having so many surviving tablets, papyri, temples, etc., feeds the imagination. "The more you know" and all that. It helps put you in the 5,000-year-old sandals of those ancient Egyptians as they walked on the banks of the Nile.<br />
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Maybe I would be just as obsessed with the aboriginal population of Australia if we could find as many surviving artifacts describing their ancient lives. Who knows? Oh, we'd also need a Rosetta Stone. Yeah, that helps us understand quite a bit.<br />
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So, one of the exciting things happening in Egyptology right now is the <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/2016/04/160401-king-tut-tomb-radar-scan-nefertiti-archaeology/">theory</a> circulating that King Tut's tomb was not originally made for him. Nicholas Reeves, a British archaeologist, published a paper last year theorizing that another chamber may lay behind the walls of the famous Tut tomb. And, that when Tut died so young, he was hastily placed in a pre-existing burial chamber. Many are hoping that Queen Nefertiti's tomb is the one that lays beyond the walls. Teams have been painstakingly scanning the walls and analyzing the data for the past couple months. It's all very exciting. You know, for me. And other Egyptaholics like me. I am anxiously awaiting an announcement about the conclusion of these scans and analysis like a normal person would wait for what, a movie release? A sports trade announcement? I don't know.<br />
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Anyway, this may seem like a random topic for a post. I mean, how many geeky obsessions can I possibly confess to on one blog? If we're keeping a tally, it's kind of high, and I'm slightly embarrassed. But, here's the exciting thing that is happening soon that actually made me think to write this post: a speaker is coming to JCCC to give a presentation called, "<a href="http://www.jccc.edu/foundation/events/polsky-series/index.html">Unlocking the Great Pyramid</a>." Can you believe that I'm going to go? Oh yeah. I'm obviously excited. Will I be one of the very few people in my age demographic? Probably. But, I'm getting used to it. I am a dork at heart, that's clear. I should just accept it and embrace it. So, here goes.<br />
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I am an Egyptaholic and proud of it.<br />
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See you guys at the lecture?<br />
Anyone?<br />
Bueller?<br />
Bueller?<br />
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Oh well, more Egypt for me.<br />
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Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-79016757464631057332016-04-09T11:04:00.001-05:002016-04-10T14:37:19.997-05:00The importance of the inaneI usually keep things pretty light on here, but I'm about to get a little serious. Stick with me.<br />
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I love writing. Always have. This blog gives me a place to write about silly, stupid stuff. Stuff that I've been doing. Stuff that I've been thinking about. Stuff that has no real value in everyday life. Sometimes, I even view it as a kind of challenge. Can I make something stupid, silly and inane into something somewhat interesting or entertaining?<br />
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One time, in college, I was assigned to write a story for the <i>Kansan </i>(KU's student newspaper) about this scientist at KU who had published a paper linking modern-day birds to dinosaurs. (Yes, this is how long ago I was in college. This was considered a new discovery back then. Please stop staring at my gray hairs.) Anyway, I interviewed this scientist and proceeded to listen while he showed me drawers and drawers and drawers of dead birds in the top floor of the KU Natural History Museum. For like 2 hours. Two hours of staring at dead birds and examining their bones. Two hours. Two freaking hours, people!<br />
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I couldn't figure out a polite way to get out of that cramped attic/bird mausoleum. (Looking back, this is when I should've figured out I was never going to be the next Edna Payne. I am simply too concerned with being polite to make it as a reporter.) After all the hours of courteous "hmmm"s and "how interesting"s, it became my job to turn the interview and all other pertinent information into something a college student would read and perhaps find interesting. I don't know if I actually accomplished that, but it is still, to this day, one of the articles of which I'm most proud. Simply because of how hard I worked to turn it into something someone might want to read.<br />
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So, that's what I do a lot on here. I take something miniscule and see if I can make it into something entertaining. Hell, I once wrote an entire post about <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2011/03/ode-to-little-debbie.html">Little Debbie Snack Cakes</a>. Yes, an entire blog post about the deliciousness of a child's processed dessert snack. I don't know that I always succeed in creating entertaining entries, but it's the effort and the work that I enjoy. It's using the part of my brain that I fear has gone dormant from years of child-rearing and non-use.<br />
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It's no secret that Charlotte is almost finished with kindergarten. We've got just over a month until the end of school. And, next year, it's full day 1st grade. Both my girls will be in school from 8:20-3:40. That's more than seven hours of time in the day where they won't be with me. When Molly was born, I left my job as a proofreader because I wanted to be at home with her, and later, Charlotte. And, I loved it. I still do. And, I'm incredibly grateful to have been able to do it. But, I'm not going to lie and say that next year is not bringing up some issues for me. And, this is when I sound like a cliched stereotype. I'm kind of lost. What's next? Where do I go from here? I've spent the these past almost nine years of my adult life raising two lovely children, but now what?<br />
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And, I know I'm nowhere close to being finished raising my girls. I mean, they are 8 and 6. I'm not ready to brush my hands together and say, "Well, that's that. Off into the world with you. Godspeed." But, there will be a large chunk of my day where I won't be needed. And, that's scary. It's like I'm going through a mid-life crisis at the ripe old age of 35. (Apparently, I'll only be living to 70. Good to know in advance and be prepared. You can start preparing my headstone now for 2050.)<br />
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So, I'm trying to figure this new place out. I've started working on some things. I'm doing some marketing work (creating flyers, emails, etc.) for my good friend's awesome business, <a href="http://pinterventionkc.com/">Pintervention</a>. (Side note: you should really check it out, because it is amazing and super fun!) I'm starting to work on designing a web page for a family member's new business. I'm planning on taking a couple classes at the local community college, so I have some more skills to bring to the table. (What table that is, I'm still in the dark about.) I've got a meeting this week about volunteering with Heart to Heart in some capacity.<br />
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I'm trying. Trying to figure out where I am. Who I am. Where I go. How I can contribute to the world. How I can be someone my girls can be proud of.<br />
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And, in the meantime, I'm going to write. Write about inane things. Write about ridiculous things. Write about things that interest me. Write about things that annoy me. Maybe I'll even do an entire post about my love for all things Peeps.<br />
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I don't know if I'll always succeed in creating something entertaining, but for me, the effort is worth it. So, thanks for reading. Thanks for everything.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First day of school this year. Who knows what next year will bring?</td></tr>
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<i><br /></i><i>Ok, I'm done being serious now. Back to the inane :)</i>Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-19093407238667920122016-04-04T21:12:00.000-05:002016-04-04T21:13:11.394-05:00DNA – No Way!Ok guys, so I've never made any secret of the fact that I'm a total dork. It's true. I accept it. I bore people all the time with anecdotes from the latest documentary I've watched. I listen to history, feminist and freakonomics podcasts. My favorite gift every Christmas is a different college lecture series about words, grammar, or the history of language. <i>(Thanks, Dad!)</i> Yeah, I'm a complete and total dork.<br />
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But, one of my biggest geek interests is in genealogy. (Sometimes, I swear there's a 70-year-old woman stuck in my body.) My mom has done a lot of research about our <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2011/03/kiss-me-im-norwegian.html">personal family tree</a>, and we know the names going back quite a ways. But I just can't get enough of all things family history. And, not even just mine. I adore the show "Who Do You Think You Are?" on TLC (the latest season premiere was last night!) and "Finding Your Roots" on PBS. I'm giddy like a schoolgirl when a new episode is on.<br />
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These shows are so intriguing to me because not only do you get to find out the ancestors of people (famous or not, doesn't matter to me), but you get to take a ride through the history of the world as you do it. If you live in America but are not Native American, well, then you're ancestors came from somewhere else in the world at some point. The shows take you back to all these countries where people lived and, from some reason or another, left and came to America.<br />
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(Side note: there are many seasons of an English version of "Who Do You Think You Are?", which obviously wouldn't have the whole coming to America aspect. But, I can't get my hands on it. It's stuck across the pond. I've tried. That's how pathetic my obsession with these shows is.)<br />
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I always think about what it must've taken someone to leave everything they've ever known to set out across an ocean to find their place in the world. It's fascinating to me. The courage and fortitude people have shown throughout history is insane. It makes my suburban dilemmas seem pretty pathetic in comparison. I never had to escape a Russian pogrom or be chased out of my country by a totalitarian dictator. These are real things, people.<br />
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Also, it's crazy to think about the myriad choices all these people made and how it all ended up funneling to you and your DNA. I mean, it's nuts. One great-great-great-great-grandmother falling in love with Peter instead of John, and your whole DNA could be different. I could very well be a super tall genius blonde model if not for that one choice. (I mean, I'm almost there as it is, but, you know, I'm sure it was only that one choice that ruined my chances.)<br />
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In these shows, they often perform DNA tests on the guests to discover what their DNA can tell them about where their ancestors came from. It's mind-blowing to think that with a tiny little spit, scientists can tell you that at some point you had an ancestor from China that you never knew about. It can also find that you're related to someone else who had the same test done. In one episode of "Finding Your Roots," Bill Maher and Bill O'Reilly found out that they are distantly related. Whew, that Thanksgiving table would be a boisterous one, for sure. Just make sure to hide the knives.<br />
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Anyway, all this buildup to tell you the really thrilling news of my day. I got my very own DNA ancestry kit in the mail. What?!?!? Yes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with my very own DNA kit!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The official kit!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VlaD-a7S96Zy2GwUd75ju_Kh0M-TqiuRiZhDYiGSNG4p7gWwTzk6tGBMPPrPRl6-_tUc3jHETeESbpYpfolFKkZLJNDzhFS4VKgOVCbxMQCFIme8aF2lijc4P3sSxcLmHAiw8rBWlEg/s1600/20160404_161711-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VlaD-a7S96Zy2GwUd75ju_Kh0M-TqiuRiZhDYiGSNG4p7gWwTzk6tGBMPPrPRl6-_tUc3jHETeESbpYpfolFKkZLJNDzhFS4VKgOVCbxMQCFIme8aF2lijc4P3sSxcLmHAiw8rBWlEg/s320/20160404_161711-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The inside. Because I'm sure you were curious.</td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a>I was so excited to get this today. It's like I'm living in my very own episode of my favorite TV shows! I mean, I don't have an awesome voiceover telling me about my great-great-great grandfather or my own personal professional genealogist researching all the stories in my family tree. But, still. It's pretty awesome.<br />
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All I had to do was receive the kit, register it online, spit in a tube, and send it back out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWl6-kt6vdpe_LBtqvTaRWKeQ4O5zaBbqW0xtCWtQC_FqM2V0rVXs3dtjZbBIewSsPBNl2_rBqz3rgn2wWA51hMeRoWC6FuNIye00oL92-H6vs9Tg50TX0Ew0961Y8S_gLduRmXnCznxg/s1600/20160404_162607-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWl6-kt6vdpe_LBtqvTaRWKeQ4O5zaBbqW0xtCWtQC_FqM2V0rVXs3dtjZbBIewSsPBNl2_rBqz3rgn2wWA51hMeRoWC6FuNIye00oL92-H6vs9Tg50TX0Ew0961Y8S_gLduRmXnCznxg/s320/20160404_162607-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, ok, the spitting part was a little gross. I'm not a big spitter. But, I did manage it. <br />
Also, holy cow, my wrinkles are starting to take over my face. Yeesh. </td></tr>
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In a short 6-8 weeks, I'll have my whole DNA ancestral history. Truthfully, that part is a bit of a letdown. 6-8 weeks?!?! That's forever. Especially because I am so ridiculously eager to find out my results.<br />
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Will I find out that my big nose is actually from a certain long-lost ancestor we had no idea about? (Yes, someone once told me that.) Will I find out my red hair is actually from somewhere in South America? Ok, probably a no on that one. My pasty self is probably 100% Northern European. I'm thinking it's going to turn out to be a very boring DNA ancestry result, but I'm excited nonetheless.<br />
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And, don't worry, I'll definitely let you know the results when they FINALLY get in. I'm sure you're just as curious as I am. Right? That's what I thought. You can read along and just pretend that I'm actually a voiceover in your head, and then it really will be like we're all on my very own TV show. "Who Do You Think You Are?: Amy Lafferty version" It's going to kill in the ratings.Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-18640643088482198842016-03-28T20:12:00.001-05:002016-03-28T20:12:28.059-05:00Strand-Lafferty Easter take 7There are few things that can elicit the same degree of excitement in our household as talk of the annual visit from Penny for Easter. This is now the 7th(?) annual visit. It started kind of on a whim from the Strands, and it has turned into an annual event that simply cannot not happen. It is written in stone. Commandment Number 11, if you will.<br />
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Now, if anyone ever doubted that Molly was an emotional girl, which you seriously shouldn't, the visit from Penny will eliminate any of those doubts. I swear, she turns into a screaming fan girl at a One Direction concert at the thought of Penny coming to town. (Or, what her mother would've been like had she ever been taken to a NKOTB concert. Which, I wasn't. I just had to imagine what it would've been like. No bitterness here, though, folks. I did make my childhood dreams come true a few years ago when I saw NKOTB at the Sprint Center as a 30-odd-year-old woman. And, it was every bit as amazing as I thought it would be. <i>Step by Step, ooh, baby ...</i> But, I digress.)<br />
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Molly starts looking forward to Easter on the day after Easter the previous year. Well, OK, after she stops crying about the fact that Penny is no longer here. But, it starts getting serious after Christmas. I can't really blame her. The months between Christmas and Easter do kind of suck. What with the snow and long, dark nights. Not fun. The countdown is on immediately after we pack the stockings away. And, it doesn't stop.<br />
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I realize the excitement is almost more for the idea of Penny (not that Penny isn't awesome). But it's just the idea of this amazing, fun-filled, candy-laden weekend that really excites Molly. This year, she made decorations, cards, bunnies, crafts, and even picked up poop in the backyard so she could earn money to buy all three girls matching stuffed peeps. This build-up has been going on for a long time. Molly has been trying to count the number of times in her life that she's seen Penny. When I tried to explain to her that she's already seen Penny more times in her life than I saw Laura for the entirety of my childhood, she just didn't care. No matter how often, it's just not enough.<br />
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(Have you noticed I haven't mentioned Charlotte at all? She loves the annual Strand visit as well, but her emotions are much more rational and even-keeled. Thus, not as interesting for a blog.)<br />
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So, with all this build-up and all this excitement, the weekend was finally upon us. The Strands were supposed to leave Minnesota at 3 on Thursday and be here by around 10 Thursday night. Well, on Wednesday night, Laura sends me a message that they are expecting 14 inches of snow on Thursday morning up there. WHAT?!?!? Mother Nature, what are you doing to me? How can I possibly explain to Molly that the Easter visit might not happen due to a snowstorm in Minnesota?!?! So, I did what I'm always eager to do. Ignore that a problem exists and hope everything turned out ok. And guess what? For once in my life, that plan actually worked!<br />
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The snow stopped, the plows came, the sun shone, and the Strands were on the road. It was glorious news. Not the least for me because I didn't have to deal with a broken-hearted 8-year-old. They got here late, and Molly and Charlotte both woke up when Penny came to bed. It did take a while, but eventually they all went back to sleep.<br />
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The next morning was another tradition. Laura coming to Bar Method with me. She's coming with me the last couple years. The first year was hard, but now Laura is in amazing shape, so she was a total pro.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydMWbQ-2CxbC3SRbPtpoYxgYDve9XW18__pigsV1HY1D7WnJY4SdizzOZV9A5pVZOh9W_efkU8QSLGIakb5saOFaBQfz1fkq3NOV89Z8prPLHf4e2B_bzPFlkRs775dl1by1MC6ZX5nQ/s1600/IMG_20160325_103858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydMWbQ-2CxbC3SRbPtpoYxgYDve9XW18__pigsV1HY1D7WnJY4SdizzOZV9A5pVZOh9W_efkU8QSLGIakb5saOFaBQfz1fkq3NOV89Z8prPLHf4e2B_bzPFlkRs775dl1by1MC6ZX5nQ/s320/IMG_20160325_103858.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We, of course, had to take a picture to document the start of the weekend.</td></tr>
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We always look for different things to do with the Strands when they're here because they are super cool, adventurous folk. And, we want to seem cooler than the suburb-living, soccer-game going folks that we are. So, this year, we decided to take them down to the KC Public Library to see the awesome building that looks like books. And, of course, to take pictures.<br />
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The girls were not as impressed with the library as I had hoped. The roof was pretty cool because they could see out around downtown KC a bit, but we didn't actually have a library card for the library, so we couldn't check out any books. They thought the old bank vault in the basement was pretty cool, but we were pretty much done with the library in a short time. We walked a short distance to a cool lunch place, then found a bakery that a friend had recommended for dessert. We got there right as they were closing, but they let us in to buy some yumminess. We then went back to the library steps to eat our delicious treats.<br />
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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/AVvXsEgFxwD0zlMBPWjbcWZLWbSkRrdHx4ckAINRvD8UGGitboyfB_SavH2OUOen0o3G4nTe-oMRCg_zumIPbdDKRFNzpg77wFe-Ph2Osxw7H1HN01EvDEJ9B6uuPNDcxB0XN_Qkxu3nAprsMdM/s1600/20160325_120623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxwD0zlMBPWjbcWZLWbSkRrdHx4ckAINRvD8UGGitboyfB_SavH2OUOen0o3G4nTe-oMRCg_zumIPbdDKRFNzpg77wFe-Ph2Osxw7H1HN01EvDEJ9B6uuPNDcxB0XN_Qkxu3nAprsMdM/s320/20160325_120623.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls checking out the books.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDwrnAR6UK7XhSpQFDUNDqax6_09sG-jLosGcaEMVYao0RxKe3jqtoL0Y93ofD9m5HxbEAe1hhJefyreuWwL6OTex-rElPwThCUfJrmS0OxfDx0Y260xUzZkipuTwyC4ReRRcHrjAdN_Y/s1600/20160325_120900-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDwrnAR6UK7XhSpQFDUNDqax6_09sG-jLosGcaEMVYao0RxKe3jqtoL0Y93ofD9m5HxbEAe1hhJefyreuWwL6OTex-rElPwThCUfJrmS0OxfDx0Y260xUzZkipuTwyC4ReRRcHrjAdN_Y/s320/20160325_120900-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had to pose on the book steps.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0YO4MZT9AC3L-7xflz4D3o6dHrWr9nafuPMLIU1AhD7UPiOiIT8L2aCRIjwPJlnhcdeJsHTy1ZGifRPPQ9pj-Xp9qwBGdLtJxZ6Egrvy_Tl9MkpU1MZXrKdXMRhaQeu8y1S-cxZq9veU/s1600/20160325_121751-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0YO4MZT9AC3L-7xflz4D3o6dHrWr9nafuPMLIU1AhD7UPiOiIT8L2aCRIjwPJlnhcdeJsHTy1ZGifRPPQ9pj-Xp9qwBGdLtJxZ6Egrvy_Tl9MkpU1MZXrKdXMRhaQeu8y1S-cxZq9veU/s320/20160325_121751-001.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura and Amy on the roof of the library.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx_QDqDfnD5_d5xguhNJ0b61uhQhyc0V_2Bi1AbdKwsqTTyrUllI9KIB1J_qzStOg5bZXJRkmYQjmiIXEPcBjK3UDLBxE1sSfpvBOv9Uyzg4pr-85HPiGLzbIaWSz7hK5u3SzEoY-rj8/s1600/20160325_124931-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx_QDqDfnD5_d5xguhNJ0b61uhQhyc0V_2Bi1AbdKwsqTTyrUllI9KIB1J_qzStOg5bZXJRkmYQjmiIXEPcBjK3UDLBxE1sSfpvBOv9Uyzg4pr-85HPiGLzbIaWSz7hK5u3SzEoY-rj8/s320/20160325_124931-001.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls in the basement with the old bank vault.</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/AVvXsEj92NXozhAFye0eE-Rg2OUlIfGDcPmmAB_vhYvQHxUj23jpAaaxOvkolUTz_Yn98O8aKxqids9AxMJ2z94Y47L19C0t3i9OXwJ-3drJ6jsFEIkpiN4nu-MKrdhydNkPz5LhPJ4TUGmiblw/s1600/20160325_141055-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92NXozhAFye0eE-Rg2OUlIfGDcPmmAB_vhYvQHxUj23jpAaaxOvkolUTz_Yn98O8aKxqids9AxMJ2z94Y47L19C0t3i9OXwJ-3drJ6jsFEIkpiN4nu-MKrdhydNkPz5LhPJ4TUGmiblw/s320/20160325_141055-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We stopped by a bakery for dessert treats, and they gave us some baguettes. So, when Laura found a moped, she just had to act the proper French lady she is at heart.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPMaa4HXnX_BCmZYBXRDCLcVSAP5wFl86P8YbIrV1ut2J1kjo5GKrCcfqn8N00rRDl4oVw4Bo4kiMCNfjAQ42vXMOOkvQCUvb5dAlciUc-8y-P6wy0xaS8eXR6vjSf6UuNVg6UAbGuk7w/s1600/20160325_141413-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPMaa4HXnX_BCmZYBXRDCLcVSAP5wFl86P8YbIrV1ut2J1kjo5GKrCcfqn8N00rRDl4oVw4Bo4kiMCNfjAQ42vXMOOkvQCUvb5dAlciUc-8y-P6wy0xaS8eXR6vjSf6UuNVg6UAbGuk7w/s320/20160325_141413-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls eating their treats back on the library book stairs.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio9KScvRXvPgwIjk7F1bAgS8FdNwQNAsUnzQbFu3zcyuKR5HRKLxNSxUlNbL3xcRONsPROS6UQbeQYznOxIzJX5YJaeNjSI1nUFYgqx33HnILJoybkj8ILxUDwmtOJ-GUfpTTsym12SQ0/s1600/20160325_141518-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio9KScvRXvPgwIjk7F1bAgS8FdNwQNAsUnzQbFu3zcyuKR5HRKLxNSxUlNbL3xcRONsPROS6UQbeQYznOxIzJX5YJaeNjSI1nUFYgqx33HnILJoybkj8ILxUDwmtOJ-GUfpTTsym12SQ0/s320/20160325_141518-001.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I, of course, just had to get a brownie with a peep on top. I only ate about half the brownie, but demolished the whole peep.</td></tr>
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After fun downtown, we headed back out our direction and bowled a few frames at Pinstripes. We discovered that, at Pinstripes, even adults can have bumpers. Do you know what that means? I finally won a game of bowling! Score. After, Charlotte needed to take a picture on some bunnies.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHjUrh765M3b-bzB6NDri6ngvccd0DdDtJbyEwdulel0ckGa5M1NIob6MmhOXTzOoBZJ18kV_YYXBay5WDDcUkWOoFeZgxi497q-vLgDuBsu-isvKHkXF5Pz6JZtdrjLPi3a4CZeRjrU/s1600/20160325_182412-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHjUrh765M3b-bzB6NDri6ngvccd0DdDtJbyEwdulel0ckGa5M1NIob6MmhOXTzOoBZJ18kV_YYXBay5WDDcUkWOoFeZgxi497q-vLgDuBsu-isvKHkXF5Pz6JZtdrjLPi3a4CZeRjrU/s320/20160325_182412-001.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three little bunnies.</td></tr>
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Last year, I was coming back from the same darn plantar fasciitis injury that still plagues me to this day. So, I unilaterally chose to not have us participate in the Easter Egg 5K that we had done the previous couple years. Apparently, this was a poor choice, as all the girls were majorly disappointed. My stupid pride. I didn't want to run it if I couldn't run it fast. Well, this year, I wasn't going to disappoint the girls again, so we signed up for it. This year, Cory, Laura and I all ran the 5K while Chris watched the girls. Then, the girls ran in the kids' run. The forecast was for rain in the morning, so we weren't sure what to expect. It turned out the best that it possibly could. It sprinkled a little just 5 minutes before the start, then stopped. Then, right as we were leaving after the kids' run, it started actually raining.<br />
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I wasn't sure about my foot this year. I've been in PT for the past 10 weeks. And, it has gotten significantly better. But, it's not 100 percent. And, I've only run some 3-mile runs, and one 4-mile run. And, they were slow. I told myself that it didn't matter how fast I ran. As long as I finished. Yeah ... so, about that competitive bone in my body ... I couldn't stop myself from starting out fast. I mean, all the other kids were doing it. And, I just kept going. I didn't know how long I would last. But, it turns out, I didn't do half bad. I ended up with a time of 23:29, only one second slower than my time in 2013. And, good enough for 2nd place in my age group. I was pretty happy considering I could barely walk on my foot at the beginning of the year. I guess these PTs do know what they're doing afterall.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw87nEStgBn_LETNxR7HnHCfAm75mRPRX6-qYLMGPhKQFJQVgCNKyGkwp6yuZ2fJjOE123Uaje0493sPUvp0r-nbMYqR-foYUEukq-zdih9Jl6v6VgnvLnYWSUA6zniuYoh8oq9srS3QM/s1600/20160326_073837-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw87nEStgBn_LETNxR7HnHCfAm75mRPRX6-qYLMGPhKQFJQVgCNKyGkwp6yuZ2fJjOE123Uaje0493sPUvp0r-nbMYqR-foYUEukq-zdih9Jl6v6VgnvLnYWSUA6zniuYoh8oq9srS3QM/s320/20160326_073837-001.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls with the Easter Bunny.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNXYUfLEMXYIPszQtrKcssUjlLPf_uUJ8Clj6XS4oLl0f9jHAdCkh2-qpa67vOB5mV4rMWpDZl94tL5cFyPT4IzoLwh9JlCK0MNLuV_5EkyO-757HIp02xPKUjGHXdsjspG60Wxr5hSo/s1600/20160326_084549-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNXYUfLEMXYIPszQtrKcssUjlLPf_uUJ8Clj6XS4oLl0f9jHAdCkh2-qpa67vOB5mV4rMWpDZl94tL5cFyPT4IzoLwh9JlCK0MNLuV_5EkyO-757HIp02xPKUjGHXdsjspG60Wxr5hSo/s320/20160326_084549-001.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura also did incredible and ran faster than she ever, c has in her whole life. So proud of her!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtse9h3aaVH31CEVKbbkDXnzPR7Kwq5jlurLI9NWXk97vvcsqGnH4rY1ESvh0NQCM0DzY8bRnp2i1U7sxFwvlSGHm34UfsbZxcfoOha_HXIC00uu13c8NgwVzPfvODW7EQwM3z1AZ6MTY/s1600/BDM_4213-XL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtse9h3aaVH31CEVKbbkDXnzPR7Kwq5jlurLI9NWXk97vvcsqGnH4rY1ESvh0NQCM0DzY8bRnp2i1U7sxFwvlSGHm34UfsbZxcfoOha_HXIC00uu13c8NgwVzPfvODW7EQwM3z1AZ6MTY/s320/BDM_4213-XL.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the race and the rain.</td></tr>
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Saturday night was the annual Easter Egg Hunt at our house. It was chaos as usual. And, luckily, the rain stopped a few hours before the start and the sun came out for a bit, so it actually ended up being a pretty nice evening, considering how it had seemed like earlier in the day.<br />
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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/AVvXsEjfxs-ha14PlBp9RxJBj4w2omcA7G1WH80qlzV157jikJJzW8ePm-iYRlJSe1JY00D7i9ImzrzDhKyzY-gFaDGkAgR48rLA3CeCSMl8usHBh_2HIW8SodjnIx-VFpPFfbbPbjU7wT3do6Q/s1600/DSC_0835-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxs-ha14PlBp9RxJBj4w2omcA7G1WH80qlzV157jikJJzW8ePm-iYRlJSe1JY00D7i9ImzrzDhKyzY-gFaDGkAgR48rLA3CeCSMl8usHBh_2HIW8SodjnIx-VFpPFfbbPbjU7wT3do6Q/s320/DSC_0835-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of littles at this year's hunt.</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/AVvXsEib68pgwFVy6dZuHMYJmpHfmWZZkCL8pEAoJQ3bf8vhIIYAhDjPzCiV9CW_RA5ES7cSKRR3U3Klct2BtjbHjP_QJEWoQa4pmdO827B_hvJ4N-MSJVanc5g-75oyKMy26rf2TjKNh7wUCYY/s1600/DSC_0842-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib68pgwFVy6dZuHMYJmpHfmWZZkCL8pEAoJQ3bf8vhIIYAhDjPzCiV9CW_RA5ES7cSKRR3U3Klct2BtjbHjP_QJEWoQa4pmdO827B_hvJ4N-MSJVanc5g-75oyKMy26rf2TjKNh7wUCYY/s320/DSC_0842-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture cracks me up because Charlotte is totally calling out Mitchell for trying to get an egg before the official start. I'm not sure where she got that finger pointing from ...</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/AVvXsEjZShXTXId1vmpor1AlSyg8EJBbSNpenJYNCKL2U7uQ0zZ5Qtx8qrbI3AS7r2yttOFsc2RDrkt_3HZwtV-0WJBiNkvzj38Q8EJAQgHSuF14uULHRAPxnDf3UvQOzLQEwO0YhTx2oeyYdHc/s1600/DSC_0888-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZShXTXId1vmpor1AlSyg8EJBbSNpenJYNCKL2U7uQ0zZ5Qtx8qrbI3AS7r2yttOFsc2RDrkt_3HZwtV-0WJBiNkvzj38Q8EJAQgHSuF14uULHRAPxnDf3UvQOzLQEwO0YhTx2oeyYdHc/s320/DSC_0888-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Megan, Sarah W., Amy, Sarah R., and Tanya. Love these ladies.</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/AVvXsEjPjp1jFZ3NETMxn1HjZPk-JxB7tYDVClSOwPY7F2wMGlQTv7NsgW3_48kZP8xyJkf5u3AFezVEDE3ky5d82iZ4bSJ_23LL9-mdsXu3sShDgFHJ4OIW3peSHtYOK_CgXecuFzAVKxvuYF4/s1600/DSC_0903-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjp1jFZ3NETMxn1HjZPk-JxB7tYDVClSOwPY7F2wMGlQTv7NsgW3_48kZP8xyJkf5u3AFezVEDE3ky5d82iZ4bSJ_23LL9-mdsXu3sShDgFHJ4OIW3peSHtYOK_CgXecuFzAVKxvuYF4/s320/DSC_0903-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the hunt, it's swing time!</td></tr>
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After the excitement of the egg hunt, we had sadness of KU losing (well, I was super sad anyway) then it started snowing on Easter morning. Bummer of a way to end the trip. With the Strands needing to get on the road and the snow outside, we didn't make it to church. And, the girls' pictures aren't quite as cute as they have been in past years.<br />
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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/AVvXsEjK9WFpZyR_I5B3yZhQCHAcoLnRs7TpFzFX7Q-WPED3wEgo5Tz_PN2qWb5bc9lo39LNQ78iIrBmd4c7GJzv_OqppM982zEZI03er0iaMKgXftO_VjqG-Tqd2BlQYJTwFCoREkyqWr13o0M/s1600/DSC_0949-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9WFpZyR_I5B3yZhQCHAcoLnRs7TpFzFX7Q-WPED3wEgo5Tz_PN2qWb5bc9lo39LNQ78iIrBmd4c7GJzv_OqppM982zEZI03er0iaMKgXftO_VjqG-Tqd2BlQYJTwFCoREkyqWr13o0M/s320/DSC_0949-001.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sisters.</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/AVvXsEiggFnjyAFLvRYURxRmakrWFuGzrDzKQgMVL4BkJbepOXTKDCTallBgzAm2xiMZDF0jX1pMTWosvHDVNvR_7McDH0nqz_xfmR0F_Ynkbjr8hdSehyphenhyphenjpDt2GIuMUZlR_Ir8ttTFzdpSSYHY/s1600/DSC_0928-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggFnjyAFLvRYURxRmakrWFuGzrDzKQgMVL4BkJbepOXTKDCTallBgzAm2xiMZDF0jX1pMTWosvHDVNvR_7McDH0nqz_xfmR0F_Ynkbjr8hdSehyphenhyphenjpDt2GIuMUZlR_Ir8ttTFzdpSSYHY/s320/DSC_0928-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best attempt.</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/AVvXsEiOMUa2ld3m-C6Uv7Eb3V5Q9CZecxoD4GVPLVjDbFlWauk4O3L0TOKYRnrh9q9eyDivSaYlqaZROhxKXazsrxhbbpVs9ODlcci3T5P8wmVKkp5_5xaW37_WsLsmtDr_0bZK1KwBascCDyc/s1600/DSC_0942-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMUa2ld3m-C6Uv7Eb3V5Q9CZecxoD4GVPLVjDbFlWauk4O3L0TOKYRnrh9q9eyDivSaYlqaZROhxKXazsrxhbbpVs9ODlcci3T5P8wmVKkp5_5xaW37_WsLsmtDr_0bZK1KwBascCDyc/s320/DSC_0942-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, this is just about the cutest. Oh, silly girls.</td></tr>
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Molly, of course, cried when the Strands pulled away. But, it didn't last for hours like last year, so we're moving in a positive direction. I'm pretty sure she's already planning next year, though, so Mother Nature better cooperate better in 2017!Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-33819169779808143522016-03-23T13:55:00.000-05:002016-03-23T13:57:12.029-05:00As the Wheels TurnWe had a major milestone in our house this past week. This one has been a long time coming, too. A long time, with a lot of drama.<br />
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But now. Now it's official. Molly is a two-wheeling bike rider.<br />
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Yes, I do realize that Molly is almost 9 years old. I do know how old that is for someone to finally start riding a bike. I know all this. But, hear me out.<br />
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So, technically, Molly learned to ride with no training wheels last spring break. Exactly a year ago. And, while she could technically do it, she was not comfortable with it at all. <i>At all</i>. We'd ask if she wanted to go ride her bike, and the answer was always an emphatic "no." I thought that she just hadn't been bitten by the bike-riding-loving bug. I blamed myself (as I am always wont do) for not pushing harder. She was too old when she finally learned. We should've worked harder with her. We should've been having family bike riding sessions. Yada, yada, yada. The neverending parental guilt, right?<br />
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Well, I really don't know what happened. I don't know why the change. Maybe it took a year of considering the ramifications of not riding a bike. Maybe she got tired of seeing all her friends ride by on their bikes. Maybe she just needed that much time to work up the courage. I mean, she is my child afterall. Taking time to work up to scary things might've been passed down in the DNA. No one would ever describe me as a jump-without-looking kinda gal. <i>Ahem</i>.<br />
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Anyhoo, back to the story at hand. Something shifted and all of a sudden, over the last week, Molly has become a bike-riding extraordinaire. She's ridden with Cory to get breakfast at McDonalds. She's ridden all over the school parking lot during spring break. She asks almost every day if she can ride up and down the street. And, yesterday, she begged to be able to ride her bike to school.<br />
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Now, keep in mind that school is less than a quarter mile from our house. I mean, we can literally see the school building from our front window. I'm looking at it right now, in fact. But, who are we to discourage this budding excitement? So, last night we trekked over to Academy because we just <i>had </i>to buy a bike lock to ensure that this morning's pilgrimage could happen.<br />
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And, this morning, she couldn't wait to jump on her bike and ride like the wind that whole .2 mile to school.<br />
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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/AVvXsEh398xF2JgxL07mfsv38sFChM-3ztWBzPgOn_HGVs9gLj9-2PrUqGA2Zr7CiHO370ECbiXPxj9KniUL3QRpK62ZZoq2PAp3tmF1AjcY2wA4-7WrUblsblEcn65RKf1LRNHGRL0soEgDwLI/s1600/20160323_080225-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh398xF2JgxL07mfsv38sFChM-3ztWBzPgOn_HGVs9gLj9-2PrUqGA2Zr7CiHO370ECbiXPxj9KniUL3QRpK62ZZoq2PAp3tmF1AjcY2wA4-7WrUblsblEcn65RKf1LRNHGRL0soEgDwLI/s320/20160323_080225-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, did I mention that Charlotte wanted to ride her bike, too?</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/AVvXsEhPEFtDTG6qBYx3BbFzv2B5CvcmA3vtnBIxgOJk5yZtmUsq8QEC8nmritON8VefiQn2uBxPDkrgkm2C30qmYnLfmN6hGt-uCgCzsKOLjo2iEdkbdUslhQNX5FyOK5ND-vNk32DKtwwko6U/s1600/IMG_35251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEFtDTG6qBYx3BbFzv2B5CvcmA3vtnBIxgOJk5yZtmUsq8QEC8nmritON8VefiQn2uBxPDkrgkm2C30qmYnLfmN6hGt-uCgCzsKOLjo2iEdkbdUslhQNX5FyOK5ND-vNk32DKtwwko6U/s320/IMG_35251.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Look, ma, no training wheels!"</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/AVvXsEgiF7t3HdBJuqzZfiDVGr4ftM9VbXW4qcEKgF7lkpDPFdUw-IH6PL6YFRAh8zyMi9NDbmLKs2JWqP1xFbne-A-NTiDI5rOc4-6SOrkjGAIagt5Jj3L_s4sJR1dVsBH-Qh_-uThlvpszC84/s1600/IMG_35361.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiF7t3HdBJuqzZfiDVGr4ftM9VbXW4qcEKgF7lkpDPFdUw-IH6PL6YFRAh8zyMi9NDbmLKs2JWqP1xFbne-A-NTiDI5rOc4-6SOrkjGAIagt5Jj3L_s4sJR1dVsBH-Qh_-uThlvpszC84/s320/IMG_35361.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Using that oh-so-important bike lock!</td></tr>
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Now that Molly is in the world of bike riding, I couldn't be happier for her. So many memories of my childhood revolving around riding my bike everywhere around the neighborhood (and beyond). And, I know I sound like the stereotypical old person here, but bear with me. My gosh, it was fun to just ride around wherever, whenever and however we wanted. Ahhh, the freedom and happiness we didn't even know we had or would forever be looking to reclaim.<br />
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As a kid, I would hop on my hot pink bike with the white banana seat and flowered basket, and ride until my heart was content. Sometimes I just rode around in circles around our cul-de-sac. Sometimes, I explored the woods and new houses that were being built on the edge of the neighborhood. Once, while riding my bike through some woods with my bestie, we saw something on the ground. Being adventurous and curious little girls, we stopped to get a better look. Do you know what it was? A bag full of stolen jewels. No joke. It actually happened. Hand to God. It's the truth. We had to call the cops and everything.<br />
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(I also once saw someone pour gasoline along the edge of my neighbor's house and then try to set it on fire, so between these two events, I was pretty convinced that I lived in one of the girl power mystery novels that I loved so much. I was the nation's next Nancy Drew, to be sure. But, anyway, that arson attempt is another story for another time. Back to bike riding ... )<br />
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With so many of my memories revolving around bike riding as a child, it thrills me beyond belief that Molly is finally joining the ranks. I mean, never mind that I haven't ridden a bike myself in probably 20 years, I know the feeling of freedom and excitement that comes with tooling around the neighborhood. Why wouldn't I want that for my girl?<br />
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And because I was feeling nostalgic thinking about my fun adventures as a girl, I just had to dig up some pictures from my bike-riding escapades.<br />
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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/AVvXsEgOhqM1iiodYCuYOAmxIzrsXcWuaybx4B5mjjiiGCdl4rQcI_77YqZ5t5GnuoxFJWGJ736XeHa5Z5FSOzpOA7iqCA9Yb8eByNht_Xfqhon3wO9X2SE8N5NTo7k2KV6SP6C483iCCWBjlic/s1600/20160323_110841-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhqM1iiodYCuYOAmxIzrsXcWuaybx4B5mjjiiGCdl4rQcI_77YqZ5t5GnuoxFJWGJ736XeHa5Z5FSOzpOA7iqCA9Yb8eByNht_Xfqhon3wO9X2SE8N5NTo7k2KV6SP6C483iCCWBjlic/s320/20160323_110841-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awww, look at those cuties helping me. My dad and grandpa. My brother's in the background.</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/AVvXsEjV0PUaQueW6xjyPxPnaorAyk_veluZfyYM-9V8OB_KfpUZKbsVoeshH4sVvfMA0g0PfzCEAmAovkYrbbhnVRCk7PY74JovpPbdk5YFJMYja7dGssrP_sURysELoNmebv4Drd6JyjUAB-Q/s1600/20160323_110938-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0PUaQueW6xjyPxPnaorAyk_veluZfyYM-9V8OB_KfpUZKbsVoeshH4sVvfMA0g0PfzCEAmAovkYrbbhnVRCk7PY74JovpPbdk5YFJMYja7dGssrP_sURysELoNmebv4Drd6JyjUAB-Q/s320/20160323_110938-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little bit older, and I believe without the training wheels. Here I go!</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/AVvXsEhKh2TQs81C43CYCFyuBC2oxPkwArAWhfqlcdASrAogj9JOuWzsFf3SAv3GhBcPN-7YaEsvTMOADq7zy_Yj7g8HklRwCV4QEwvYPlS5SGf1HC-cAhV_uRozL7LNg1buO-rUeDdNwxG9DP0/s1600/20160323_132429-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKh2TQs81C43CYCFyuBC2oxPkwArAWhfqlcdASrAogj9JOuWzsFf3SAv3GhBcPN-7YaEsvTMOADq7zy_Yj7g8HklRwCV4QEwvYPlS5SGf1HC-cAhV_uRozL7LNg1buO-rUeDdNwxG9DP0/s320/20160323_132429-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the bike I remember most. I also used to give my little brother rides on the back of the banana seat all the time. He doesn't remember, so chalk that up to wasted sibling love. ;) But, check out that fancy basket. Nice, right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Molly can now check one huge milestone off her childhood bucket list. She can now be the free-flying, bike-riding, adventure-finding child that we all remember being. And, as awesome and cool as I remember feeling when I found that bag of stolen jewels, I'm kinda hoping she doesn't have that particular adventure.<br />
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I mean, I want her to have fun, but no matter what I try, I can't quite turn off all my mommy protectiveness. Let's just leave her Nancy Drew adventures to the pages of her books. Where they belong. For her.<br />
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Not me. I mean, I loved being in the middle of a mystery. It was seriously so awesome. Oh, please, don't tell Molly I ever said that. Shhhh!<br />
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<br />Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-53246988866625961892016-03-20T16:08:00.000-05:002016-03-20T19:54:37.060-05:00Blast from my pastDo you ever wonder if you've made an impact on people? Do you ever wonder if you'll be remembered? I can't be the only person who has these thoughts. I'm sure I'm not. But, the other day, this question was kinda-sorta answered for me. It was the one bright spot in a fairly bleak week, so it's something I keep coming back to right now. Here's the story:<br />
<br />
Whenever someone asks where I grew up, I hesitate. I mean, technically I was born in Germany. Then I lived in Kansas until I was six. At which point, we moved to Fayetteville, NC. My dad had been in the Army and was in and out of medical school, which led to all the shuttling across oceans and countries. But, once he was stationed at Ft. Bragg, we stayed quite a while. At least, for a military family. I went to school in Fayetteville from 1st grade up through 9th. At the start of 10th grade, we moved back to Kansas. And, here I've stayed ever since. So, when someone asks where I grew up, I say North Carolina, even though I've lived in Kansas for the majority of my years. Not the easiest question, but I do consider my most influential childhood memories to have taken place in those years I resided in North Carolina.<br />
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Now, when we left North Carolina to move to Kansas, I was not happy. First of all, I was a 14-year-old girl. Show me a 14-year-old girl who is happy to leave her whole life and all her friends, and, well, I'd be more likely to believe that that girl was in fact an alien sent to earth to explore the intricacies of teenagehood than she was an actual teenager. I was very unhappy. I did not want to leave. I had a crush on a boy, and I had a life with friends I loved. This was not in my plan.<br />
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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/AVvXsEhuzbTgRzwRRK0w_7NuXIUBcZj-sZLPgKy6wsbYCd174ddSzhizUAIw6qXNCkC8nx0T89j5GxH5qmm5JZvFhW8VrJtDW23-vLgHy7lQKSkszS49TJTHY8HwxUeLpCnRBNM_05QU3T110NA/s1600/20160320_145723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzbTgRzwRRK0w_7NuXIUBcZj-sZLPgKy6wsbYCd174ddSzhizUAIw6qXNCkC8nx0T89j5GxH5qmm5JZvFhW8VrJtDW23-vLgHy7lQKSkszS49TJTHY8HwxUeLpCnRBNM_05QU3T110NA/s200/20160320_145723.jpg" width="153" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">14-year-old me. (Ugh, the eyebrows and braces!)</td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a>Throw in the fact that this was WAY back in 1995, and you have to remember that we had no internet. I mean, it existed in some form back then, what with scientists and computer guys sending messages back and forth, but we, personally, did not have it. And, no one I knew had it. It simply wasn't a <i>thing</i>. So, if you wanted to stay in touch with all these friends you were leaving, you had to actually write a letter. Like on paper. Then address it. And lick the envelope. And, put a stamp on it. And, walk it out to the mailbox. Now you're getting into the whole "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" scenario and it all just spirals. There are so many more steps than simply clicking a mouse.<br />
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"Kids these days have no clue," says Amy, the crotchety old woman hiding in a 35-year-old body.<br />
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And, because, letters are all we had back then. my 9th grade yearbook is covered with notes to "please write" and "KIT" and "don't forget me!" But, I was an angry 14-year-old. And, I was moving halfway across the country. I really missed my friends, but my concern upon entering the state of Kansas immediately became about finding a way to fit into this incredibly different world. And, when I say different, I mean different. I moved from a very ethnically and socioeconomically diverse world of Army in the South to a fairly wealthy, non-diverse suburb of a mid-sized city in the middle of the country. There were people wearing cowboy boots and driving trucks in the parking lot of my high school. I know I came from the South, but it wasn't that South. We did not have that. It was a culture shock to say the least. Cowboy boots, people. Cowboy boots at school.<br />
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Anyway, I spent my time trying to figure out where I fit in. I knew no one and didn't have a clue how or what to do to make friends. Slowly but surely, I managed to make some friends. One in particular who is my go-to girl to this day. And, slowly, I missed my old friends less and less. I never forgot them, but I was a self-obsessed teenager. And, I was obsessed with finding my place. After a failed attempt at finding my place in theater (Did you know that you can be cut from a high school musical chorus if you're bad enough? Cause, you can.), I managed to make friends through my honors classes and high school paper. You know, the way all the cool people have found each other throughout the ages. I made new friends, then I graduated and decided to attend college at the University of Kansas. Thus ensuring my life in Kansas for all perpetuity. <br />
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Well, fast-forward more than 20 years (oh my god, I can't believe I just wrote that number), and I'm sitting in my suburban Kansas house. Up pops a friend request on Facebook from a first and middle, no last name. Usually, these are spam, so I ignore. Then, a message comes through. "Is this the Amy who went to Pine Forest in Fayetteville, NC?"<br />
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What?!?! That <i>was </i>me! Turns out, this girl found me after those 20-ahem years. (And, this, my friends, is why I don't take my maiden name off my Facebook profile.) I have not seen her since the day I left North Carolina as that angry 14-year-old girl in the yearbook photo above. We chatted a bit through Facebook. She said she'd thought of me sometimes throughout the years. It was such a pleasant way to start my day.<br />
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Sometimes, when you move away and aren't really in touch with anyone from a certain time period of your life, it's almost like that part of your life ceases to exist. You can tell stories about it, but who wants to listen to stories about a time and a place to which they have no connection. Who can stand to listen to you reminisce about that time you didn't make the cheerleading team (are you sensing a pattern in my lack of making anything I try out for?) or when you and your friends hung out together in gym class? If the other person has no connection, it's hard to get anyone to care to even listen. And, if you stop talking about it, it's almost like it didn't happen.<br />
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So, to know that somewhere out there, there was someone who cared enough to find out where I was and what I was doing? That's something. And, this week, I needed it.<br />
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I had moved and changed everything, but somewhere, someone still remembered me from before. <br />
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PS. In case you're wondering, I pulled out my old yearbook to find the picture above and reminisce. I'll give you a list of the clubs that did allow me to participate, and you can judge for yourself just how big of a nerd I really was. Hint: Huge.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Clubs Amy Randolph belonged to in 9th grade:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Spanish Club</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Geometry Club</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Beta Club</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Raiders for Christ</div>
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Told ya. Huge Nerd. I guess some things never really change.Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-1884398239117494532014-06-10T18:56:00.000-05:002014-06-10T18:56:04.292-05:00Workshop of Whoa, what did I just agree to?Molly, my dear girl, is one of those children who needs constant activity to stay engaged and entertained. I learned this the hard way two summers ago. I didn't really plan anything and thought we would play things by ear. This was a horrible decision. We were both miserable.<br />
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So, last year, I learned the art of summer camp planning. I found a lot of different camps that would keep Molly entertained and keep us on a schedule throughout the summer. It was a much better summer.<br />
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This year, I knew I would do the same thing. The first activity up for the summer was Vacation Bible School at our church, theme: Workshop of Wonders. Charlotte was old enough to sign up, too, so I signed both girls up and said I would be happy to volunteer whenever they needed me.<br />
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Well, a couple weeks ago, I got an email asking if I would mind being <i>in charge</i> of preschool crafts for VBS. Yikes! I was definitely scared. I'm not a teacher, nor am I particularly crafty, and I've never been in charge of a bunch of little children. But, I do love the preschool age, and I didn't have anything else I was doing, so I said yes.<br />
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I really had no idea what I was doing, but luckily, everyone was super helpful. I was kind of panicky and stressed about everything. I was googling and Pinterest-searching like there was no tomorrow. But, it turns out, the crafts were mostly planned already, I just had to organize and facilitate the projects. Plus, I had lots of people around to ask questions when I needed.<br />
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As it happens, little kids are pretty fun. I ended up having a really good time. It probably helped that several of my parent helpers were already friends of mine (Thanks Lindsey, Megan and Kim!). It was also super fun to see Charlotte in a class setting.<br />
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Brook was taking pictures throughout the week, so I got some pictures of the girls from the week. So much fun was had. Molly LOVED the music, and you can tell in her face in the pictures. Charlotte loved snacks, and you can tell that from the pictures as well :)<br />
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The first day was RED day:<br />
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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/AVvXsEhG9K_5gZtvuYF9xCkP5yhHOIbof2TZ09Rj_lNPkJQIyeE-oSCGIfkvA2GLNE9uvY3WwAVUTvHCy2aOLZ3WmlC5GDiI9-l1wjU5LinoaytdaPkEsLEmbAa6-_z2rkRm_S1L9M18QmA6nQU/s1600/10342948_244368769020609_2890278306169624173_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG9K_5gZtvuYF9xCkP5yhHOIbof2TZ09Rj_lNPkJQIyeE-oSCGIfkvA2GLNE9uvY3WwAVUTvHCy2aOLZ3WmlC5GDiI9-l1wjU5LinoaytdaPkEsLEmbAa6-_z2rkRm_S1L9M18QmA6nQU/s1600/10342948_244368769020609_2890278306169624173_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly singing and practicing her moves.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8hE6mbaHCylYS_mGCAsSOIHvrJJ9qDjmpKqrqG0M7gr6nRl9FhQ6qnqyCbO0p26Awn1f0OwwcBbkyINMyhyBypXFrY58ucVwCXTlrZyneJTycw_MIFUV4bMUEmoX_3gNjfFgrpUOuRSw/s1600/10345846_244367485687404_9115104561760113161_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8hE6mbaHCylYS_mGCAsSOIHvrJJ9qDjmpKqrqG0M7gr6nRl9FhQ6qnqyCbO0p26Awn1f0OwwcBbkyINMyhyBypXFrY58ucVwCXTlrZyneJTycw_MIFUV4bMUEmoX_3gNjfFgrpUOuRSw/s1600/10345846_244367485687404_9115104561760113161_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly in recreation.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvsT31wit2O6PuCUtNXyZPcgqL4-8eIkLORvFEgF1i-wJ95NZubFEnuwXDOnpSLIWX_eINeiRjZpvdders-4zt9w4JzQN4gqJ0jXf6FrsXtB0NT4Zxz3BUBnGh4EqtQHLooACLmBiyk0/s1600/10417530_244368185687334_2611149056151882509_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvsT31wit2O6PuCUtNXyZPcgqL4-8eIkLORvFEgF1i-wJ95NZubFEnuwXDOnpSLIWX_eINeiRjZpvdders-4zt9w4JzQN4gqJ0jXf6FrsXtB0NT4Zxz3BUBnGh4EqtQHLooACLmBiyk0/s1600/10417530_244368185687334_2611149056151882509_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte LOVES her snacks.</td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
Second day was BLUE:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjEhRE7cK-YSAJw0xHTx7UvTSqG6tZL2IHQmU0rRhPTZ3ie7BHutWWCPloeC7mxrxBap4GB1wg1kQk4fAXAdb1crAPhFet4_srvPCeqCYBHNnFOgTc5lrzE7JZc01gLOGhLi-Fanw_II/s1600/10368199_244548542335965_9151469786327457510_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjEhRE7cK-YSAJw0xHTx7UvTSqG6tZL2IHQmU0rRhPTZ3ie7BHutWWCPloeC7mxrxBap4GB1wg1kQk4fAXAdb1crAPhFet4_srvPCeqCYBHNnFOgTc5lrzE7JZc01gLOGhLi-Fanw_II/s1600/10368199_244548542335965_9151469786327457510_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me helping with a project.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbItaCFYFsgTVpEhW6bx2DjBS7gEQME7nwcVrOxkQMY8Ddxhc46J4H_GjcTsPNLyFFrHQXY8CYGrd9kfnuPMtkxGg71AsaUjSS_d_2Z57tHo-GfuoFppiuwHsoX715m0US4r-Fm9qpROc/s1600/10254985_244549485669204_2262577296268524410_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbItaCFYFsgTVpEhW6bx2DjBS7gEQME7nwcVrOxkQMY8Ddxhc46J4H_GjcTsPNLyFFrHQXY8CYGrd9kfnuPMtkxGg71AsaUjSS_d_2Z57tHo-GfuoFppiuwHsoX715m0US4r-Fm9qpROc/s1600/10254985_244549485669204_2262577296268524410_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luckily Jody let me borrow all these things to let the kids build with when the art projects didn't quite take the whole time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKl5A4s58n_S5sf18O-aMfGlLvhRtnA-FaRY1jpClq-4ynIVl0tCZMIqsWawg97Zm4UZFYcDIb7qwik-6tpFY3Tcml6JQl4npgM0mwbS9LIMybteqGWQGt3F9pnKQlMi2MmULazOIcLQ/s1600/10377155_244549515669201_1026589000485889036_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKl5A4s58n_S5sf18O-aMfGlLvhRtnA-FaRY1jpClq-4ynIVl0tCZMIqsWawg97Zm4UZFYcDIb7qwik-6tpFY3Tcml6JQl4npgM0mwbS9LIMybteqGWQGt3F9pnKQlMi2MmULazOIcLQ/s1600/10377155_244549515669201_1026589000485889036_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kids loved building.</td></tr>
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Next was Yellow day:<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/AVvXsEiFipZalhGe7CPQANnG04moUPV29YlVB-SzBQaoxhfDWOn7ERAuyw22fjlJm0jW64ej8SjBFQbtiiTCn2m5o4BXOaFnfkorGaCoBYJLd9iO86vdhtR0I94OsTv5y7yHJMnAJBRY-ZXO4cg/s1600/10320352_10152934073035620_8836916483550209743_n-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFipZalhGe7CPQANnG04moUPV29YlVB-SzBQaoxhfDWOn7ERAuyw22fjlJm0jW64ej8SjBFQbtiiTCn2m5o4BXOaFnfkorGaCoBYJLd9iO86vdhtR0I94OsTv5y7yHJMnAJBRY-ZXO4cg/s1600/10320352_10152934073035620_8836916483550209743_n-002.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More singing for Molly.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETOdBc5XZxusxZ_dP28wH9YglQOfVWf4nWZdApKuSmax0z2ivADVjELfEiD-fg05yiC5uwmhmc0UwtxgGwRcu4_aNzy2Ot2Qg27-pOsaoaY_Mg0jkUDTo66UNCeH7WVbSyW1bQV4XR4g/s1600/10354154_10152934071800620_615076649612677977_n-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETOdBc5XZxusxZ_dP28wH9YglQOfVWf4nWZdApKuSmax0z2ivADVjELfEiD-fg05yiC5uwmhmc0UwtxgGwRcu4_aNzy2Ot2Qg27-pOsaoaY_Mg0jkUDTo66UNCeH7WVbSyW1bQV4XR4g/s1600/10354154_10152934071800620_615076649612677977_n-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte playing in recreation.</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/AVvXsEi2iMwnhhZMok0W4tFoNDrdodEVViKIW45AqCj40inYs3yRdsBVbHviJi_XQvdS4xiTcA9DBFn_b9mM0qkmTrbhqW5FxK2epp9-vmFzKeq-wE412-uEzxW3U6sCyaMChoHkXc7d_xeuiuc/s1600/10363944_10152934069295620_487972112434759693_n-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2iMwnhhZMok0W4tFoNDrdodEVViKIW45AqCj40inYs3yRdsBVbHviJi_XQvdS4xiTcA9DBFn_b9mM0qkmTrbhqW5FxK2epp9-vmFzKeq-wE412-uEzxW3U6sCyaMChoHkXc7d_xeuiuc/s1600/10363944_10152934069295620_487972112434759693_n-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Charlotte fun.</td></tr>
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Thursday was Purple:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-uwE09qcgDUnqPJ0BSFrzqX9h9IE39vfXlYYw8gU_BXJh-pAuDQ45Csc4Wpr7rrxuCIbhSp9a_sDDlrUUxRkDuELSukE4h9eoLFdle4qkLLK51YYaj2JdTioL4eXfVV7XVGsJr2rNFTg/s1600/10378008_244848252305994_2347322771311287396_n-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-uwE09qcgDUnqPJ0BSFrzqX9h9IE39vfXlYYw8gU_BXJh-pAuDQ45Csc4Wpr7rrxuCIbhSp9a_sDDlrUUxRkDuELSukE4h9eoLFdle4qkLLK51YYaj2JdTioL4eXfVV7XVGsJr2rNFTg/s1600/10378008_244848252305994_2347322771311287396_n-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte walking through the halls.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXX1shdbi-A6TYk241LMpcye90rzGDH0BPgW-buyuKgDbBeuOrWFRjkzUfsHCdH05nNW3qwMDMmryy3wZvoM0pws2GKKC7Bci1zRv8-m7S3gJ0Fu4IRcUbUTqg4fYb4CGWbCa_SwDX01k/s1600/10410525_244847035639449_760358454387014176_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXX1shdbi-A6TYk241LMpcye90rzGDH0BPgW-buyuKgDbBeuOrWFRjkzUfsHCdH05nNW3qwMDMmryy3wZvoM0pws2GKKC7Bci1zRv8-m7S3gJ0Fu4IRcUbUTqg4fYb4CGWbCa_SwDX01k/s1600/10410525_244847035639449_760358454387014176_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly and Jake being goofy.</td></tr>
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And, the final day was Green:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAh5nV1JCXbMc1xyWQWdGSiiSwhaA_z-54aXzuRp4pOOWUuJmS7TLZ7huJBGT0YgkZTn7_vWq6-ai0JmEgR4fgrRZbeKow6RYdWQH6HIUBEAWsXPI-Qf0xFKKdT0yKXtlPZJ17zvnsMs/s1600/10305179_245108708946615_8999370196149555560_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAh5nV1JCXbMc1xyWQWdGSiiSwhaA_z-54aXzuRp4pOOWUuJmS7TLZ7huJBGT0YgkZTn7_vWq6-ai0JmEgR4fgrRZbeKow6RYdWQH6HIUBEAWsXPI-Qf0xFKKdT0yKXtlPZJ17zvnsMs/s1600/10305179_245108708946615_8999370196149555560_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute picture of Molly.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0QzxK8zKOJt9gPFzvVayhSvtNAPFzW0fw3U3EdM608KfEQcH1j5WXgDmMqyvVSNt6l0gdpiWkRT8hctAN3zqjLy9x0vHQDQE0rc_GjwPVDywH4-uwo3IJ9GPuHZoCWUZ3Q4-XvehcQg/s1600/10443492_245108958946590_3995849829396310328_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0QzxK8zKOJt9gPFzvVayhSvtNAPFzW0fw3U3EdM608KfEQcH1j5WXgDmMqyvVSNt6l0gdpiWkRT8hctAN3zqjLy9x0vHQDQE0rc_GjwPVDywH4-uwo3IJ9GPuHZoCWUZ3Q4-XvehcQg/s1600/10443492_245108958946590_3995849829396310328_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte and more snacks!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-AZmOB49A1Ih6AGIQ7-60Vk5y-AZ7wWuFDjTlFr5pgnlk1YdxrETWKXgX_4whG2iTlRe3kz07oDXHl3fngfN00KKrBhh1Af60E-SS5it7fauZGksejpXjFMC2-3nVRUh0D21L64k1nU/s1600/10382990_245109942279825_5120854496963010616_n-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-AZmOB49A1Ih6AGIQ7-60Vk5y-AZ7wWuFDjTlFr5pgnlk1YdxrETWKXgX_4whG2iTlRe3kz07oDXHl3fngfN00KKrBhh1Af60E-SS5it7fauZGksejpXjFMC2-3nVRUh0D21L64k1nU/s1600/10382990_245109942279825_5120854496963010616_n-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly and more singing!</td></tr>
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As a special treat, Avery came and participated in VBS throughout the week, too. This is one of my favorite pictures of the three girls:<br />
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So, after all the fears and stress worrying about being a preschool craft leader, I ended up having a great week. And, clearly, the girls did, too.<br />
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<i>Up this week for summer camp schedule: Molly is in art camp at Creative Kingdom. She's loving it so far!</i>Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-3482463946815279272014-06-09T14:47:00.002-05:002014-06-09T14:47:45.775-05:00Heartland 39.3 x 3 In 2012, a new race series started in Kansas City. It was called the Heartland 39.3 and consisted of three half marathons within six weeks. With that under your belt, you are automatically qualified for entry into <a href="http://www.halffanatics.com/">Half Fanatics</a>, a group for runners who love running half marathons.<br />
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Of course, I signed up. I ran all the races in 2012 (<a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2012/04/rock-star.html">Rock the Parkway</a>, <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2012/04/hills-wind-and-sweet-tea.html">Kansas Half</a>, and <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2012/05/moms-on-moove.html">Running with the Cows</a>). I ran all the races in 2013 (<a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2013/05/rocking-it-through-dog-door.html">RTP</a>, <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2013/05/peer-pressured-to-run-lawrence.html">Kansas</a>, and <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2013/05/cow-confidence.html">RWTC</a>). And, I signed up again for this year. This year, they switched the Kansas Half that used to run in Lawrence to the Garmin Half Marathon. I was actually excited for this because the Garmin runs in Olathe (aka, my town).<br />
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The first in the series was Rock the Parkway on April 15th. It was a humid and warm morning. And, we had not had any warm or humid mornings. In fact, race morning was the first day I'd worn my running skirt for this year. That's not really a good sign. I also had a cold. (This is a consistent ailment throughout this series, unfortunately.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6JD8fw2DVucnJ5LTmtqCyUm0_QXbw6RdgE2Ss8rm49w-O_v_l2VG8YXZz1exQTtVAPUQft1SnOJp0HB6P_LppNtc4ycEv3JTKxO1rqeYJ9bLE2bV_yaXYk3S8hAK23aXoz7ts_13m0Y/s1600/20140412_072023-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6JD8fw2DVucnJ5LTmtqCyUm0_QXbw6RdgE2Ss8rm49w-O_v_l2VG8YXZz1exQTtVAPUQft1SnOJp0HB6P_LppNtc4ycEv3JTKxO1rqeYJ9bLE2bV_yaXYk3S8hAK23aXoz7ts_13m0Y/s1600/20140412_072023-001.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catching up with Ashlee and Anne before the race. Sorry, Ashlee, Cory apparently didn't notice your eyes shut when he took the picture!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17ZDerKOu6Aq1NNvq98NXDk7EQPiwMsf14uAdh-wat5OHC5WiZqShWKTNgsKH2HS75edaLuMNnph5TkTmGiuDm5qh2vx2-VHGs9HTmemeV2mDq18IOg3r0tqzjfQjji_XQC1F0mF4q1Y/s1600/20140412_072835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17ZDerKOu6Aq1NNvq98NXDk7EQPiwMsf14uAdh-wat5OHC5WiZqShWKTNgsKH2HS75edaLuMNnph5TkTmGiuDm5qh2vx2-VHGs9HTmemeV2mDq18IOg3r0tqzjfQjji_XQC1F0mF4q1Y/s1600/20140412_072835.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the starting corral. I entertained myself and the girls by making funny faces and sticking out my tongue.</td></tr>
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I decided to start out with the 1:50 pace group. My PR for a half marathon is 1:47:30. I, of course, never say that it's my goal to beat my PR, but of course, it's always an underlying goal. Luckily for me, I ended up with the same pacer who paced me in Running with the Cows last year (the race in which I ran my PR). I loved him as a pacer, so I was super excited to get him again. I told him that I wanted to get under 1:50, so he kept running with me through about mile 7, then told me to take off.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic26UjB8XwwNZPeGd6OYZq30N9IGnGew-6AnilwoTAbuLaHUPAOJVX2P42E7FKysdj5dnmrQrRtz8F-LJNFUVEE8ZyJ8SwuAVig2e5OwBaGRDmfdxJrXwWhXm6g3UJ0jUxX6JSYEvqmf0/s1600/20140412_082857-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic26UjB8XwwNZPeGd6OYZq30N9IGnGew-6AnilwoTAbuLaHUPAOJVX2P42E7FKysdj5dnmrQrRtz8F-LJNFUVEE8ZyJ8SwuAVig2e5OwBaGRDmfdxJrXwWhXm6g3UJ0jUxX6JSYEvqmf0/s1600/20140412_082857-001.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls found me on the course (purple tank, hat, black shorts)! I was running with the awesome pacer.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyvX-YE5ipQaETHo0h5ftYMSjF_L9L6p7zLUjKKap2wN4zRrbNY02cmPj_R22W2bK0EWWxfdZpxBt3-3uwZhr_0PeWIfigoSxImhvhAs5JDgJvXWn83gIiB8KbJu3lLrC_6q1sivci7k/s1600/20140412_082900-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyvX-YE5ipQaETHo0h5ftYMSjF_L9L6p7zLUjKKap2wN4zRrbNY02cmPj_R22W2bK0EWWxfdZpxBt3-3uwZhr_0PeWIfigoSxImhvhAs5JDgJvXWn83gIiB8KbJu3lLrC_6q1sivci7k/s1600/20140412_082900-002.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They gave me quite a boost.</td></tr>
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I took off around mile 7 and ended up having a great negative split. But, the humidity and heat were too much for me. I was really struggling for the last mile (though I did manage to pull out a 7:50 for mile 13) and ended up with a time of 1:48:25. Even though I didn't beat my unspoken goal of my PR, I was happy with how I raced. I'd definitely pushed myself and hadn't left anything on the course. In those conditions, I was happy with my time. When I saw my pacer guy after the race, he asked how I felt at the end. I told him, "bad, really bad." And he replied, "Good. If you had said you felt good, you know you could've done more." True.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb1cOn1BKHbOK7BFUVpq_XQXR-PedmQXTiYFQSaHqMG7_kVpLALnL6KZrrAzv7HPBAVp7hpsEgLcpHQrilmWtyuNouW7vj7_a-FgFqV7D-ee1aNdGMnwAD_cLG9fkOgMwEEDnmY-1hojU/s1600/124548-731-015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb1cOn1BKHbOK7BFUVpq_XQXR-PedmQXTiYFQSaHqMG7_kVpLALnL6KZrrAzv7HPBAVp7hpsEgLcpHQrilmWtyuNouW7vj7_a-FgFqV7D-ee1aNdGMnwAD_cLG9fkOgMwEEDnmY-1hojU/s1600/124548-731-015.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I actually like this race finishing photo! Doesn't happen often :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lDzyaTNBpgUodj6kvp6NlZSMY9bFJ2jErpZkmOnqxYWv0HbDoBfS1RXh5O3O_SHcl1AYZNhq6hlG98BnJ12hDxEJtFtp-q44UcYY-5EWJFIaSqCNagu2eXHtbgA8RsdaM-PLP39qKHQ/s1600/124548-177-013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lDzyaTNBpgUodj6kvp6NlZSMY9bFJ2jErpZkmOnqxYWv0HbDoBfS1RXh5O3O_SHcl1AYZNhq6hlG98BnJ12hDxEJtFtp-q44UcYY-5EWJFIaSqCNagu2eXHtbgA8RsdaM-PLP39qKHQ/s1600/124548-177-013.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, crossing the finish line.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Hn4frz_e-_edoROmGXkaKHDR-P-HLW4MtD5U8VP6k4R3aHrCQxt-4G-2f6xp2wAMRuC4uVqEPLIxy3JtykC1nRH7aU5pkhGeIg8uGBSmww_5Py-0JwjP_qVonnhiG3Zs_WOgs2TumZA/s1600/20140412_100851-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Hn4frz_e-_edoROmGXkaKHDR-P-HLW4MtD5U8VP6k4R3aHrCQxt-4G-2f6xp2wAMRuC4uVqEPLIxy3JtykC1nRH7aU5pkhGeIg8uGBSmww_5Py-0JwjP_qVonnhiG3Zs_WOgs2TumZA/s1600/20140412_100851-001.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I found Anne after the race!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTs5-rPvXY2d93tgP7C-Efr36N_pCz9Z_iqjrDqmNyFmXyjiOOSBgikT8XAdyvMgcc9q6BLYYQ8rWIE5-kcZpkM-QGmx-5br4KFmkm1WPoRJ-3jjQfxcfdCQYDuXvYsFKxTZMfbTS6UGE/s1600/IMG_20140412_102740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTs5-rPvXY2d93tgP7C-Efr36N_pCz9Z_iqjrDqmNyFmXyjiOOSBgikT8XAdyvMgcc9q6BLYYQ8rWIE5-kcZpkM-QGmx-5br4KFmkm1WPoRJ-3jjQfxcfdCQYDuXvYsFKxTZMfbTS6UGE/s1600/IMG_20140412_102740.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cute little cheerleaders.</td></tr>
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After one week off, <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2014/04/top-10-reasons-we-love-our-easter.html">in which we celebrated Easter</a>, I was back to racing half marathons on April 26th. This race was the Garmin Half Marathon. I was really excited about this race because it runs on the roads and trails that I know like the back of my hand. Not to mention, the starting line was a mere 5 minutes from my house. Perfect conditions for me. Again, I was not saying it, but hoping to beat my PR.<br />
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I, for some unknown reason, didn't look at the forecast before heading to the race. I checked the temperature, but not the forecast. This will come into play later.<br />
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Because the race starting line was so close to my house, I got there just before the race started. No time for before pictures.<br />
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I started out with the 1:50 pacers again. I loved where we ran. I knew the area, everything was familiar, yet different because I got to run on closed roads instead of sidewalks. It was chilly to start, so I wore a long-sleeve shirt over my tank and skirt. After about 4 miles, I ditched the long-sleeve shirt. Around mile 7, I left the pacers as we ran right in front of my old neighborhood and headed onto the trail. Now, I've probably run this trail a thousand times, so it was totally my zone.<br />
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Unfortunately, that's when I started to notice some dark clouds. At first, it was quite pleasant because it cut down on the sun.<br />
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Then, I started feeling some rain drops. Still not horrible. It felt refreshing.<br />
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Then, I saw some HUGE lightning strikes. Huh.<br />
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Then, the massive downpour started. Then, the hail started. I was at about mile 11. Two left to go.<br />
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I ran the last two miles in hail and pouring rain. All I wanted to do was finish.<br />
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Finally, I saw the end. I even saw Cory with the girls cheering me on. Well, Molly was kind of cheering me on. Charlotte was screaming and crying, from under an umbrella, "I'm wet! I want to go inside!!!!!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj611XQ-8OE3_q9tm-o_lNEMyv-3eRlvlXdFP6aMmQRbDXCvC8H5XC7JBgyFufAxzAzE7hUWQ4KW9HfyRixD7vzp9Hzd-9uRdcjN2aVESpgLzGiWtY7085XR69RD9Aqrd37ic6CPzt9Qy8/s1600/20140426_084626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj611XQ-8OE3_q9tm-o_lNEMyv-3eRlvlXdFP6aMmQRbDXCvC8H5XC7JBgyFufAxzAzE7hUWQ4KW9HfyRixD7vzp9Hzd-9uRdcjN2aVESpgLzGiWtY7085XR69RD9Aqrd37ic6CPzt9Qy8/s1600/20140426_084626.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for Mommy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vRoLRIN0RhRjfxS0VQXzfZIezj2B0Tpx_NNqVqGyDwfaKgi-sDw3cNUGgp8cs72HmyVx0uBskYe-glvUOuKupW0FOUA9IZBlqlMEmv4HQbTH1oh9SY60s_ITr0xE_qzTagvnVOV8X0o/s1600/20140426_084851-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vRoLRIN0RhRjfxS0VQXzfZIezj2B0Tpx_NNqVqGyDwfaKgi-sDw3cNUGgp8cs72HmyVx0uBskYe-glvUOuKupW0FOUA9IZBlqlMEmv4HQbTH1oh9SY60s_ITr0xE_qzTagvnVOV8X0o/s1600/20140426_084851-001.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My back (pink tank top and blue shoes) as I headed to the finish in the rain.</td></tr>
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<br />With the hail and crazy winds, I was just really glad to reach the finish line. I honestly didn't think much about my time until after I crossed the finish line. But, then I went to check my official time: 1:47:42. Yes, I missed my PR by a mere 12 seconds. I tried to be super proud of just finishing in those conditions, but, truth be told, I'm really bummed I missed it by so little.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ryhoe8eBPIG1eXWXt4lHXlX4SB3oMvfdOByLXBE8e82U9bkJF_1VJAOX6Fkzefp3Q9iL-EpmXjGarzKgTjcV0r6lXSCEVwvy2F6MQCWCquI0OOXnCy5apc6C25VycPD05C3AYdqLX8s/s1600/20140426_090048-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ryhoe8eBPIG1eXWXt4lHXlX4SB3oMvfdOByLXBE8e82U9bkJF_1VJAOX6Fkzefp3Q9iL-EpmXjGarzKgTjcV0r6lXSCEVwvy2F6MQCWCquI0OOXnCy5apc6C25VycPD05C3AYdqLX8s/s1600/20140426_090048-001.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rain completely stopped less than 10 minutes after we finished. I saw Kay on the trail as we ran, and we found each other again after we finished.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUnuR2PS2K1-muQRlg-h-n_rBVqeVbfLoMqAg2xWgZjHI8fiCZKd6DzK0qkk_YlB0MeodIu8PgfMfsGLWXOB60wxOZPhFwxufuLsQw6nifCzHKE4I-RhAyNNxn5C2VKvmRb5Y5AVK5O4/s1600/20140426_090931-SMILE-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUnuR2PS2K1-muQRlg-h-n_rBVqeVbfLoMqAg2xWgZjHI8fiCZKd6DzK0qkk_YlB0MeodIu8PgfMfsGLWXOB60wxOZPhFwxufuLsQw6nifCzHKE4I-RhAyNNxn5C2VKvmRb5Y5AVK5O4/s1600/20140426_090931-SMILE-001.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">JJ, Kay, me and Anne. The whole crew.</td></tr>
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Two weeks after Garmin, came the final race of the series: Running with the Cows. It has been my favorite half marathon of the past couple years, not the least because of the amazing smorgasbord of food provided after the race. After cutting it so close on my time for the past two races, I really wanted to finally beat that PR. In case you're wondering, let me just tell you, this series does not have a Hollywood ending.<br />
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I started out again with the 1:50 pacers. This time, I left them after only a mile. I had trouble staying with them through the water stops, so I figured I'd just pace myself. For several miles, I ended up running behind a couple of girls dressed in full cow costumes. It was awesome. They got so many cheers, and I just soaked up all the cheers :)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMSCT_YE8tiqPZWBtNmUGObooj-gA5wcRPY7tunR9WI_fLMmIrvXGjz1CyxhaYJ58gT0b_bNRvmsaC82NzH6ZKCWO8NWVVz1Nf3JTFeedB-bRaH2JmWcMRh63w1SvGr8v6D76K7Nqm-M/s1600/10333514_10152441688317859_9029886001674000566_o+(1)-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMSCT_YE8tiqPZWBtNmUGObooj-gA5wcRPY7tunR9WI_fLMmIrvXGjz1CyxhaYJ58gT0b_bNRvmsaC82NzH6ZKCWO8NWVVz1Nf3JTFeedB-bRaH2JmWcMRh63w1SvGr8v6D76K7Nqm-M/s1600/10333514_10152441688317859_9029886001674000566_o+(1)-001.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone with a camera caught me running behind the cow girls :)</td></tr>
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Around mile 10, I just felt like I was going to die. I was struggling and had to get the last 3 miles in. I didn't feel great, and I just wanted to be done. I finally ended up finishing with a time of 1:48:40. The worst of the three.<br />
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Oh well. I was really just glad to be done. Plus, I got to cross the finish line and hear about how Molly and Charlotte had done running the 5K. Yes, they did. Molly ran the 5K with Cory, and Charlotte "ran" it with my dad. Molly took 7 minutes off her time from her 5K last year, so with a time of 40:13, she got a PR. At least someone finally got a PR!<br />
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Both girls really wanted a medal after finishing. But, unfortunately, this particular race doesn't give medals to the 5K finishers. So, I smuggled my two previous year's half marathon medals in, and Cory gave them to the girls after the crossed the finish line.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5eut-BB92No_AW5lHmsTtjEz01FUZ0bQYGUASndscZ4rpUeSYW0wa78w2BsE34ZREafYMYOgpX2J5B67O7A4EwZ6SQnqsUFh-m0MSGG8YFxF8K4CLsxyHwT-i3rQjEaW2n1nSHNHMRGE/s1600/IMG_20140510_132155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5eut-BB92No_AW5lHmsTtjEz01FUZ0bQYGUASndscZ4rpUeSYW0wa78w2BsE34ZREafYMYOgpX2J5B67O7A4EwZ6SQnqsUFh-m0MSGG8YFxF8K4CLsxyHwT-i3rQjEaW2n1nSHNHMRGE/s1600/IMG_20140510_132155.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family of cow runners. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VZ2_LqMPnH3bi-ikNua8w5eTnvd4fPjNVGP-PYhUL9JzUgpnLIc4Ghn__M5GaQifPsLFAmO8zqWf7J_POCiFBHAhNkqHL4V6gKCw5rOuR-gddS5B2PaZLFTnBwL5_0OCpBqcnMkBNOM/s1600/IMG_20140510_132431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VZ2_LqMPnH3bi-ikNua8w5eTnvd4fPjNVGP-PYhUL9JzUgpnLIc4Ghn__M5GaQifPsLFAmO8zqWf7J_POCiFBHAhNkqHL4V6gKCw5rOuR-gddS5B2PaZLFTnBwL5_0OCpBqcnMkBNOM/s1600/IMG_20140510_132431.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole crew. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5ZGAxGYcataT6Iy5V3XgTNzkIgZtwMykxF0VR0SBc6U2UYbssx0JIdZDtQ5B7FblTaYKa3ib4o_g326T-4ksazsNcvkVt1ZWCQ3G28uGTQzwdbNfOoa0DYQf6bSTU1yq8ttp4TwIfh0/s1600/IMG_20140510_133410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5ZGAxGYcataT6Iy5V3XgTNzkIgZtwMykxF0VR0SBc6U2UYbssx0JIdZDtQ5B7FblTaYKa3ib4o_g326T-4ksazsNcvkVt1ZWCQ3G28uGTQzwdbNfOoa0DYQf6bSTU1yq8ttp4TwIfh0/s1600/IMG_20140510_133410.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Connor has this idea that Anne and I should finish every race holding hands. We're not sure where he got the idea, but we decided to try and appease him by doing a pose after the fact. He was not amused. </td></tr>
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So, nine half marathons and three years later, I have this to show for myself:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyMhlMomm56WxbuYKDLTKREvpE4W05XhkelgWh6Z_KyX8U76ZLfU6JSEthH8FwXuJ5oR1nud1fIEv-rdFfBqc8VVcO_DxPAQq-_9zcGeMBmv6w6F5MSFo3m20vp-kIWUVbKWoY0F39K_M/s1600/IMG_20140609_142329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyMhlMomm56WxbuYKDLTKREvpE4W05XhkelgWh6Z_KyX8U76ZLfU6JSEthH8FwXuJ5oR1nud1fIEv-rdFfBqc8VVcO_DxPAQq-_9zcGeMBmv6w6F5MSFo3m20vp-kIWUVbKWoY0F39K_M/s1600/IMG_20140609_142329.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Heartland belt buckle with all three year coins and a new Heartland 39.3 jacket. Though I'll never actually wear the belt buckle, I have worn the jacket quite a bit. And, yes, I may not have bested my previous PR, I did finish all three races and did not injure myself. So, I should consider it a success, right?<br />
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Done and done.Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-45087066339488860232014-06-01T16:09:00.002-05:002014-06-01T16:09:43.329-05:00Saturday night at the movies!<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Well, Saturday night at eight o'clock</span></div>
<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I know where I'm gonna go</div>
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I'm a-gonna pick my baby up</div>
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And take her to the picture show</div>
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Everybody in the neighborhood</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Is dressing up to be there, too</div>
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And we're gonna have a ball</div>
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Just like we always do</div>
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Saturday night at the movies</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Who cares what picture you see</div>
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When you're hugging with your baby</div>
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<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Last row in the balcony</span></div>
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Ok, are you hearing the Drifters crooning about going to the movies, yet? Ahhh, love some old Drifters.<br />
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Anyway, this past Saturday, we had our very own night at the movies in our very own backyard. No balconies, and I was hugging my actual baby, but it was still quite magical. See, my little baby turned 7.<br />
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I can't believe Molly is now officially 7. I'm pretty sure I say that with each birthday, but, well, it's still true. Molly is a social butterfly. She wants to be doing something, seeing someone or going somewhere every minute of the day. Truth be told, it exhausts me. (Ok, if you know me at all, you are not surprised by this.)<br />
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So, when it came time to planning her birthday party, she wanted a huge party with everyone she knew invited. We started counting it up, and we were upwards of 30 kids. So, because I started having a nervous panic attack at the thought of that many children in my house, I told her we had to cut it down. I tried to convince her to have an art party at an art studio, but told her she could only have about 6 guests. And, she's been wanting to have a slumber party for a couple years now, so I said that we could do that, but, could only invite 3 girls. (No way am I having a ton of kids overnight!). Well, Molly, ever the people-pleaser and sweet soul, didn't want to leave anyone out. It was a no for the art and the slumber party.<br />
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After much discussion, we finally came up with a compromise. We were turning it into a girls-only party. And, because she really wanted a sleepover, but wanted more people, we started brainstorming. That's when someone happened to mention that they'd had an outdoor movie birthday for one of their kids. Perfect. It would be in the evening/night, so it was almost like a slumber party, but all the kids went home, so she could invite all her girlfriends.<br />
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Of course, next step: Pinterest. There are some great ideas out there, and I just took 'em all.<br />
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With the end of school happening, the party kind of got pushed back into the recesses of my mind, so I didn't start planning as early as I normally do. I did manage to make the invitation in advance. Honestly, of all the invitations that I've made, this is my favorite. I thought it turned out super cute.<br />
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I really should've planned better and done my shopping for the party before school was out. But, well, I didn't. So, I did all my shopping with both girls in tow. They really aren't bad, but when you have a million places to go, getting in and out of the car with two kids just makes everything take longer. I was ready to pull my hair out on Friday afternoon after a whole day of errand running, let me tell you.</div>
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What was a pleasant surprise is that Party City has a whole movie night section. I totally scored with a lot of stuff such as the plates, napkins, tablecloths, etc. I ended up having HyVee make the cake. I of course found one online that I liked and brought the picture in to them. They said "no problem." It was great, because that was only about a week and a half before the party! Cutting it close, people. Though, I'd originally told them a number of people, then we got more RSVPs, so I started freaking out if we would have enough cake. Cory to the rescue. He made cupcakes just like I'd found online.</div>
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We also kind of freaked out all day because it kept spitting rain. We had a whole plan for the backyard and rain was not in this plan. Luckily, it finally turned around and cleared up. It ended up being a beautiful night.</div>
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So, enough prep stuff. It's party time!</div>
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Everyone started arriving around 6:30. I had bought a background for the girls to take pictures against. They could practice their best red carpet poses. It ended up being a great idea because the girls loved it. FYI, Molly really wanted to wear her pajamas, so the invites told the girls they could wear theirs. Most of them did.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhGjywS4gE_9vAgGsQUpvHrg2BUIWPwK7ZA3ampSVPbcg8dmG8tgsKdutxOVt7xmxbYOHcPl9jtKGnhWrOQoClbN6ocf0_ZVKR3nvYTmsl7cFkQ7AcUNJsHS-FjIfyf4RYdTAEAdRPW4/s1600/DSC_0187-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhGjywS4gE_9vAgGsQUpvHrg2BUIWPwK7ZA3ampSVPbcg8dmG8tgsKdutxOVt7xmxbYOHcPl9jtKGnhWrOQoClbN6ocf0_ZVKR3nvYTmsl7cFkQ7AcUNJsHS-FjIfyf4RYdTAEAdRPW4/s1600/DSC_0187-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With just a couple girls at the party, we practiced our posing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf_J7-d0NYjnu0iVkhDlC9GntfoDJFZhj9dtENJZD3mftZNF7Q6IJd9px5wRqdup5ZMrGIIMgPa-_VTmns9mCaVGE9UOmbopQigxzL5JcrkGHeY47wYn05cQsvGBqe9TVosmPU0QAy4E/s1600/DSC_0205-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf_J7-d0NYjnu0iVkhDlC9GntfoDJFZhj9dtENJZD3mftZNF7Q6IJd9px5wRqdup5ZMrGIIMgPa-_VTmns9mCaVGE9UOmbopQigxzL5JcrkGHeY47wYn05cQsvGBqe9TVosmPU0QAy4E/s1600/DSC_0205-002.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some more posing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwfdVOOwfZSmrdZDwVGtRTuZZucsw7xY_bC6zy6cZWeFTj5zw1H5pdRDO3F8zCnzN7_Cqz5Bjr6j5WCByArMD9220kpCV013H6qxH2SA9IUhTd2If12I9pCodk04TFbAhQT3WGuRhhgQ/s1600/DSC_0210-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwfdVOOwfZSmrdZDwVGtRTuZZucsw7xY_bC6zy6cZWeFTj5zw1H5pdRDO3F8zCnzN7_Cqz5Bjr6j5WCByArMD9220kpCV013H6qxH2SA9IUhTd2If12I9pCodk04TFbAhQT3WGuRhhgQ/s1600/DSC_0210-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, crazy posing! Check out Charlotte on the side with a cookie :)</td></tr>
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<br />As the girls were arriving, we played video clips and music videos on the TV as a sort of preview stage of the party. Cory and I had debated the best way to show the movie. We thought about doing a projector, but knew we weren't planning to wait until it got dark to watch the movie. If it were a teenager's party, sure. But a bunch of 7-year-olds? Nope. Not keeping them up that late. So, we put our TV from our basement on the lawn. Cory built a base and stand for it. I wanted to make curtains to go around it like a real theater. They looked better in my head than they turned out. But, you can still see the idea. The tent over the top is just in case it started raining. We wanted to protect the TV!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGH_sme2YJ8iNpbHQYCopUuqby1N9o0WZilT_J-uS1meRrxWmhecSzfwq6zvx3-Sfk8N5d60cW0JeqfGTCDtoxNGHP03AjQcE229Af1vaev0xUqsths9Yuee1f-eVQ7VSRCM0_PPLbcdk/s1600/DSC_0193-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGH_sme2YJ8iNpbHQYCopUuqby1N9o0WZilT_J-uS1meRrxWmhecSzfwq6zvx3-Sfk8N5d60cW0JeqfGTCDtoxNGHP03AjQcE229Af1vaev0xUqsths9Yuee1f-eVQ7VSRCM0_PPLbcdk/s1600/DSC_0193-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole backyard scene.</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/AVvXsEgA9_uUtklXqm4psvlzlHMsQ-03giL9BGzbu-RtQvqIPRCRb2sch2gMX2HJmudOABrEAjskBpeIgQuUYDT-BqpLkWZOo6s8US3iCiM4Rb2pLmNGUSRfQzUswZtdUcgd5I9y5Ej0IqzEVDA/s1600/DSC_0202-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9_uUtklXqm4psvlzlHMsQ-03giL9BGzbu-RtQvqIPRCRb2sch2gMX2HJmudOABrEAjskBpeIgQuUYDT-BqpLkWZOo6s8US3iCiM4Rb2pLmNGUSRfQzUswZtdUcgd5I9y5Ej0IqzEVDA/s1600/DSC_0202-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching some videos.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After a while of "previews" and once most of the girls arrived, we opened the concession stand. We had popcorn, a million kinds of candy, and drinks. Cory was the concession stand worker.<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/AVvXsEipxB8OLLKz9QDMFiX0LjZcQIVT3jSz47tJwMwjbqLYWG2m-Up0QDyV-iLWZav3bp_Cea9eA_S-__u5u1XdiROAb6v1Erf0Z3fjNMl8iQ87ZwDi9mdw1tN7yKftLMouMMY-yatW9_75r8k/s1600/DSC_0194-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxB8OLLKz9QDMFiX0LjZcQIVT3jSz47tJwMwjbqLYWG2m-Up0QDyV-iLWZav3bp_Cea9eA_S-__u5u1XdiROAb6v1Erf0Z3fjNMl8iQ87ZwDi9mdw1tN7yKftLMouMMY-yatW9_75r8k/s1600/DSC_0194-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm also super proud of my concession sign. I made it on PS, then printed it at Walmart. I loved how it turned out.</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/AVvXsEh7fU5hV_dTTEStXC5ggAhAHcJP6HksKmGF-5VUDVms0Wrik4gw7VTRfB1UBTIv9XasCiGRY9V-P3pTiPF4A43zDPQz968djscsZi7f1HERJVocnRzB71PBMSqC8TOyGcuzlcKWjXt4sjY/s1600/DSC_0195-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fU5hV_dTTEStXC5ggAhAHcJP6HksKmGF-5VUDVms0Wrik4gw7VTRfB1UBTIv9XasCiGRY9V-P3pTiPF4A43zDPQz968djscsZi7f1HERJVocnRzB71PBMSqC8TOyGcuzlcKWjXt4sjY/s1600/DSC_0195-002.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So, tip for next time. Write the name of the drink before you fill up the container. It's very hard to write cute in chalk at that angle.</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/AVvXsEgmkIWwTgE-X6ieSQGJTLXhjn2RWc2HGK6hIWJ8_vzyfkCsEH4obG7WrWGtA2b-ogJmOnUO8n_SnvZHUojbhLKqFssozgKS8iAmGyvz9evi_038ycbjgp-JyrG7MZ0Ey2i0ybX5Zd728lA/s1600/DSC_0197-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkIWwTgE-X6ieSQGJTLXhjn2RWc2HGK6hIWJ8_vzyfkCsEH4obG7WrWGtA2b-ogJmOnUO8n_SnvZHUojbhLKqFssozgKS8iAmGyvz9evi_038ycbjgp-JyrG7MZ0Ey2i0ybX5Zd728lA/s1600/DSC_0197-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I already had the red bowls, but found the popcorn bowl and the popcorn boxes at Party City.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhrq6YMrvkeIC1DbUIntpIzB7C3F-cu6jQYB6drRpQ9y1Mu13m53MD2WY66ikolZ18Fi7GezCf9l7_lSRqnIowbw7yVaJQu_S2RT7A0JSIf_HnTPWArDyIHpzqx74hhucCSY4yBLVKEpx4/s1600/DSC_0198-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrq6YMrvkeIC1DbUIntpIzB7C3F-cu6jQYB6drRpQ9y1Mu13m53MD2WY66ikolZ18Fi7GezCf9l7_lSRqnIowbw7yVaJQu_S2RT7A0JSIf_HnTPWArDyIHpzqx74hhucCSY4yBLVKEpx4/s1600/DSC_0198-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The CANDY! We had one tray that had full-size candy bars. Each girl was limited to one of those. The twizzlers and small candy were fair game.</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/AVvXsEhkVBiv_85Hyp8Dspq7AaHXnsui5VM5Iga7GfeMgD0MTgWcdUGOFXQb9Ky_JDbeXeiNlPN-i8nDccsq31_V31CO6MOjI14OR8KaIFNNeefcyEx3xf1ygEdvj3eLX5NunWVAUF9JVLSyF7s/s1600/DSC_0220-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVBiv_85Hyp8Dspq7AaHXnsui5VM5Iga7GfeMgD0MTgWcdUGOFXQb9Ky_JDbeXeiNlPN-i8nDccsq31_V31CO6MOjI14OR8KaIFNNeefcyEx3xf1ygEdvj3eLX5NunWVAUF9JVLSyF7s/s1600/DSC_0220-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cory worked the concession stand.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Once everyone was loaded up with the popcorn, drinks and candy, the girls got comfy on the piles of blankets and pillows on the lawn. And, we started the movie. In case you couldn't guess from the fact that Molly is a 7-year-old girl, we watched "Frozen."<br />
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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/AVvXsEh04RdVoanQl2QW7o50lbYtDOxKphsZO_E42EauU7YM7VLFgFEgSJvp_6Cz7ZjDU0nXH1uE0MidMYDjYvl_T6GiAj55FuGs4bXoM0wGfcd27xYAw7WDvsg22w3XulFMUDMTI3OR6YNL0hE/s1600/DSC_0223-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04RdVoanQl2QW7o50lbYtDOxKphsZO_E42EauU7YM7VLFgFEgSJvp_6Cz7ZjDU0nXH1uE0MidMYDjYvl_T6GiAj55FuGs4bXoM0wGfcd27xYAw7WDvsg22w3XulFMUDMTI3OR6YNL0hE/s1600/DSC_0223-001.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to watch Elsa and Anna!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The girls were good for a while, but we knew the natives would start getting restless after a while. So, halfway through the movie, we had an intermission. During the intermission, we sang "Happy Birthday," ate cake and opened presents. It worked out like a charm. As the kids were getting more and more fidgety, we gave them something else to do.<br />
<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/AVvXsEhxYlbZ3GGFF-0TGMpdI4iVCZA1hyp05vPbw5qPvtpmsHDHuLOFtW_ZOtMGZrZMM2Ri63gmtmkE348VI8njohbtSlq8ixS9yVGtoHZD9DKouOOi1VfTqXbZYGEqnClH7BQpdYnQe0lQSP0/s1600/DSC_0286-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYlbZ3GGFF-0TGMpdI4iVCZA1hyp05vPbw5qPvtpmsHDHuLOFtW_ZOtMGZrZMM2Ri63gmtmkE348VI8njohbtSlq8ixS9yVGtoHZD9DKouOOi1VfTqXbZYGEqnClH7BQpdYnQe0lQSP0/s1600/DSC_0286-001.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly and her cake from HyVee.</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/AVvXsEgRCpbrxze9E3TQ1yRhP-90v-rKfnl0qtFDOuwY-3zS8-KxvlhEheUkujInlsbMFJ3u2ujHd22ljHHc03AAAgEkVywY4F58cqiZyL6cvyXeCYhTJOPoJK4RdKqYiVuohagssyy2TRh2sl4/s1600/DSC_0294-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRCpbrxze9E3TQ1yRhP-90v-rKfnl0qtFDOuwY-3zS8-KxvlhEheUkujInlsbMFJ3u2ujHd22ljHHc03AAAgEkVywY4F58cqiZyL6cvyXeCYhTJOPoJK4RdKqYiVuohagssyy2TRh2sl4/s1600/DSC_0294-001.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cake was beautiful and just what I had wanted. It didn't, however, hold up with the humidity. We should've served it first thing. It was kind of the leaning bucket of popcorn. Oh well, it still tasted delicious!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEjA65tD03LaA3V-HXi8KjovMCJgNjFXsAJ3lq0GWB7_d2V30qzL2uv3_vTiW-7k1JALDbaH4K5H-8OTY-aD1LMsjYH_HnozMfGwl4OF7C9I3qR2ioJUWV6Eco3K7B1oytIsthdlvbOpNo8/s1600/DSC_0196-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA65tD03LaA3V-HXi8KjovMCJgNjFXsAJ3lq0GWB7_d2V30qzL2uv3_vTiW-7k1JALDbaH4K5H-8OTY-aD1LMsjYH_HnozMfGwl4OF7C9I3qR2ioJUWV6Eco3K7B1oytIsthdlvbOpNo8/s1600/DSC_0196-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cory's adorable popcorn cupcakes! They were a hit amongst the kids.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgNPJItZxEy9GSkPo8Zbwj-NYLatjDt-kb19bNWvoZrMXNV9QwQf5Gd5E84JJWJzsp2uYhXBak37RXGTW_kIK0AowH9exkXWFYTj2U351hFWbP_pOyOPx_kd8tB6yxoBKb7Dkj8iFgzcu0/s1600/DSC_0296-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPJItZxEy9GSkPo8Zbwj-NYLatjDt-kb19bNWvoZrMXNV9QwQf5Gd5E84JJWJzsp2uYhXBak37RXGTW_kIK0AowH9exkXWFYTj2U351hFWbP_pOyOPx_kd8tB6yxoBKb7Dkj8iFgzcu0/s1600/DSC_0296-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proud parents and their 7-year-old.</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/AVvXsEhw7Oa5XPmQgZyCSQfW3a-TVbDx40a8R4oCiYcM2TnBGFafcwuDKvkEtT8zCHkwPEM5SLHzo_ca43F_YbYOQvT-CWAjWI-47DQ3ScMju3TlJyaAqQQ7V-j7amDb9lH3KG6D-1cTRfIyuhI/s1600/DSC_0298-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7Oa5XPmQgZyCSQfW3a-TVbDx40a8R4oCiYcM2TnBGFafcwuDKvkEtT8zCHkwPEM5SLHzo_ca43F_YbYOQvT-CWAjWI-47DQ3ScMju3TlJyaAqQQ7V-j7amDb9lH3KG6D-1cTRfIyuhI/s1600/DSC_0298-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The aftermath of attempting to cut the leaning bucket of cake. We finally got out a spoon and spooned it on plates. It really was delicious tasting, though.<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiSdPfBVv1ToxLxo1TRf2vsIfizupjPfRC7hNsW5qXpYVKN482Qj86z4sMUrtPwkg4csVsm72JrLhMy_SbRGm43LaDdi2YxZZcuCmi9S6Ka5Uo5GEnPuIpsulMfRrV4P58Mi1YZ4cGIw4U/s1600/DSC_0301-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdPfBVv1ToxLxo1TRf2vsIfizupjPfRC7hNsW5qXpYVKN482Qj86z4sMUrtPwkg4csVsm72JrLhMy_SbRGm43LaDdi2YxZZcuCmi9S6Ka5Uo5GEnPuIpsulMfRrV4P58Mi1YZ4cGIw4U/s1600/DSC_0301-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready to open presents.</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/AVvXsEjxTptGZWFxfDWhR8x7NuCfIJh7UO1ey3pV3e1gyhxQAEu3aGl48lgrIzR1cVcTn4WFsK7-3dbDeEDgpgWLJwH5fBmmEwLNvw8V7xE8hXHc7cNU5FsDKpaSGzoQUJhgLTCgM-QLW8v31I0/s1600/DSC_0303-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTptGZWFxfDWhR8x7NuCfIJh7UO1ey3pV3e1gyhxQAEu3aGl48lgrIzR1cVcTn4WFsK7-3dbDeEDgpgWLJwH5fBmmEwLNvw8V7xE8hXHc7cNU5FsDKpaSGzoQUJhgLTCgM-QLW8v31I0/s1600/DSC_0303-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surrounded by girls!</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/AVvXsEjsSM9x6bV9kRLiSnT41F2xwy5UZzT-7KAOoTlWfMZVg-e8867YRdVUqTeWVNBrHHL-UXOLDlHlK_Uu4EWv1pKql4hau3X3AIUGXlu1NWGlNp-73qv6q0rfK4zWJTbhmSZx8FJ9lOQqEAQ/s1600/DSC_0309-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSM9x6bV9kRLiSnT41F2xwy5UZzT-7KAOoTlWfMZVg-e8867YRdVUqTeWVNBrHHL-UXOLDlHlK_Uu4EWv1pKql4hau3X3AIUGXlu1NWGlNp-73qv6q0rfK4zWJTbhmSZx8FJ9lOQqEAQ/s1600/DSC_0309-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just loved the excitement on Molly's face. It's Rarity! (A My Little Pony for those of you not in the know.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
After presents, we settled back in for the movie. As it got darker, we pulled out the glowsticks and the girls had a blast making necklaces, bracelets and jump ropes(?). Don't ask me. Kids are crazy.<br />
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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/AVvXsEiex1zjW1KvGltStsbqeIAkZXWz1z3C81Fz4Y6GEb5Y1u3ofOi17zjiVF-C4N5vBDk4wbXpjtoA8UD-HS7eMsia0u-ujFwCYivSAfm4IJXVIAJ5jvVZdsj9DJzb73jXVUzQUdYCxyyGizQ/s1600/DSC_0326-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiex1zjW1KvGltStsbqeIAkZXWz1z3C81Fz4Y6GEb5Y1u3ofOi17zjiVF-C4N5vBDk4wbXpjtoA8UD-HS7eMsia0u-ujFwCYivSAfm4IJXVIAJ5jvVZdsj9DJzb73jXVUzQUdYCxyyGizQ/s1600/DSC_0326-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cuties.</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/AVvXsEhqTJPz2QlT_fGvxbllwH3Q3S9ftt4Bs5ks0PbZnvWZTKq9p8giv_h5DoXPLI8XTTePFTpscnZ66BE49UzfpbXyFldfvJhO3lYhg4W5LUQsHo57Yp_gqTaiRSfQrrpmzjxQWpTL8yQH0Xg/s1600/DSC_0344-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTJPz2QlT_fGvxbllwH3Q3S9ftt4Bs5ks0PbZnvWZTKq9p8giv_h5DoXPLI8XTTePFTpscnZ66BE49UzfpbXyFldfvJhO3lYhg4W5LUQsHo57Yp_gqTaiRSfQrrpmzjxQWpTL8yQH0Xg/s1600/DSC_0344-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love it.</td></tr>
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Parents started coming to get their kids at almost the exact time the movie was over. Now, that sounds like we planned it perfectly, but more accurately, was incredibly great luck. Molly had helped me make goody bags, which of course I forgot to take pictures of, but they were little movie gift packs with popcorn, candy, star sunglasses and rainbow loom bracelets that Molly had made for each girl.<br />
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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/AVvXsEjW63mM8qVdpmlIfW2fJTaO6hNfPXPsw2ccJGeavHDMMNF0KgvN5BO1wnHjMzmHYE4EbPBwWB-E1EYt6NusZHhUNgW9kHRBN20b7bNt90erfgvTKRB9_AFT4HdXDNNzMIgVARy8z2CWvfs/s1600/DSC_0349-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW63mM8qVdpmlIfW2fJTaO6hNfPXPsw2ccJGeavHDMMNF0KgvN5BO1wnHjMzmHYE4EbPBwWB-E1EYt6NusZHhUNgW9kHRBN20b7bNt90erfgvTKRB9_AFT4HdXDNNzMIgVARy8z2CWvfs/s1600/DSC_0349-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last four girls. I just loved this silhouette. </td></tr>
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All-in-all, it was an incredibly successful party.<br />
<br />Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-43875086740054860202014-04-21T20:19:00.000-05:002014-05-01T16:41:10.048-05:00Top 10 reasons we love our Easter traditionIt's Monday night, and we're all still recovering from our annual Easter weekend extravaganza with the cousins Strand. It is always a blast, and this year was no different. Laura had a meeting on Friday morning, so they couldn't arrive on Thursday night like they usually do. But, we were all super excited for Laura, Chris and Penny to get here when they could. As an added bonus, Aunt Amber and Tom decided to come up from Texas for Easter, too. So, we had family all around. It was great. Molly told me before everyone arrived that she was sure Saturday was going to be the best day of her life because she got to see Penny, Aunt Amber and everyone!<br />
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Amber and Tom got to town first, so all the Laffertys came to our house for dinner on Friday night. We hung out and waited for the Strands to arrive. They got here around 7, then the girls kind of stared at each other for a while until they got used to each other again. It didn't take too long, then they were running around, playing and laughing.<br />
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Being in a new house, we actually had a guest room for Laura and Chris to stay in. Previous years, we've stuck them in the basement. (Sorry guys!) But, when we were making up the guest room, which had a twin bed and trundle, we realized the only sheets we had for the bed were Dora the Explorer sheets from Charlotte. Whoops. (Sorry again, guys!)<br />
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Saturday morning, we got up early and headed to the Easter Egg 5K. This year was gorgeous weather, and the girls were all excited to run the Lil Bunny Fun Run. Unfortunately, it was 1 hour after the start of the 5K, and Penny was terrified they were going to miss it, so she worried and bugged Laura about it the entire time Cory and I were running. Amber came and ran, too. She's becoming quite the runner down in Texas.<br />
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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/AVvXsEixphbUg0iCyr39pRxOQxzyWRHdQWg4EBuhJICKHtaRVnqIyJ1X4FvswmK7mDXtkl4RRgYFxgJuSbcrcEgrhnPTlRIEj7jj8Y8Oxkf42SG0CgmJR_BmiwkR9DsfpsRv56j3KxRpxFAAcVo/s1600/20140419_085730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixphbUg0iCyr39pRxOQxzyWRHdQWg4EBuhJICKHtaRVnqIyJ1X4FvswmK7mDXtkl4RRgYFxgJuSbcrcEgrhnPTlRIEj7jj8Y8Oxkf42SG0CgmJR_BmiwkR9DsfpsRv56j3KxRpxFAAcVo/s1600/20140419_085730.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amber, Cory and Me. You might notice a 1st place medal around my neck ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJEXX-MACD9WqEKgPOlPcRvUIKTgisq-JhNS7o-tpfVUtrsgYxx9w8KaBKWn4_gG9r1Nu2Qx7L-vqyUk3zm_NnCjpHv7p45gQ243Lbb8S9Y6ZpbKnxQYO0iI6YlX8HqXS_zkEMVu4nPM/s1600/_jcc6547-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJEXX-MACD9WqEKgPOlPcRvUIKTgisq-JhNS7o-tpfVUtrsgYxx9w8KaBKWn4_gG9r1Nu2Qx7L-vqyUk3zm_NnCjpHv7p45gQ243Lbb8S9Y6ZpbKnxQYO0iI6YlX8HqXS_zkEMVu4nPM/s1600/_jcc6547-001.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging with the Easter Bunny while we were running.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRSVNOBftUP02_ZlM1t4XvD_SWHIW1fJ5FGMKJhY59hAgaxJzSHMKhVWmWcrCMQq91b455OyVKZHtxlV8HpI1LcXJzUwliwcb3HpXvTloRTmibplBIVIwyKLBO92EqMJ9klCvry1jU78/s1600/DSC08323-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKRSVNOBftUP02_ZlM1t4XvD_SWHIW1fJ5FGMKJhY59hAgaxJzSHMKhVWmWcrCMQq91b455OyVKZHtxlV8HpI1LcXJzUwliwcb3HpXvTloRTmibplBIVIwyKLBO92EqMJ9klCvry1jU78/s1600/DSC08323-001.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at my speedy girl!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwS5bpRn4Phsrnx2eGwwaGeqpcbFyg94wml9WSdFrJAft0eRSC9W60xVwyUAYFJ4p7uJOaJ2e4nuCPLi2-kqzwX3LtNzGIMuz14soTNuF22yVous1XmZZ9djI9jb7u_1414OEa4lWsLM/s1600/DSC08330-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwS5bpRn4Phsrnx2eGwwaGeqpcbFyg94wml9WSdFrJAft0eRSC9W60xVwyUAYFJ4p7uJOaJ2e4nuCPLi2-kqzwX3LtNzGIMuz14soTNuF22yVous1XmZZ9djI9jb7u_1414OEa4lWsLM/s1600/DSC08330-001.JPG" height="320" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just about one of the best pictures ever.</td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
We headed home after the race to get ready for the now-annual Easter Egg Hunt at our house. I keep having to explain to people that I have absolutely nothing to do with this party. It is completely Cory. I don't even know who he invites or how many. The goal is for me to just have to show up. It doesn't always work quite that way, but that's the goal. Molly actually stuffed almost all the eggs this year. We joked that we had a sweatshop in the basement because she just sat down there for hours and stuffed candy in eggs. Once the hunt started, almost all the eggs were found in about 3 minutes. But, Molly said it was worth it.<br />
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While we were getting ready, the girls decided that it was warm enough for playing in the sprinkler. Apparently 70 and sunny means swimsuit weather to little girls.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTyamaQR_y70-mkgLUKWFDaYMd3z6dGFOX1zAhyphenhyphen8ma_AxxrU58mfhJ7cc_rDcNo6-UAtsyuII5SZpIDekGTHz8rACVnSOSw6oIy1N0zTH6UyFNsJrQkuddpS72J-oCDvOgBEYa1xXdQw/s1600/20140419_114921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTyamaQR_y70-mkgLUKWFDaYMd3z6dGFOX1zAhyphenhyphen8ma_AxxrU58mfhJ7cc_rDcNo6-UAtsyuII5SZpIDekGTHz8rACVnSOSw6oIy1N0zTH6UyFNsJrQkuddpS72J-oCDvOgBEYa1xXdQw/s1600/20140419_114921.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span id="goog_590739721"></span><span id="goog_590739722"></span>We cleaned them up and got ready for everyone to arrive for the Easter Egg Hunt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UTnmiWpKPRoNshbOak11iUTMCq8xIsLGDwGDtzULLeGrO6SQvXngWx_jfHxxKlKbEnKFR7EmgmSEg5zKHSe8uq5ntaI_w559n7WTm41tQnkn9A_wc-7LBTrgjOWP-B1Dk7P9lUf5fWQ/s1600/DSC08351-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UTnmiWpKPRoNshbOak11iUTMCq8xIsLGDwGDtzULLeGrO6SQvXngWx_jfHxxKlKbEnKFR7EmgmSEg5zKHSe8uq5ntaI_w559n7WTm41tQnkn9A_wc-7LBTrgjOWP-B1Dk7P9lUf5fWQ/s1600/DSC08351-001.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjzvuYpc6KKpZhTaVSOQOvsW0__puEHty1rwN1e-rLo2AW1YcWdEXfrtLd_4G1ApydEsh84K74uA0HhvJ6hMxFJgo8zzjcmpukMgv0n2hqTMhHHBSwrScZZJP6FWXrCQKHyg682P_qN8/s1600/DSC_0534-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjzvuYpc6KKpZhTaVSOQOvsW0__puEHty1rwN1e-rLo2AW1YcWdEXfrtLd_4G1ApydEsh84K74uA0HhvJ6hMxFJgo8zzjcmpukMgv0n2hqTMhHHBSwrScZZJP6FWXrCQKHyg682P_qN8/s1600/DSC_0534-001.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwgrfg3sfOLxi4o5O0NsGjH4cP8rKxa583Bpw5jI17iMSUbM9c-Z31DM4qW6gHkpEfzt03GjFv5WIjuw6IBNsAaHXMSmVDaT0JgYv21yJgJhxNgS7SN7hVNXD5JdSAEqLu7Lq7xpdVrg/s1600/DSC08384-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwgrfg3sfOLxi4o5O0NsGjH4cP8rKxa583Bpw5jI17iMSUbM9c-Z31DM4qW6gHkpEfzt03GjFv5WIjuw6IBNsAaHXMSmVDaT0JgYv21yJgJhxNgS7SN7hVNXD5JdSAEqLu7Lq7xpdVrg/s1600/DSC08384-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Laura.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLZQ5E92epQdRbISLsz95FpMpMJ_C-TQAxzBCGilvR2Kl3QMVqnqHTVYRnRS1I9S8S3AoSvnFzf99rB2W5dY4XldGaVc1eTNOu0vvxk3Vm6ONxOdtixNlaz4bFeIft7soYyzaF1tA0Hs/s1600/DSC_0549-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLZQ5E92epQdRbISLsz95FpMpMJ_C-TQAxzBCGilvR2Kl3QMVqnqHTVYRnRS1I9S8S3AoSvnFzf99rB2W5dY4XldGaVc1eTNOu0vvxk3Vm6ONxOdtixNlaz4bFeIft7soYyzaF1tA0Hs/s1600/DSC_0549-001.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly was the egg queen. But, she did give away the eggs that wouldn't stay in her basket.</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/AVvXsEgtdrB7J9GemjSLWeMyfmOD61JCYEXo9ACtOD5eMrCUeo0H1L_gtUAZbTIESC4zEfVakD8o5yNagaqAD__RPoN9Z_tntL9gBChDS5GXUULluh0oFC0uf-8C-2GgBaAJG-GB-_YRfwnO2JE/s1600/DSC_0552-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdrB7J9GemjSLWeMyfmOD61JCYEXo9ACtOD5eMrCUeo0H1L_gtUAZbTIESC4zEfVakD8o5yNagaqAD__RPoN9Z_tntL9gBChDS5GXUULluh0oFC0uf-8C-2GgBaAJG-GB-_YRfwnO2JE/s1600/DSC_0552-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We found eggs!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4J8tpW1fw7VPBNxU_C6kUzFkiiO-orxGE5vCWyx2xUijQIw-2n-aduJGDPF9bc11Jl1fKMyMYKJm_rLfHNoA1pahCBNajaC1Cm7Izi4pej3FQ16KS9UFPqfOvDxq5HzDtEFr0UHXtM4/s1600/DSC_0566-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4J8tpW1fw7VPBNxU_C6kUzFkiiO-orxGE5vCWyx2xUijQIw-2n-aduJGDPF9bc11Jl1fKMyMYKJm_rLfHNoA1pahCBNajaC1Cm7Izi4pej3FQ16KS9UFPqfOvDxq5HzDtEFr0UHXtM4/s1600/DSC_0566-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olivia, Tessa and Charlotte. Not sure why none of them thought to move their chairs to the shade about 2 feet away.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzz_pfMZ7XKs9HRN3GnwWnnr3I4GMe5qRcYP-dTsqY0_yLYBE5hAg1GJ8AxEoUU_IwxWoAABr4rr3NI5x1oH8rLVhVIZWp5bNXSuwbG5XtS1JvFryRxofffT15Ah-waU3_U0E16PHdug/s1600/DSC_0603-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzz_pfMZ7XKs9HRN3GnwWnnr3I4GMe5qRcYP-dTsqY0_yLYBE5hAg1GJ8AxEoUU_IwxWoAABr4rr3NI5x1oH8rLVhVIZWp5bNXSuwbG5XtS1JvFryRxofffT15Ah-waU3_U0E16PHdug/s1600/DSC_0603-001.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute Strand picture.</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/AVvXsEg86OFBH3DWAYdag9ooJtVyRSBGPXAkDoPaf52lIH_maeyL0epi508cJvl0a_S9km1CeEChCC4ZaoGFIvKqkYXEjJrZ4oLn7CVurxwQsJ611TdHQqYT-wX9w5oRXdfRffB-QDC9Xyvc6-8/s1600/DSC_0625-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86OFBH3DWAYdag9ooJtVyRSBGPXAkDoPaf52lIH_maeyL0epi508cJvl0a_S9km1CeEChCC4ZaoGFIvKqkYXEjJrZ4oLn7CVurxwQsJ611TdHQqYT-wX9w5oRXdfRffB-QDC9Xyvc6-8/s1600/DSC_0625-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura, Sarah, me, Ava, Sarah (with Reid). And, Tom in the back.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVjc0bTQp92DgjgNSZs9tAOYfy2RqTljOqEXXQ7XbGyEDVc9xWcjkXzkk2dNmgu1BEjBv7w5c7UP0ec1hCvX2BvrvMLOj0VY_GGPqXmUZ1X8nvuIOiNvwXQ0Yti3EUBkFMyS5TVQdDbw/s1600/DSC_0642-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicVjc0bTQp92DgjgNSZs9tAOYfy2RqTljOqEXXQ7XbGyEDVc9xWcjkXzkk2dNmgu1BEjBv7w5c7UP0ec1hCvX2BvrvMLOj0VY_GGPqXmUZ1X8nvuIOiNvwXQ0Yti3EUBkFMyS5TVQdDbw/s1600/DSC_0642-001.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amber, me and Kristin.</td></tr>
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The party was a great success. We ate, hung out, and the kids had a blast in the bounce house.<br />
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Easter morning, the Easter bunny came to visit. We got the girls dressed in their fancy Easter dresses, then headed to church. After church, we wen to my parents for lunch and dyeing eggs. Along with our annual Easter pictures.<br />
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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/AVvXsEivE8MS_x5-pKVQIG8kSsXkUlE__TP6wiVJi7fZbukuRpebBJVFymdYl5aTQzS2o2V66zwVhLTezXrBqVYhYb4hZchSjUYR03eBBN0cf4RlN50YzFC5ksum-PDFAjaW5lEEiYkAGN56jQw/s1600/DSC_0665-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivE8MS_x5-pKVQIG8kSsXkUlE__TP6wiVJi7fZbukuRpebBJVFymdYl5aTQzS2o2V66zwVhLTezXrBqVYhYb4hZchSjUYR03eBBN0cf4RlN50YzFC5ksum-PDFAjaW5lEEiYkAGN56jQw/s1600/DSC_0665-001.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look like a giant.</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/AVvXsEib7Wdy8wJRAeg6mrNtGgxxdpt5ELKEDwwyQVctKbQuB3XVg4MfEmkQb7oKvOVfVui_rwYPzklTsQtPXmEVhybmjOEYFb2pHR1DfQWbKB4jtbvcoi53fgXO7D_5oulq-lTdM7BC_BWycAM/s1600/DSC_0702-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7Wdy8wJRAeg6mrNtGgxxdpt5ELKEDwwyQVctKbQuB3XVg4MfEmkQb7oKvOVfVui_rwYPzklTsQtPXmEVhybmjOEYFb2pHR1DfQWbKB4jtbvcoi53fgXO7D_5oulq-lTdM7BC_BWycAM/s1600/DSC_0702-001.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annual picture. Next year, one camera at a time. We're all looking different directions.</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/AVvXsEiOBBbWfyXxoWCoJ70ydKJusJm8dAN1EbIi1_iF6c63vOSAHe48zhRc2CRmaOBzJq1tfRUXRtSkc5pzggogH0CV6-aKzAH8DZz7E4_ferOy7l_582lFqU5CeWaaGzl_bVtI3Y16ssmgg3M/s1600/DSC_0710-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBBbWfyXxoWCoJ70ydKJusJm8dAN1EbIi1_iF6c63vOSAHe48zhRc2CRmaOBzJq1tfRUXRtSkc5pzggogH0CV6-aKzAH8DZz7E4_ferOy7l_582lFqU5CeWaaGzl_bVtI3Y16ssmgg3M/s1600/DSC_0710-001.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing on the horsie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEh40bf1Fr6CQNyE2bEaroKsx0itc0wdZfiambHR_yv0NRkSP02cZwF7neXoQSTgywbqADUdz5xzA4_EiR_4hnhV-rAv-rVX1ccRaD4iOzbhGwCkNpJlGLNsTjlh-nzljgIwq5ZW8BlmDE8/s1600/DSC_0719-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40bf1Fr6CQNyE2bEaroKsx0itc0wdZfiambHR_yv0NRkSP02cZwF7neXoQSTgywbqADUdz5xzA4_EiR_4hnhV-rAv-rVX1ccRaD4iOzbhGwCkNpJlGLNsTjlh-nzljgIwq5ZW8BlmDE8/s1600/DSC_0719-001.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying out a Penny pose.</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/AVvXsEjksVZBxg4i4V1IAVsZwaKCihBTyJgPx9gcbXDLUX5pNhv_7WXjRPdq2T6TfATNSQdggi1Id-2s4zsHM7hlEa8piZrkSSGMx4KPjyyRNxQcPjYDAeFo6YuRX1UrtIp0mCgkwt5ZBK9B58g/s1600/DSC08480-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjksVZBxg4i4V1IAVsZwaKCihBTyJgPx9gcbXDLUX5pNhv_7WXjRPdq2T6TfATNSQdggi1Id-2s4zsHM7hlEa8piZrkSSGMx4KPjyyRNxQcPjYDAeFo6YuRX1UrtIp0mCgkwt5ZBK9B58g/s1600/DSC08480-001.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing with Gigi.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEggn254onXwRIyeDpP6oWQrazkl-pahi21WHB4dQm7MKjDJ2mXmE4SMIUJ421H9iWWZTumD16ztLF2eQYBsqk17D22wZ7x2hc_LV5C24vCbRgvIxk2xbtknyCHRV8qndybig2DAKbEYFic/s1600/DSC08437-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggn254onXwRIyeDpP6oWQrazkl-pahi21WHB4dQm7MKjDJ2mXmE4SMIUJ421H9iWWZTumD16ztLF2eQYBsqk17D22wZ7x2hc_LV5C24vCbRgvIxk2xbtknyCHRV8qndybig2DAKbEYFic/s1600/DSC08437-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In hindsight, the chairs didn't make the best family picture.</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/AVvXsEi7OMVI_grBfXO_xPUJYt69LEC78MOjEd4ChjZ6rVlDgA-KfqT7085xSLFnWQuvL0_YfI6kEQwjWqrZ_wWkvs9SwpZlJ1ort4R5w7NE1GD3dEiCRXobPRF16jlYCrqP8H4dwOI_xY3xSpw/s1600/DSC_0734-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OMVI_grBfXO_xPUJYt69LEC78MOjEd4ChjZ6rVlDgA-KfqT7085xSLFnWQuvL0_YfI6kEQwjWqrZ_wWkvs9SwpZlJ1ort4R5w7NE1GD3dEiCRXobPRF16jlYCrqP8H4dwOI_xY3xSpw/s1600/DSC_0734-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dyeing Easter eggs.</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/AVvXsEhcHVXd-CegycbIIkjSQkPC8ZHFCZ_Pz0J-EK4_6KeQcI3DWL42Al2TH231k3CRi2n8gCUW9-Wiyt3cuIPZvyYbxemMREdNVHTU2MewALCcXBJSAW7hJX_IdpSW40XNstMKePc7EDRSsgo/s1600/DSC08475-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHVXd-CegycbIIkjSQkPC8ZHFCZ_Pz0J-EK4_6KeQcI3DWL42Al2TH231k3CRi2n8gCUW9-Wiyt3cuIPZvyYbxemMREdNVHTU2MewALCcXBJSAW7hJX_IdpSW40XNstMKePc7EDRSsgo/s1600/DSC08475-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole crew. (William and Lauren are on the phone my dad is holding).</td></tr>
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Laura, Chris and Penny left early this morning. And, at dinner, the girls made lists of their favorite things from this weekend:<br />
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Molly:<br />
Seeing Penny<br />
Having Penny sleep in my room<br />
Easter Egg Hunt<br />
Guessing game<br />
Playing with Penny<br />
Watching movies with Penny<br />
The race<br />
Bounce house<br />
Drawing with chalk<br />
Special breakfasts<br />
<br />
Charlotte:<br />
Easter Bunny coming<br />
Chocolate melting in the eggs outside<br />
Sprinklers<br />
Dyeing Easter eggs<br />
"Favorite Thing" game<br />
Penny playing with me<br />
Penny coming to church<br />
Kids' race<br />
Crossing the finish line<br />
Going to the park<br />
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<br />
And, Molly just spent a good 20 minutes crying right before bed because she misses Penny so much. So, I guess you could definitely say the trip was a success. We absolutely love our Strand-Lafferty Easter celebrations!Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-69788869573006078562014-03-31T18:26:00.000-05:002014-04-30T18:32:02.450-05:00Dashing like a Diva<i>I've been behind on blogging. Clearly. I'm trying to catch up.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
For the past couple years, I've run in the Diva Dash 5K. It's a really fun, all-girls race close to our house. Think pink, pink and tutus, and you have a picture of what the race is all about. So, when my friend Jackie sent out a message seeing if anyone wanted to join a team, I immediately signed up.<br />
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Because it's a women's only race, and they have prize money, there are some fast runners. I had no hope of winning anything, but was just going to go out and see how fast I could go. I've been working on my speed a lot over the winter, so I was just curious.<br />
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They have a Lil' Princess Fun Run for the girls, too. My girls love receiving a tiara and medal as they cross the finish line, so they were all on board with running this race again this year. And, yes, Charlotte picked out my running outfit. When I laid the girls' clothes out the night before, she decided I also needed to wear my pink race shirt, black under shirt, black pants and tutu skirt. So, I made her happy.<br />
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Cory and the girls and I get to the race, and I'm about to get out of the car when I realize that I've forgotten my bib and timing chip at home. *facepalm* Now, unfortunately, this is not the first time I have done this. I really think I need to start exercising my brain and memory muscles in addition to my quads and hamstrings. But, good husband that he was, Cory left me there to do a warm-up mile with Anne and Kelli and headed back to pick up my stuff. I felt like an idiot and was also very glad that I have a very nice husband.<br />
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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/AVvXsEg3P1M_HGmx7HoC3YlLiLbTV6ftrRLgtuizBmAcAhp5Dw0_b_DUmNtztWVxr2AOnxgGEPcUbYhhaVdhyphenhyphenWIlwrZQpGBtq5tZhhK07NeIbWTPdbEllbUus1sn5qABRQNsl49bwkZzCK4coaU/s1600/DSC_0442-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3P1M_HGmx7HoC3YlLiLbTV6ftrRLgtuizBmAcAhp5Dw0_b_DUmNtztWVxr2AOnxgGEPcUbYhhaVdhyphenhyphenWIlwrZQpGBtq5tZhhK07NeIbWTPdbEllbUus1sn5qABRQNsl49bwkZzCK4coaU/s1600/DSC_0442-001.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Anne, Kelli and Jackie before the race started. And, after Cory delivered my bib and timing chip.</td></tr>
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We lined up in the starting corral and before I knew it, the race gun went off. Unfortunately, I did not have my music going. I quickly flipped my iPod onto the first thing I could get. That was a Freakanomics podcast. Hmmm, I love listening to those while I'm driving around town to preschool or gymnastics, and even when I'm doing a long run. But sprinting in a race? Nope. So, after about a half mile, I couldn't handle it anymore. I had to fumble with my iPod to find music. Thankfully, I found my running fast playlist. Ahhh, much better.<br />
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Because this race is fairly close to my house and is on roads that I've run on all the time, I knew the course. This is great. And, not so great. I knew where I was headed, but I also knew the giant hill that was waiting for me in mile 3. I hate that hill up 119th. I always have. Blech. But, after 2 miles of sprinting, I just had to power through. Head down, arms pumping, I made it up.</div>
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<div>
I had no idea where I was in terms of the overall race, but I thought I was doing ok. I was hoping to PR. So, when I saw a 22:something on the finish line clock, I was bummed. My PR was 21:57. Oh well, I'd run hard. It had had hills. I got a cool medal.</div>
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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/AVvXsEhE6I9txpqy9iRZaU2PFPoKfvjhkt6-u0RsLQgAodQ5Bmbd6sguR8LluwimnfM_sXDTidp7TgB175jMyuvk8XUmOW8qUOsGHCDN8DU-VkPlzW4JnRYr23774afqXTM0SydKIK2A9D7vSqw/s1600/DSC_0466-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE6I9txpqy9iRZaU2PFPoKfvjhkt6-u0RsLQgAodQ5Bmbd6sguR8LluwimnfM_sXDTidp7TgB175jMyuvk8XUmOW8qUOsGHCDN8DU-VkPlzW4JnRYr23774afqXTM0SydKIK2A9D7vSqw/s1600/DSC_0466-001.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About to cross the finish line. Not my most attractive picture, but I like that both my feet are in the air.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIvFCV8B_Px71F2qndpvr0A-O5z_ofBa0y8sR5scg2ofkTHcg9jCfAXwEusOKpsuxM7AKhB477Zhv-C1cA87wMz2zy6F72guBNfNIWX6Pt2Qs_NYViXMJbSRVdW9VM0H4fl4p5-O9k7M/s1600/DSC_0476-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIvFCV8B_Px71F2qndpvr0A-O5z_ofBa0y8sR5scg2ofkTHcg9jCfAXwEusOKpsuxM7AKhB477Zhv-C1cA87wMz2zy6F72guBNfNIWX6Pt2Qs_NYViXMJbSRVdW9VM0H4fl4p5-O9k7M/s1600/DSC_0476-001.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With the girls after I finished.</td></tr>
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<div>
I stuck around close to the finish line to find Cory and the girls, then what do you know, I see Anne crossing the finish line in record time. A new PR for her! WooHoo for her!<br />
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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/AVvXsEiPMSTnkRxZs6G6CU0IueieScEP0wj8Epi5FLe37FPFc3cX9g1ubDAqKL3RbbsgcGfLpkc6sXhQZ5-ZxB51gHkfk_EKHN4wSvSQ-xjD0nql_aX8NrhdzFfQUHriAh7D89xJ99U9ETevKFU/s1600/_jcc5529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPMSTnkRxZs6G6CU0IueieScEP0wj8Epi5FLe37FPFc3cX9g1ubDAqKL3RbbsgcGfLpkc6sXhQZ5-ZxB51gHkfk_EKHN4wSvSQ-xjD0nql_aX8NrhdzFfQUHriAh7D89xJ99U9ETevKFU/s1600/_jcc5529.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After we finished, we took a cute picture with the backdrop.</td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a>We had to wait around a while for the Lil Princess race to begin, so Anne and I started walking around. We ran into my friend Jill while wandering.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFpCwGYpghPU7oPQDIvzsu-zivprEAXPqoGeCQnKeo13jmAuwfB5BXC7YW9MUufMLkRbo_6uBKMhP0oOUCulz9mF0j9_HjoxDcgxPjkFoyyqG6ZipjK24BypkfwfWptrKwipe2b-A40E/s1600/IMG_4588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFpCwGYpghPU7oPQDIvzsu-zivprEAXPqoGeCQnKeo13jmAuwfB5BXC7YW9MUufMLkRbo_6uBKMhP0oOUCulz9mF0j9_HjoxDcgxPjkFoyyqG6ZipjK24BypkfwfWptrKwipe2b-A40E/s1600/IMG_4588.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Jill.</td></tr>
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Then, the three of us headed over to get our official results from the race. They have this nifty little printout system where they can print our your timed results right there on the spot from your bib number.<br />
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And, what should I discover? I got 1st place in my age group. What the what?!? Did not think that was going to happen. My official time was 22:31, but I guess that was good enough. I got an extra medal (gold), and two gift certificates. One to Title 9 (a workout clothes store) and one to a new burger restaurant. Cory was very excited about the burger gift card. I was just so excited in general.<br />
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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/AVvXsEiq4pSqrdOygWsfkPhnMS4WWj5oUcdXzN20pyRKY8chMY4YVch5lJHv_UbCgjOmjmGdyyUfHUdMg7jSCn2NRpJb73UV4ihENLSMcs5kI5v6nYB0nvilGgAtAxMK_ku1BFY3SC962gsBvBA/s1600/DSC_0477-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4pSqrdOygWsfkPhnMS4WWj5oUcdXzN20pyRKY8chMY4YVch5lJHv_UbCgjOmjmGdyyUfHUdMg7jSCn2NRpJb73UV4ihENLSMcs5kI5v6nYB0nvilGgAtAxMK_ku1BFY3SC962gsBvBA/s1600/DSC_0477-001.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding up my loot!</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/AVvXsEjn-NM2Fx5H6__vM_aSrwVhmNo5G-CZe54dNquxECFLDaOvfrCpUudm-gLVBfslIgbDkONnbxkKJc34vxH5hJa9D1ngIBLetJYORVd8MuLfKlYzGQgBo7J3xyL739_VhjJ4DAld5zGeGtc/s1600/20140329_090335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-NM2Fx5H6__vM_aSrwVhmNo5G-CZe54dNquxECFLDaOvfrCpUudm-gLVBfslIgbDkONnbxkKJc34vxH5hJa9D1ngIBLetJYORVd8MuLfKlYzGQgBo7J3xyL739_VhjJ4DAld5zGeGtc/s1600/20140329_090335.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I'm a dork. </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/AVvXsEiXVBA4bwUkrKrxlbYI7Icau4d4cDxJdRXAEeSJl9rzCE_24Madf2zY_hQauFDw4OUy6Cgh-jCRroX-m7HTgdh62HP-EWiRnjusBURT1MKc6yckXrerEc3dGzj7jomjMXtzqeoPdytKdW8/s1600/DSC_0482-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVBA4bwUkrKrxlbYI7Icau4d4cDxJdRXAEeSJl9rzCE_24Madf2zY_hQauFDw4OUy6Cgh-jCRroX-m7HTgdh62HP-EWiRnjusBURT1MKc6yckXrerEc3dGzj7jomjMXtzqeoPdytKdW8/s1600/DSC_0482-001.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Anne waiting for the Lil Princess race to begin.</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/AVvXsEigd0CSrjpN8QsA_-HIEW83PHFKPogDJwwb9_R-56Vte-WuR2OgfQiA4Q920NSDJBqTFXQmzDKyZDTZSFtiEh6OlK5CpnDT_5lXx_3TbN_cCVFasWF3pJbT8E4bwSOof5LdgWBSk2UgAW4/s1600/DSC_0484-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigd0CSrjpN8QsA_-HIEW83PHFKPogDJwwb9_R-56Vte-WuR2OgfQiA4Q920NSDJBqTFXQmzDKyZDTZSFtiEh6OlK5CpnDT_5lXx_3TbN_cCVFasWF3pJbT8E4bwSOof5LdgWBSk2UgAW4/s1600/DSC_0484-001.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne and Molly posing. Anne was super sweet to hang out to watch the girls run.</td></tr>
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Then, the Lil Princess race started. They run in age groups, so Charlotte was before Molly.<br />
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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/AVvXsEhLhGmJYO8vdex08jKKqihIs7RJmxlgytW2MGQnmYe3f3Darn8zr8Y5PYLXR4slUevQtIMkGG0WefGR0WhEc4XX0O1wPpT7joV42v3FthRSs4W9-MhceagrXDFa400EnZUBuYgGZXjtpn8/s1600/DSC_0490-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhGmJYO8vdex08jKKqihIs7RJmxlgytW2MGQnmYe3f3Darn8zr8Y5PYLXR4slUevQtIMkGG0WefGR0WhEc4XX0O1wPpT7joV42v3FthRSs4W9-MhceagrXDFa400EnZUBuYgGZXjtpn8/s1600/DSC_0490-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at her go!</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/AVvXsEh0otBIcQWUeaN7mZuJzpnqVHpbO0sbgsrnDe0N_UM9ePJIv14mvqq2uusettIo-JYxABUWuh6L3eHaFkpERHa3wrMkkU9YA_zDAuQ69DwgfHi-zyhTvEiuz6I274ndiz999VvIG5NYhpI/s1600/DSC_0493-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0otBIcQWUeaN7mZuJzpnqVHpbO0sbgsrnDe0N_UM9ePJIv14mvqq2uusettIo-JYxABUWuh6L3eHaFkpERHa3wrMkkU9YA_zDAuQ69DwgfHi-zyhTvEiuz6I274ndiz999VvIG5NYhpI/s1600/DSC_0493-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love this one!</td></tr>
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Cory had the camera, and he completely missed finding Molly in the mass of pink and tutus. But, we got an ok one from the race photographer.<br />
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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/AVvXsEjnpLiOUr7qEFap2I9oDDz7S8qzK5CcNjylPEWqmfCt0hpgZQkAOZk82swk-LYENym9qhdXtL9zXIDfirprqVkFm3q1qIuOBVObK0ckjYU988Hs14DyTO0QCBm9_lil0JlToR4Pn19Q3w4/s1600/dsc_8959-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnpLiOUr7qEFap2I9oDDz7S8qzK5CcNjylPEWqmfCt0hpgZQkAOZk82swk-LYENym9qhdXtL9zXIDfirprqVkFm3q1qIuOBVObK0ckjYU988Hs14DyTO0QCBm9_lil0JlToR4Pn19Q3w4/s1600/dsc_8959-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running her heart out.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The girls were super excited with their tiaras and medals. Though, neither of them were fans of the cupcakes they handed out to the girls because they had coconut. Can't blame them for that, I hate coconut. Blech.<br />
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It was such a fun morning, and I'm not just saying that because I got 1st place in my age group. I swear.<br />
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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/AVvXsEgcsJUhJFiCJVpCksMMM0eGp5gK4mCgLVFOea_3VbbiYfav5w07q2NOWX-95PP_g5Z3JltcRkC9r61bB1z3qm0KmIx39wA8dG8Ado6h8CG5KWuUgXqfgQiHqCh4Xp-LFgLoYmWlyd6lnzE/s1600/DSC_0504-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcsJUhJFiCJVpCksMMM0eGp5gK4mCgLVFOea_3VbbiYfav5w07q2NOWX-95PP_g5Z3JltcRkC9r61bB1z3qm0KmIx39wA8dG8Ado6h8CG5KWuUgXqfgQiHqCh4Xp-LFgLoYmWlyd6lnzE/s1600/DSC_0504-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls!</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
</div>
Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-84425442864395458252014-03-26T19:10:00.001-05:002014-03-26T19:24:15.547-05:00New House!Whoa! It's been a while since I updated. Crap. Where have I been? What's been going on? Why have I been delinquent on posting?<br />
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Well ... drumroll, please ... get excited ... are you ready? ... Alright, here goes: I have been moving. Not moving as in dancing, but moving as in packing up our entire house and moving all our crap, ahem, stuff to a new location. Now, it's not the only reason that I've been incredibly far behind on updating the blog, but it's the reason I'll blame.<br />
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Here's the story:<br />
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Cory and I moved into our old house in October of 2003 when we were but wee babes and had been married for less than two years. We had almost no furniture, and I didn't really know my true decorating style yet. But, I did love our house. Fast-forward 10 years and two kids: I still loved a lot about our house (memories of bringing my babies home and them taking their first steps chief among the things I loved), but we were bursting at the seams.<br />
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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/AVvXsEg_thpwjUdWSS-p6bse3ria5DP90Ce8RN5K2qxoy_4ah1SR5TOu3mGQEsKkxS9OeI04RtZuCwsBig1iuwt92HTKAKJUlMt32x5zgUJtcCyluvpkZrdF_g3eI-U2S2rHV-KrKKeZ0af96b8/s1600/molly44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_thpwjUdWSS-p6bse3ria5DP90Ce8RN5K2qxoy_4ah1SR5TOu3mGQEsKkxS9OeI04RtZuCwsBig1iuwt92HTKAKJUlMt32x5zgUJtcCyluvpkZrdF_g3eI-U2S2rHV-KrKKeZ0af96b8/s1600/molly44.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bringing Molly home to our house in 2007. (E<i>eek, and I thought I didn't get swollen while pregnant!)</i></td></tr>
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We've always loved entertaining and having parties at our house (see all the parties on the party page), but, oh boy, our house was getting progressively smaller as our parties kept getting bigger. I guess that happens when you keep adding kids and the kids keep growing.<br />
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So, every once in a while, I would get an itch and start searching the internet for a new house. The problem was, I loved our neighborhood and neighbors a lot. I was willing to put up with a lot in our tiny house to stay in our neighborhood. But, then my BRF (best running friend) Sarah moved away. It had been so convenient to have another running stay-at-home mom to two girls living right across the street. When she moved, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I started looking in earnest.<br />
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That's when I came across the listing for our new house. It had previously been foreclosed, but then had been flipped. Originally, Cory and I thought we might want a fixer upper. He had a lot of experience and contacts after fixing up so many rentals. But, then we fell in love. Yes, with a house.<br />
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We had some back-and-forth, but ended up getting it (obviously), and gained possession the week before Thanksgiving. We thought we might have a lot of time to move slowly and get everything ready. But, then we found the perfect people to rent our old house, and they needed to be in before December. That meant turning on our supersonic speed moving skills. It was insane.<br />
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But, we made it.<br />
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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/AVvXsEhtEZxAvdkHJ58PMoP1JwwF8fv0YwfNkE8h3NuoD4U_5LetvGeq0_0IoBvHPxqcxiKH7hMLOMkXO5d_d_5gR4DBsyjQ0O2RAbdfT_3-S5-0M5DsaYof6B3kOyVnkN3R0xBqRtUaJdiIrcU/s1600/DSC_0918-003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtEZxAvdkHJ58PMoP1JwwF8fv0YwfNkE8h3NuoD4U_5LetvGeq0_0IoBvHPxqcxiKH7hMLOMkXO5d_d_5gR4DBsyjQ0O2RAbdfT_3-S5-0M5DsaYof6B3kOyVnkN3R0xBqRtUaJdiIrcU/s1600/DSC_0918-003.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our new house!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And, of course, I had already agreed to host my faith club's annual Christmas dinner before anything about the move happened. I decided to keep the date and use it as a deadline of sorts for myself to get our house semi-ready. I had about three weeks to do it.<br />
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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/AVvXsEh3lhaPSyyuYfv97we68Fcv64xmps6fH52XJ5WGGYsoBuq_I2ANP4PcpM-6yzNfJcrhCEdYjQr8l2wIHFk0GShM07ayVxefzB4khdZaS52MzT3jZ2kHFuj6Mm6PShWNMdVRIzj9SE4AwO4/s1600/20131219_185336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lhaPSyyuYfv97we68Fcv64xmps6fH52XJ5WGGYsoBuq_I2ANP4PcpM-6yzNfJcrhCEdYjQr8l2wIHFk0GShM07ayVxefzB4khdZaS52MzT3jZ2kHFuj6Mm6PShWNMdVRIzj9SE4AwO4/s1600/20131219_185336.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our kitchen.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5w5TfLzYhNwj7K6bQCFQaUs48t7ARRGZyAePEoCj3KamUYeE31lMqbvlIxyK68YvG1PYEbp0Q0Dv-7GW3aGHDMvSUG5mI_3sRhcp2Ag3JpGoj7MS62HwVRdjJS_Kl_DcPh1-pkfsHGY/s1600/20131219_185245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5w5TfLzYhNwj7K6bQCFQaUs48t7ARRGZyAePEoCj3KamUYeE31lMqbvlIxyK68YvG1PYEbp0Q0Dv-7GW3aGHDMvSUG5mI_3sRhcp2Ag3JpGoj7MS62HwVRdjJS_Kl_DcPh1-pkfsHGY/s1600/20131219_185245.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining room all set up for the big dinner party.</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/AVvXsEh6A9YomkHF8hnwjH2gNfSZsAJTx17GDhL0e1sCdVRcKRKPxcXn8RzwMbMjE3K4NfL2pw8_L-_yck5uC3Q-8tNoSsleFG6TZnMZHrFfhYCusgSvPCrUcWjZ_GT43Zi98MqGflpoRwGpMhg/s1600/20131219_185308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6A9YomkHF8hnwjH2gNfSZsAJTx17GDhL0e1sCdVRcKRKPxcXn8RzwMbMjE3K4NfL2pw8_L-_yck5uC3Q-8tNoSsleFG6TZnMZHrFfhYCusgSvPCrUcWjZ_GT43Zi98MqGflpoRwGpMhg/s1600/20131219_185308.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Living room complete with Christmas tree.</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/AVvXsEiVpWzO1V5QieLpZB4VqHMQTyHkBFFTW3Rg92mJXArDUFRODtzinuW3lrdkoqlRMjMYCA3KJWc_42DB493ZMIZzmU8MOfodtnNRqXQMtvWCL7ps1HEab6BCRycqfbm2HnAzBLSEteAT0Fk/s1600/20131219_185908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVpWzO1V5QieLpZB4VqHMQTyHkBFFTW3Rg92mJXArDUFRODtzinuW3lrdkoqlRMjMYCA3KJWc_42DB493ZMIZzmU8MOfodtnNRqXQMtvWCL7ps1HEab6BCRycqfbm2HnAzBLSEteAT0Fk/s1600/20131219_185908.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entryway. I've since purchased a dresser for the entryway.</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/AVvXsEhX-4fsR35Ajv7Ueby69baBhhc9e1vwto_uSxdFCjRAHx0ayC4Rm5_xkyO_qflbCEwClnZ90p6tgVT3BJ8-4RjzbmljRawZC-s5id2heqZFZXACZiK5E_tOlWrFS0s-pMLAcZ4yTqqtkUU/s1600/20131219_193550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-4fsR35Ajv7Ueby69baBhhc9e1vwto_uSxdFCjRAHx0ayC4Rm5_xkyO_qflbCEwClnZ90p6tgVT3BJ8-4RjzbmljRawZC-s5id2heqZFZXACZiK5E_tOlWrFS0s-pMLAcZ4yTqqtkUU/s1600/20131219_193550.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My faith club ladies enjoying dinner in my dining room.</td></tr>
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<br />
Ok, so I got everything unpacked and ready for the party, then, I've kind of stagnated. I have a lot more decorating to do, but I had to take a couple months off.<br />
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But, I did turn what is supposed to be the formal living room into my very own library:<br />
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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/AVvXsEiGja8tZgZPDAW0WAgHZXKTBtV0sDkO-h5nPXvH3SZrgfu99CJSUX-pKOsBKVGVhNnjWfewJRwPFDVnzolyIAP0TN6aRLq95To7ryxCLhy7bxAFpESqGXXUJUix7Bh_wAYBCR_SZwPNsLs/s1600/20131215_184623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGja8tZgZPDAW0WAgHZXKTBtV0sDkO-h5nPXvH3SZrgfu99CJSUX-pKOsBKVGVhNnjWfewJRwPFDVnzolyIAP0TN6aRLq95To7ryxCLhy7bxAFpESqGXXUJUix7Bh_wAYBCR_SZwPNsLs/s1600/20131215_184623.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Christmas, I had a Christmas tree decorated in my race medals.</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/AVvXsEhNJcg1mtK5a_D3JSoFd2pqYm94nbe5FIbRi-L5QQPIATeJ-AeW2-LCZuyLeDKwx_mr7xvQ4AHvi2obmWv9Fbgagk7hZU19GU8jqY4OO9jin6qy3EjcAp9AShkjZBTfnFbofgq-mHxDda8/s1600/DSC_0263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJcg1mtK5a_D3JSoFd2pqYm94nbe5FIbRi-L5QQPIATeJ-AeW2-LCZuyLeDKwx_mr7xvQ4AHvi2obmWv9Fbgagk7hZU19GU8jqY4OO9jin6qy3EjcAp9AShkjZBTfnFbofgq-mHxDda8/s1600/DSC_0263.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have since added an awesome reading chair in its place.</td></tr>
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After the stagnation period, I'm just now finally starting to get in the mood to look at Pinterest and <i>HGTV Magazine</i>. My master bedroom and our basement are very, very blank slates that need lots of help.<br />
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The girls bedrooms are pretty cute, but still need a little help:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZo6IGwdJYTpRo6ECZUMSOMELEBjFx3Y5dd5AaauC6Z6zYQn0XUZgO-kwTUuQ8U_azIGHCsyiqD4bKy49fzQh_M5wdG3zFhHuW9ziHycBdTeUpD45zQkYub50Gk-bEhIiFbXZJYus08c/s1600/DSC_0245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZo6IGwdJYTpRo6ECZUMSOMELEBjFx3Y5dd5AaauC6Z6zYQn0XUZgO-kwTUuQ8U_azIGHCsyiqD4bKy49fzQh_M5wdG3zFhHuW9ziHycBdTeUpD45zQkYub50Gk-bEhIiFbXZJYus08c/s1600/DSC_0245.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly really wanted a turquoise room. My mom helped me put up the chandelier decal.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCtAC9ftJI0lOAPb5mxjp4RK_M76Ouc8gB-YBeFvbQp1yQRg6ES1cU8xbQOu4ubuAsvLyE49bs4IfLT6lwptpCnsjcqh9hv3tQuwessf0Tf-JpVSIunzm8Ev43KWWF85GpNf2ETdv7jw/s1600/DSC_0249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCtAC9ftJI0lOAPb5mxjp4RK_M76Ouc8gB-YBeFvbQp1yQRg6ES1cU8xbQOu4ubuAsvLyE49bs4IfLT6lwptpCnsjcqh9hv3tQuwessf0Tf-JpVSIunzm8Ev43KWWF85GpNf2ETdv7jw/s1600/DSC_0249.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte's room still needs some things on the wall ...</td></tr>
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And, the rooms that need the most help:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSwJG_J2_ihaFZw50NSvFu8hoQPO_dM86GrwSxGchH-tN94F95LzkyRsWie3BtHsRSxhfJyHZ6v6KgzDPCwlso9yHDSP7J7avLKcXbLNYXYNZfDBIK3xskJl3u3z8SnZM1_DPTlu8ofk/s1600/DSC_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSwJG_J2_ihaFZw50NSvFu8hoQPO_dM86GrwSxGchH-tN94F95LzkyRsWie3BtHsRSxhfJyHZ6v6KgzDPCwlso9yHDSP7J7avLKcXbLNYXYNZfDBIK3xskJl3u3z8SnZM1_DPTlu8ofk/s1600/DSC_0257.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally blah. What the heck am I supposed to put on that huge wall?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmKBIi1V16rMRaJWPew5eFGxUC6HgJVpLhdfoYGMTeCmZyrgi-1F6rAS88R2453ZrizewgZVFcUNHYk9sKQ36NUYEFF7m93itmXgIOKZJ5Wy2lPQqJ70-q4A5PTwTUV9zAlYdwDLTtl4I/s1600/DSC_0275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmKBIi1V16rMRaJWPew5eFGxUC6HgJVpLhdfoYGMTeCmZyrgi-1F6rAS88R2453ZrizewgZVFcUNHYk9sKQ36NUYEFF7m93itmXgIOKZJ5Wy2lPQqJ70-q4A5PTwTUV9zAlYdwDLTtl4I/s1600/DSC_0275.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basement playroom. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrwFgo19Bc6G0J5nRt_DJKOgL2NRozxDYfXyFRu5sOwSf8H-99NFjxTHBVM_Di4_QZjlVoFOkGWl2PrxoccxUO1SLT_1IUCv5rkJWe8HWy2BAD9C1S_wuUnU_SU87dV8__TfmVo7NAIg/s1600/DSC_0277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrwFgo19Bc6G0J5nRt_DJKOgL2NRozxDYfXyFRu5sOwSf8H-99NFjxTHBVM_Di4_QZjlVoFOkGWl2PrxoccxUO1SLT_1IUCv5rkJWe8HWy2BAD9C1S_wuUnU_SU87dV8__TfmVo7NAIg/s1600/DSC_0277.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basement TV area.</td></tr>
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So, yeah, I've still got a lot left to do. But, we've already had Charlotte's 4th birthday party in the new house, and it was so much better than the previous parties crammed in our old house. (I'll put up a post about that one soon!)<br />
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Anyone have any great ideas? What the heck am I supposed to do with that giant wall in my bedroom? How do I brighten up the basement when it has no natural light? I'd love to hear any ideas. I need help!Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-38108993385038149062014-02-28T16:38:00.000-06:002014-05-01T17:41:32.013-05:00Racing through the cold<i>As you can tell, I've been behind on blogging. I'm trying to play catch up. </i><br />
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Racing season is typically in the spring and fall. These are generally the best temperatures and conditions for running, so that's when the majority of races take place. But, there are crazy people (ahem, like me) who like to run races in the winter. I tend to get a little bored without races, so I am willing to sign up for ones even in the middle of winter. My problem is that I am entirely too optimistic. I think, surely it won't be too cold, or too snowy, or too icy. Surely not.<br />
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Now, sometimes this optimism pans out. Sometimes not.<br />
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This winter, I ran five races. The first was the Route 66 Half Marathon in Tulsa, Oklahoma in November. I've done this race multiple times, including the full back in 2010. But, now they sucker me in with an awesome Half Fanatic special medal. Me, Anne, Kelli and her husband, John, road-tripped together. It was also John and Kelli's wedding anniversary, so Anne and I were the third and fourth wheels.<br />
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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-cxYbtwR91L4TKOuFRRtomcauNy8T0WYn9blDlGzKYmwOxxnvFtfLN7Gp-QS4-_Dju4Z_7zgZPrTMlklQEaE4bnopxhODcRvcNLl8xgMGpJH8Sc4Adgrgo7JW5QwVy89TdMl5c5Pn-d0/s1600/20131123_123348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cxYbtwR91L4TKOuFRRtomcauNy8T0WYn9blDlGzKYmwOxxnvFtfLN7Gp-QS4-_Dju4Z_7zgZPrTMlklQEaE4bnopxhODcRvcNLl8xgMGpJH8Sc4Adgrgo7JW5QwVy89TdMl5c5Pn-d0/s1600/20131123_123348.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelli and John toasting to their anniversary at lunch the day before the race.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzNY49c_8Ot-bMq4G5CY9L5HRjDpselDpOrjkitSiy4zR1OqyZjNRYpD5SgCvxXgOge7mD5Kd_U10wwTz7RdFBxPObCLL-Uqp8a0iMT5y_vnsjTF__RzShqu94V5T2GzXNQiQVoZh8No/s1600/20131123_123422-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzNY49c_8Ot-bMq4G5CY9L5HRjDpselDpOrjkitSiy4zR1OqyZjNRYpD5SgCvxXgOge7mD5Kd_U10wwTz7RdFBxPObCLL-Uqp8a0iMT5y_vnsjTF__RzShqu94V5T2GzXNQiQVoZh8No/s1600/20131123_123422-001.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne and I at the same lunch.</td></tr>
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Luckily, the hotel we stayed in was super close to the starting line. So, we pretty much had to get out of bed and roll down to the start. This is the same hotel we stayed in last year when we had someone walk in our room at 2am. This time, I put on the bolt.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKanoseusPPaqgbXH2tc21smcZhuHyVlWlX2SyjfYOCNhckuIS8fjXNwQof_rOJonrdRQcutyiiNRu3m9JrasH7SCjuw06Wv61b4yLtfS-Dixs11uwIERE7GSjSd-C4rmBpVJAvyW2us/s1600/20131124_070307-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKanoseusPPaqgbXH2tc21smcZhuHyVlWlX2SyjfYOCNhckuIS8fjXNwQof_rOJonrdRQcutyiiNRu3m9JrasH7SCjuw06Wv61b4yLtfS-Dixs11uwIERE7GSjSd-C4rmBpVJAvyW2us/s1600/20131124_070307-001.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posing inside the hotel.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Right after the above picture was taken, two guys wearing Marathon Maniacs shirts came up to us and asked us what our Half Fanatic numbers were. Anne and I were clueless and made some joke about how we should probably know that. Hahahaha. Well, then they said numbers were 1 and 2. They were the founders of the organization. We felt like complete idiots. But, oh my gosh, we laughed at ourselves.</span><br />
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Now, the problem for this race was that it was FREEZING. Like, absolutely, beyond a doubt cold. And, we had to get out early enough to take this picture with all the other Half Fanatics.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIk6mZ1Urkd_MR-VKOQpi4vRtxOLL3NB5hW4u9ntLLvEnWBG-N0yfinWo6fFQFzjGxctXOK70lcEKzTwd7qRSLnOFWolRUb49DEkCXA001hw2dX84_-FVNAKprTpdb5FLBUJCVy-f0430/s1600/1506101_10152205062895152_1858291585_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIk6mZ1Urkd_MR-VKOQpi4vRtxOLL3NB5hW4u9ntLLvEnWBG-N0yfinWo6fFQFzjGxctXOK70lcEKzTwd7qRSLnOFWolRUb49DEkCXA001hw2dX84_-FVNAKprTpdb5FLBUJCVy-f0430/s1600/1506101_10152205062895152_1858291585_o.jpg" height="206" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There are a ton of us.</td></tr>
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We tried huddling in a tent with about 100 other people to keep warm from body heat. That didn't really do too much, though. My feet and hands were numb.<br />
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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/AVvXsEgeMWOp6oV7cdrXWYthOka9uOe1HkQPXz2a26lEAFnuYa1sBS1vVyluRs6RDK3a0AP-raT3c3EiHM5KDEzvPWVWL5ro4yC_9YNgFP_u5KB-b5Z-3wqmONyayBPU9fOqgGsmLeIKx5Wqi-U/s1600/20131124_073431-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMWOp6oV7cdrXWYthOka9uOe1HkQPXz2a26lEAFnuYa1sBS1vVyluRs6RDK3a0AP-raT3c3EiHM5KDEzvPWVWL5ro4yC_9YNgFP_u5KB-b5Z-3wqmONyayBPU9fOqgGsmLeIKx5Wqi-U/s1600/20131124_073431-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone's hands were shaking so much that we couldn't get a clear picture.</td></tr>
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The first 3 miles of the race, I couldn't feel my feet. Really. They felt like lead blocks. And, this was with wool socks on. I don't really remember too much of the race. We did run for a while by an Australian guy in a Superman costume. That was fun because we got some great cheers. We kept up a fairly good pace, I think because we were so cold that we just wanted to finish.<br />
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Kelli ran the full distance, but we couldn't wait around for her to finish. Pretty much as soon as we were done, we went back to the hotel. We tried to go to the Half Fanatic tent, but I couldn't move my fingers and the food wasn't as awesome as last year. When we got back to the hotel, I ran my fingers under scalding hot water for probably 5 minutes until I could feel them again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEahZyTjdtlI9dxjGc923jeBzRC1jJW6ia_SlfUQIfJTO63WeEOsbDCHmBmRGTkFW6bv49V5mGwCJf6euRKF9rd5pityT7Aa25QmqIcJEkSSIxU7nln4KK22X2b0p6L5HdKEwwfGJoDg/s1600/1467382_10201566258816583_1413292503_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEahZyTjdtlI9dxjGc923jeBzRC1jJW6ia_SlfUQIfJTO63WeEOsbDCHmBmRGTkFW6bv49V5mGwCJf6euRKF9rd5pityT7Aa25QmqIcJEkSSIxU7nln4KK22X2b0p6L5HdKEwwfGJoDg/s1600/1467382_10201566258816583_1413292503_n.jpg" height="320" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally warm. And, yes, we look like we're in a ski lodge, not Oklahoma.</td></tr>
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But, we got cool medals!<br />
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The next race was the Thanksgiving Day 5K. I guess neither of these races were technically in winter, but it's my recap, so it's close enough.<br />
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My little brother William and his girlfriend, Lauren, were coming in town for Thanksgiving this year, in addition to my sister-in-law Amber and her boyfriend, Tom. It was going to be a whole family affair for this race.<br />
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Plus, the race was on my actual birthday. Yup. On Thanksgiving. What better way to spend your birthday than running with your family, then eating with them?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPaNQJBdT1LNSNHaiy2-qN4YppYOguG-NM2hAX_J2QgcWJQM_uMPcxkro7gqFHu9KRPFsWYvC5kP91SvsZrfaAbESLCjGXwBaLjejtOXpPLQ0PncEvi0ug4JQhrfj7AJZrKOjqZ-XWRM/s1600/20131128_085333-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPaNQJBdT1LNSNHaiy2-qN4YppYOguG-NM2hAX_J2QgcWJQM_uMPcxkro7gqFHu9KRPFsWYvC5kP91SvsZrfaAbESLCjGXwBaLjejtOXpPLQ0PncEvi0ug4JQhrfj7AJZrKOjqZ-XWRM/s1600/20131128_085333-001.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole running crew.</td></tr>
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Charlotte had said she wanted to run the 5K with my dad, but she wimped out pretty fast. Molly, when asked, said, "I already ran a 5K." But, they both ran the kids' race, of which, unfortunately, I have no pictures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LSS3KYwIuFDLpqBGadYyJc2eGKzeVvsMwxhaYIsJCb0y7-ZFIKgS1RQqwOF2bAmqnINONo-vUnIGz7ajmKXnKZL9I5_WpxSIC0qyLwJ1JM35QDqStl7iYcXzAwuNYK5osCqUivkCK00/s1600/20131128_100444-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LSS3KYwIuFDLpqBGadYyJc2eGKzeVvsMwxhaYIsJCb0y7-ZFIKgS1RQqwOF2bAmqnINONo-vUnIGz7ajmKXnKZL9I5_WpxSIC0qyLwJ1JM35QDqStl7iYcXzAwuNYK5osCqUivkCK00/s1600/20131128_100444-001.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Miss Diva aka Molly.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDE1OYHCuiW7t3NSgMRGMigWhFI7d5fltpQVvShivKLVOfJ6b9KS3NsIYg3YRDUiy0kH8O5_NjCfAhfI1EX_AxYzV-PqRwmY32fl1GJGgWCzVk6unI64frw2rvFWK4-FVXD6oQUupNYJs/s1600/20131128_101112-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDE1OYHCuiW7t3NSgMRGMigWhFI7d5fltpQVvShivKLVOfJ6b9KS3NsIYg3YRDUiy0kH8O5_NjCfAhfI1EX_AxYzV-PqRwmY32fl1GJGgWCzVk6unI64frw2rvFWK4-FVXD6oQUupNYJs/s1600/20131128_101112-001.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte, Amber and Molly.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRX9Dy4O_biYC93wicTsFqxBQoCVROvJf9wSIymNoACdDJ4XdBJXCp1Jdv1CCltkrrVeMsamiDjuiW6GtiLx50aCOIKuUiHeCvABn-6YE5xLuN7hgyBxTcS-s4dJ3QpZzBNfQaPdiOeo/s1600/20131128_101915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRX9Dy4O_biYC93wicTsFqxBQoCVROvJf9wSIymNoACdDJ4XdBJXCp1Jdv1CCltkrrVeMsamiDjuiW6GtiLx50aCOIKuUiHeCvABn-6YE5xLuN7hgyBxTcS-s4dJ3QpZzBNfQaPdiOeo/s1600/20131128_101915.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">William and Lauren. We love these guys!</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/AVvXsEgHfnzkhkWpAIlH4bItCMHou7hMO5WGPdbG8-hp08aIMKtzuLs5p9ji6n2E48MaeP6E4hYhsnRorgSEBpu6QgdleM8wWbd6-4Op9kFDRYBKjxbdf-eRkNBver_Zj_pumzGXbHIOxMPgf3Q/s1600/20131128_101951-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfnzkhkWpAIlH4bItCMHou7hMO5WGPdbG8-hp08aIMKtzuLs5p9ji6n2E48MaeP6E4hYhsnRorgSEBpu6QgdleM8wWbd6-4Op9kFDRYBKjxbdf-eRkNBver_Zj_pumzGXbHIOxMPgf3Q/s1600/20131128_101951-001.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with my girls on my birthday!</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/AVvXsEjRSPaV0MzxjTMSnaxC-i4l69WrS-6ggOOWxgXdwSD7-vPn2MfKzPbUrO8Kzgotq-rEGyHQ_gvj9aT1n5pU2_ST9J5KOnUdZN1eRdJCXCAdvczwSPeqSYaA_Dvv2nuAn1uph6a26YOvN40/s1600/20131128_102253-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSPaV0MzxjTMSnaxC-i4l69WrS-6ggOOWxgXdwSD7-vPn2MfKzPbUrO8Kzgotq-rEGyHQ_gvj9aT1n5pU2_ST9J5KOnUdZN1eRdJCXCAdvczwSPeqSYaA_Dvv2nuAn1uph6a26YOvN40/s1600/20131128_102253-002.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tom, Molly and Amber. Sorry your eyes are closed, Amber. It's the only one I have!</td></tr>
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I love this race tradition!<br />
<br />
<br />
The third race was a couple days after Christmas. Anne found a race that had a marathon relay aspect to it. And, it was close. It was the Operation Jack race in Shawnee Mission Park. Problem was, it had been super snowy and icy. So, a lot of the trail was covered in ice. Plus, I'm pretty sure our 5-person team was the only marathon relay team involved. So, they weren't sure how to get us to different relay points. Specifically, they weren't sure how to get me to the relay point to do the last 6 miles. So, what to do? Well, I just decided to run with Jackie and we both completed 13.1, which included her leg and my leg.<br />
<br />
Another problem? It was super cold to start, but warmed up quickly. So, I wore way too much clothes. I had to roll up my pants about halfway into my run. And, the ice was super tricky to run on. I could definitely feel it in all my different muscles the next day. <br />
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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/AVvXsEiwD6L0zqwDnNfWmL8sPyE3hDcgJ6QkRW5YUfKVhiReCDZ76z_5Pe_KY-_krV4ULelE_R-ENGNEh2GH_m0TcdvbkWylupz83yKGoou21U_W2xfh_sJydFDZvs6Sm_LKS_6N_LHEsXnyRdU/s1600/1538180_10201788214125327_937661210_o-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwD6L0zqwDnNfWmL8sPyE3hDcgJ6QkRW5YUfKVhiReCDZ76z_5Pe_KY-_krV4ULelE_R-ENGNEh2GH_m0TcdvbkWylupz83yKGoou21U_W2xfh_sJydFDZvs6Sm_LKS_6N_LHEsXnyRdU/s1600/1538180_10201788214125327_937661210_o-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole relay team: Jackie, Kelli, Anne, Bryan and Me.</td></tr>
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<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/AVvXsEi90An5ZqA4wRkmeukPsphc9DatJVcNLCsbQdiI7ySzmuRyB9lBfesWgaFbp-KkonJFEEcCyBE2d50Ew1T3dnRZQxyGmd1umufHNzKpDw4d41HcMZhpgZ-IQCwtPBDKFgnV4EyKTV2vgNA/s1600/1481204_10202847445045616_1093152366_n-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90An5ZqA4wRkmeukPsphc9DatJVcNLCsbQdiI7ySzmuRyB9lBfesWgaFbp-KkonJFEEcCyBE2d50Ew1T3dnRZQxyGmd1umufHNzKpDw4d41HcMZhpgZ-IQCwtPBDKFgnV4EyKTV2vgNA/s1600/1481204_10202847445045616_1093152366_n-001.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jackie and me heading into the finish.</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/AVvXsEgMZLX9zwcXHLLfyxFVvGVndJHxtKrArWKxb_jMyuyRoZ7grvMvNkkOKsXP_TNSLmpH_UvOX4yzq7vYEyMKxDZQxk8s_Z5G1qz70AhbtQmvDjgz3a1CDKvoGif9-TDBQki7oIb75T8-_70/s1600/20131228_131020-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZLX9zwcXHLLfyxFVvGVndJHxtKrArWKxb_jMyuyRoZ7grvMvNkkOKsXP_TNSLmpH_UvOX4yzq7vYEyMKxDZQxk8s_Z5G1qz70AhbtQmvDjgz3a1CDKvoGif9-TDBQki7oIb75T8-_70/s1600/20131228_131020-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne and Kelli had to leave before the finish, so it was just me, Bryan and Jackie at the end.</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/AVvXsEjUXjVXlfKKmGEnFMHeNArRI6n-RtXlyu_OOop4WVjeluz4cWVvFdjaU_v-vHnV2oRVKzk5rpt-Lt_GQUgmjoQzNf6ugCr5bH1gLjZDOLrh3IMRm3i7b1_wyTRrWIW3h-YSwqN83RyY8Z0/s1600/20131228_131515-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXjVXlfKKmGEnFMHeNArRI6n-RtXlyu_OOop4WVjeluz4cWVvFdjaU_v-vHnV2oRVKzk5rpt-Lt_GQUgmjoQzNf6ugCr5bH1gLjZDOLrh3IMRm3i7b1_wyTRrWIW3h-YSwqN83RyY8Z0/s1600/20131228_131515-001.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You gotta admit, the medal is super cool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And, guess what? We totally won 1st place in the marathon relay category. (Um, don't mention that we were the only team, okay? Thanks.)<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
The fourth winter race I ran this year was the Battle of the Bean 5K in January. This is the race that pits Team Cocoa against Team Coffee. I'm always on Team Cocoa. This race also has the Jelly Bean Kids' Run. How cute is that name? So, of course they girls were going to do it. My dad even came out to run, which meant my mom could watch the girls so Cory and I could both run.<br />
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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/AVvXsEi2a9KNMZW6E6kG-2rkuuaaokKooc7OQ4vyFx_JdkySrEnBQFCqNag53CVT9zwobgaoYDEi_nfNaLIltoskd-Ke3YsfbzMmHVY3UuUFYQ406AY3zo2qtWnNul0pMW5bL3etPS_kiZgOkJM/s1600/20140118_094944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2a9KNMZW6E6kG-2rkuuaaokKooc7OQ4vyFx_JdkySrEnBQFCqNag53CVT9zwobgaoYDEi_nfNaLIltoskd-Ke3YsfbzMmHVY3UuUFYQ406AY3zo2qtWnNul0pMW5bL3etPS_kiZgOkJM/s1600/20140118_094944.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Molly hanging out with Papa before the race.</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/AVvXsEgIrshaitlNkl24GPFfYIC0EiWohnpvP7-IrZRAsY7BnMUijDAHpEc7VD1iqP15I9vLx3qSgBCnii3PdQoUmBc9gd0zXK-NVMmXXcNxw3AaYp1jnrmvla-slrltPyBsxJF_JushAGF9uJA/s1600/20140118_094958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIrshaitlNkl24GPFfYIC0EiWohnpvP7-IrZRAsY7BnMUijDAHpEc7VD1iqP15I9vLx3qSgBCnii3PdQoUmBc9gd0zXK-NVMmXXcNxw3AaYp1jnrmvla-slrltPyBsxJF_JushAGF9uJA/s1600/20140118_094958.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte wanted up, too.</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/AVvXsEhmkEfIaMCBbmWMc3GZy6dGDwbEKzFNQUFpYZpnwl-RZp7H7JFuTdw0LfpzB8o0elErohfIostTa1EfkAnQ7jbY8BKha4vuCKOb451BAbC4vMtf8AXP6neSvK40ebC4-FyS9VjcgN0xULQ/s1600/_jcc2674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkEfIaMCBbmWMc3GZy6dGDwbEKzFNQUFpYZpnwl-RZp7H7JFuTdw0LfpzB8o0elErohfIostTa1EfkAnQ7jbY8BKha4vuCKOb451BAbC4vMtf8AXP6neSvK40ebC4-FyS9VjcgN0xULQ/s1600/_jcc2674.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing a little tag for a warm-up. That's one way to do it, right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; 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/AVvXsEguPeGEQhy0ev1n9ZSTIJOdksujMXieJEZ-0ymiyppHrKfnfQYqpiJ32sq04vGm1-b_NF_pL0zfXMLlYdbBuCy_1oYAEfv6n_O-hqdXe0OCnmxwFDKFQOZu0Zab5fQvOeEyrKNEm6LHvMY/s1600/_jcc2713-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPeGEQhy0ev1n9ZSTIJOdksujMXieJEZ-0ymiyppHrKfnfQYqpiJ32sq04vGm1-b_NF_pL0zfXMLlYdbBuCy_1oYAEfv6n_O-hqdXe0OCnmxwFDKFQOZu0Zab5fQvOeEyrKNEm6LHvMY/s1600/_jcc2713-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love running races and having friends there. Marsha, Kelli, Me, Carla and Sheila. Love these ladies.</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/AVvXsEjXepR2HK5EXNX71yTyLzPtq28AKYQc1z45Mp6Z35elsoEu1BIahBeB190zASorzbxo2EIt6KOyNel3WAF-YH-QlzGd5uT7FESBdw8kh7mn9svq558olflVGYZhyp53fmGWgG4JkMmhJX4/s1600/_jcc2687-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXepR2HK5EXNX71yTyLzPtq28AKYQc1z45Mp6Z35elsoEu1BIahBeB190zASorzbxo2EIt6KOyNel3WAF-YH-QlzGd5uT7FESBdw8kh7mn9svq558olflVGYZhyp53fmGWgG4JkMmhJX4/s1600/_jcc2687-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family of runners.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So, I lined up in the starting line and happened to be standing next to my super-fast friend Sheila. Without anything spoken between us, we both just started running together. I totally give her props because she helped push me when I wanted to back off. (Although, the girl in front of us with a long scarf and giant key ring in her hand also pushed me. I still can't believe she beat me!) </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
We ran and ran, and I ended up finishing with almost my PR. Only 2 seconds off (21:59), but good enough for a second place medal! Yay!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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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/AVvXsEiEf5XhAhtMeyuIqLCgoLIPhGa-z_1ky0ijMrgMiedAkHs-tEDRAg3Ihy9e-VbJw1yWkMUIgY0jKgoC_GnWLm3I6GBEDip7Nr7g2lkEYlXYskaL8HG97ckPnQwu0u44_hYIobzcYjDzIDA/s1600/20140118_102353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEf5XhAhtMeyuIqLCgoLIPhGa-z_1ky0ijMrgMiedAkHs-tEDRAg3Ihy9e-VbJw1yWkMUIgY0jKgoC_GnWLm3I6GBEDip7Nr7g2lkEYlXYskaL8HG97ckPnQwu0u44_hYIobzcYjDzIDA/s1600/20140118_102353.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family picture with Cory and his girls with our medals and/or ribbons.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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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_6vcJzVLG2aV6qcT4Al9tTpSyS8sqtj3LSkjbJ7MZohyZ8_JAYqAZiyga-EFIiG9MN0M1NrLoogNoDL8zBWPAT_csBMCtH1oSMH4F0OrbqXnD8bBcib0zRCZ2BsehL91rHMJcEwrvwww/s1600/20140118_102528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6vcJzVLG2aV6qcT4Al9tTpSyS8sqtj3LSkjbJ7MZohyZ8_JAYqAZiyga-EFIiG9MN0M1NrLoogNoDL8zBWPAT_csBMCtH1oSMH4F0OrbqXnD8bBcib0zRCZ2BsehL91rHMJcEwrvwww/s1600/20140118_102528.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 2nd place medal. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is just a fun race all around. Especially if it's not too cold. Last year, it was something like 5 degrees, so this year, in the low 30s felt awesome.<br />
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<br />
<br />
The last of the winter races I did, which did not feel awesome, was the Chocolate Rush Half Marathon. I ran this race last year and really liked it because it was on the trails that I've run on before. And, when I was planning Charlotte's 4th birthday and realized it was going to be a Chocolate-themed party, I knew I had to do the race because it was on the same day! How could I not do it?<br />
<br />
Well ... Do you know what happened a lot this winter? Snow. Yeah, and a lot of it happened in February. So, there were almost 12 inches of snow on the ground the week before the trail marathon was to take place. The organizers tried their best to clear off the trail, but unfortunately, there wasn't anything they could do to make the conditions great. They cleared some of the trail, but we ended up having to run on icy, slightly snow-packed trails. And, since they could only clear about three miles, we had to just keep circling back. And back. And back. And back. We passed the finish line something like five times before we actually got to finish. It was brutal for the body and the brain.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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/AVvXsEg75h8PzY4JAP2Z1-8A-ILcl7k__ajeTOcds892VNsCczgRGsHlK3yQ_Jenf9WMP1T3g_xK_VpMoFcRACYElIkrTppJ5Mg8VZ5-U-RHeYUYboxnGmqxL8i1vdbs2UUMSFav3YZR7dnRKVo/s1600/1621915_742956132384224_476208460_n-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75h8PzY4JAP2Z1-8A-ILcl7k__ajeTOcds892VNsCczgRGsHlK3yQ_Jenf9WMP1T3g_xK_VpMoFcRACYElIkrTppJ5Mg8VZ5-U-RHeYUYboxnGmqxL8i1vdbs2UUMSFav3YZR7dnRKVo/s1600/1621915_742956132384224_476208460_n-001.jpg" height="135" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't think I'm actually in this starting-line picture, but this is so you can get an idea of what it looked like.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The more you ran on the same area, the slicker it got. I only fell a couple times, but one was a doozy. We're talking flat-out on my butt smacking my head as I went down. Holy icicles that hurt. Luckily, my running friend Bryan was also running it (weirdly, none of my other running friends were as <strike>stupid</strike>, <strike>crazy</strike>, <strike>insane,</strike> ridiculous as we were.). Bryan was with me when I fell and stayed with me through the rest of the race. At that point, my time wasn't even important. I was just hoping to finish without earning a concussion.<br />
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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/AVvXsEiEb2-7aoMh1ITDlUBZBMJFRKZovtviiXw19Ky2wwmViwPFtAXPJZMAba8RcySqek8JG2weC4-Ql2UZLWAo_2lCkLW-FzOat4wCSzxH_qWTqCL4TphgOlfjISK1Z2HhFh5lqjCTMvlCL3k/s1600/20140208_103034-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEb2-7aoMh1ITDlUBZBMJFRKZovtviiXw19Ky2wwmViwPFtAXPJZMAba8RcySqek8JG2weC4-Ql2UZLWAo_2lCkLW-FzOat4wCSzxH_qWTqCL4TphgOlfjISK1Z2HhFh5lqjCTMvlCL3k/s1600/20140208_103034-001.jpg" height="320" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not my best time, but probably the medal for which I worked the hardest. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I finally finished, ate some chocolate, then headed home to get ready for Charlotte's party. That. Same. Day. Oh, my butt hurt all day long. Yeah, I definitely earned that medal.<br />
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So, that's my update of winter races. Springtime means even more races, and I can't be happier to pack away all my gloves, hats, ear warmers and layers and layers of winter running clothes. As Charlotte says, "Why can't it just be summer? Mommy and I don't like winter!" Well said, my dear, well said.Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-25087104452904499492014-02-22T17:17:00.000-06:002014-05-22T09:57:42.946-05:00Chocolate, chocolate everywhere!My baby girl, Charlotte, turned 4 this February. We were having a tough time deciding on a theme. We kept throwing around idea after idea, but nothing was sticking. Then, pushing our cart through Target, we walked through the Christmas clearance section. There, I stumbled on a roll of wrapping paper covered in hot chocolate mugs.<br />
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Eureka!<br />
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We would have a hot chocolate party. Charlotte loves hot chocolate, so she was totally on board. As we started planning it, it became clear that having the theme as hot chocolate was a little limiting, so we expanded to just have all chocolate. Charlotte was still very ok with this idea. This girl loves her chocolate.<br />
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We started with the invitations. I looked on Pinterest for some ideas, then made this one:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQa5AAtnBWpA01U92NsOlirLVM_neV1-1va-axIjzeIwzIRAJKNmSljDg9BWlS8KGjYGAuymjB96FVgzUzxyAkpPTrV0Mp7fh_Bfbgckk6lPljSOznXxfKbpisHUnegICc_wu0EnoG_Hk/s1600/2014+Charlotte+Hot+Chocolate1+copy+Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQa5AAtnBWpA01U92NsOlirLVM_neV1-1va-axIjzeIwzIRAJKNmSljDg9BWlS8KGjYGAuymjB96FVgzUzxyAkpPTrV0Mp7fh_Bfbgckk6lPljSOznXxfKbpisHUnegICc_wu0EnoG_Hk/s1600/2014+Charlotte+Hot+Chocolate1+copy+Blog.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
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The meteorologists forecasted a huge snow storm the week before the party, so I went to the grocery store to stock up in advance. Man, that cashier must have thought I was the worst mom ever when she checked out my cart. Nothing but chocolate junk. (Actually, I think I had bananas and milk in there, too, so that totally makes up for the massive quantities of chocolate, right?)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdyghdubCb0qU-uFoUO1B2guzhRWDM9D7KUnXzlPXzEEAkK-odpXszYDglljeyFGrBnI6NjsXXcmD70tFD35v47L-UTr6CfdPsfBEmmTLXUqAzJTK8CUp5Gr3ihiVKSWZLy5Sb98Iqz8/s1600/20140204_104930-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdyghdubCb0qU-uFoUO1B2guzhRWDM9D7KUnXzlPXzEEAkK-odpXszYDglljeyFGrBnI6NjsXXcmD70tFD35v47L-UTr6CfdPsfBEmmTLXUqAzJTK8CUp5Gr3ihiVKSWZLy5Sb98Iqz8/s1600/20140204_104930-001.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte with all the chocolate before the party.</td></tr>
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I didn't really have too many games or plans. I mainly concentrated on food. My friend Sarah had a chocolate fountain that I borrowed, and I actually baked a few things. (This is a huge feat for those who know me!)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLo1f8v8uU2GfgIRNnBuuX9pqJ3xRa4K3bky7KRfmPKewgo2Uwzwwkq8dHnY8w6pTE_D8BthCqvpqA1-OZXeH0gd1s2W9d37PDXg0gK-MbgWqLfWkpBR9wbmMIa_pMBkeYj7CkajVxYCY/s1600/DSC_0004-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLo1f8v8uU2GfgIRNnBuuX9pqJ3xRa4K3bky7KRfmPKewgo2Uwzwwkq8dHnY8w6pTE_D8BthCqvpqA1-OZXeH0gd1s2W9d37PDXg0gK-MbgWqLfWkpBR9wbmMIa_pMBkeYj7CkajVxYCY/s1600/DSC_0004-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We made lemonade out of lemons by turning the foot of fresh snow into our very own cooler.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YX9RLFUE9-kVyj26HGeWtDZflg3nZjt750d8Q1DCkUT2EF-3aZEIcs1jOsG09cxzJYn-Aw78-A63bwXKhENxOs8ZG3zXJPl0N3mctoxL3IlwLQJUHbLx1OCFXQY5IGKtPNcpcSBMVcw/s1600/DSC_0008-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YX9RLFUE9-kVyj26HGeWtDZflg3nZjt750d8Q1DCkUT2EF-3aZEIcs1jOsG09cxzJYn-Aw78-A63bwXKhENxOs8ZG3zXJPl0N3mctoxL3IlwLQJUHbLx1OCFXQY5IGKtPNcpcSBMVcw/s1600/DSC_0008-001.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I tried to go with a brown and teal theme for colors. Unfortunately, all the teals were slightly different colors. It really bothered me, but there wasn't much I could do.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDxHL8ZSLDEHdroI_AtzjEwZdQ5Kv0T3lM49T7WqvzjCD_DykgpstdbtLnz1oy8OuKyOnvNJbDIX_JPue2QLZspgCzGcX2skfTXFgT9lM-nlF0K79deW1sztFlIAZ2T4BLpyJEfaIgik/s1600/DSC_0017-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDxHL8ZSLDEHdroI_AtzjEwZdQ5Kv0T3lM49T7WqvzjCD_DykgpstdbtLnz1oy8OuKyOnvNJbDIX_JPue2QLZspgCzGcX2skfTXFgT9lM-nlF0K79deW1sztFlIAZ2T4BLpyJEfaIgik/s1600/DSC_0017-001.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Party favors. I made "Chocolate Snack Packs" complete with a combination of chocolate teddy grahams, cocoa puffs, chocolate animal crackers, s'mores goldfish and marshmallows all in little snack baggies. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JddFBdNFJhmagqZoDzlGYT-H82mDgTKsYZE9sp51HISqoqJPy42ppBWyt8irBM-9xPC8lifGdBXJWPWL2CaDzogdpEYnxbG5eqmP3f346Np6-UDPxVESjJIhuAzPprrSRZic3w926qo/s1600/DSC_0022-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JddFBdNFJhmagqZoDzlGYT-H82mDgTKsYZE9sp51HISqoqJPy42ppBWyt8irBM-9xPC8lifGdBXJWPWL2CaDzogdpEYnxbG5eqmP3f346Np6-UDPxVESjJIhuAzPprrSRZic3w926qo/s1600/DSC_0022-002.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hot Chocolate cake. My mom made.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRWrCj8miCRgXA16mkmAU1sYfh2dcv4ADrQxUUxscD4-j_MnovUNChXJylRnJxfIhR9IU8ovshT1ejN44c3PeOVJUXh2dpst1IVduhSvyEQP0-PSXG8LU5tAa0Pxf_9lyYwu4iPjR2QU/s1600/DSC_0023-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRWrCj8miCRgXA16mkmAU1sYfh2dcv4ADrQxUUxscD4-j_MnovUNChXJylRnJxfIhR9IU8ovshT1ejN44c3PeOVJUXh2dpst1IVduhSvyEQP0-PSXG8LU5tAa0Pxf_9lyYwu4iPjR2QU/s1600/DSC_0023-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cake and cupcakes. All made by my mom. I also found a couple of pictures of Charlotte with her face covered in chocolate and framed them. I didn't have to stage them at all. This girl loves her chocolate.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFf544yWhbtCI97vJ8fT9AW88c7EqM_CtEqpL02mVoBbrY-cGWu5LL1tl0ElLHn4FklwaCQ3NbK1N-6Ijf8mI85Ts2zDIfycJrRSCZODlsz8JIf6QUmszQ0SnohCMKuJQcEcSvJqt8Ptg/s1600/DSC_0026-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFf544yWhbtCI97vJ8fT9AW88c7EqM_CtEqpL02mVoBbrY-cGWu5LL1tl0ElLHn4FklwaCQ3NbK1N-6Ijf8mI85Ts2zDIfycJrRSCZODlsz8JIf6QUmszQ0SnohCMKuJQcEcSvJqt8Ptg/s1600/DSC_0026-001.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chocolate feast. I used the inspirational wrapping paper as a runner down the counter.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGjEeJzhieoItPISSTpE622rFzlT5bAJBkJazNAQzFeuloxv5DjdlXQBjPirTHbGA4pWILqpPlldpw8EwojOhRnqt6vTRs2M_fqeSlsbMugFCQQpZ0wvpOJKeIKWNxwHGbL1sgkJ85R8/s1600/DSC_0013-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGjEeJzhieoItPISSTpE622rFzlT5bAJBkJazNAQzFeuloxv5DjdlXQBjPirTHbGA4pWILqpPlldpw8EwojOhRnqt6vTRs2M_fqeSlsbMugFCQQpZ0wvpOJKeIKWNxwHGbL1sgkJ85R8/s1600/DSC_0013-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The living room with balloons and the KU game. I did not check the basketball schedule before planning the date and time of the party. Will not make that mistake again.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The birthday girl blowing out the candles.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big sister and friends devouring the chocolate fountain.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte and one of her best buddies, Ava, enjoying birthday cupcakes.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzODubY4G0tFW7Le6Or_Krq4lwBkspJkTWZTgrJFEgAAptAYLUuWrlIWJtWmTsW6R6Sa3m8tuT9RSG7P1RpWuA-7Gl9t08l6URSkcZ8JDuV1bglVUtTlqRfNnITkdKafRhrd0HIB3noo/s1600/DSC_0221-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwzODubY4G0tFW7Le6Or_Krq4lwBkspJkTWZTgrJFEgAAptAYLUuWrlIWJtWmTsW6R6Sa3m8tuT9RSG7P1RpWuA-7Gl9t08l6URSkcZ8JDuV1bglVUtTlqRfNnITkdKafRhrd0HIB3noo/s1600/DSC_0221-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too much chocolate and too much excitement equaled one tired 4-year-old.</td></tr>
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<br />Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-42692716774021479002013-11-13T07:31:00.001-06:002013-11-13T07:31:52.363-06:00A Minnie disappointmentCharlotte has always loved Minnie Mouse. Well, at least as "always" as a 3-year-old can. She snuggles with her stuffed Minnies. She plays elaborate scenes with her plastic dress-up Minnies. She dresses up as Minnie. And, she watches a lot of "Minnie's Bow-tique." If you don't know what that is, well, you probably don't have a child in the pre-preschool set.<br />
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Proof that Charlotte loves Minnie (because you know that's something I would totally make up):<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXGBMHIGD9rS5i-dUnpeoBwinsWue2ZwIjGCgLAUgBL9v-b07rZVX31PS9UzuJ2guWJA_Ni0zOPxSx_kZT7vDoseKv0HPyE0eQZ99ISjAryNtB3EmiTFsSky4EldOx9bA0De-tGqUMr8/s1600/23940_343591958827_1483891_n-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXGBMHIGD9rS5i-dUnpeoBwinsWue2ZwIjGCgLAUgBL9v-b07rZVX31PS9UzuJ2guWJA_Ni0zOPxSx_kZT7vDoseKv0HPyE0eQZ99ISjAryNtB3EmiTFsSky4EldOx9bA0De-tGqUMr8/s320/23940_343591958827_1483891_n-001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously? How little was she?!? Big sister helped make 3-week-old Charlotte into Minnie Mouse.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61g_zw3ZysCyyTyWrGkIMdxfKgR_O15bZXh9fhdt0T9ZFDVf8NDf9HeI6TnuX6kGg86ygiDHxaWYBWJ-gt6XHfRUUA_AF2kir_Lf252ey4Pu7uTu4TXrgOv6sH-J7CLYB0m2uFcQh26Y/s1600/33788_10150094111658828_5447812_n-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61g_zw3ZysCyyTyWrGkIMdxfKgR_O15bZXh9fhdt0T9ZFDVf8NDf9HeI6TnuX6kGg86ygiDHxaWYBWJ-gt6XHfRUUA_AF2kir_Lf252ey4Pu7uTu4TXrgOv6sH-J7CLYB0m2uFcQh26Y/s320/33788_10150094111658828_5447812_n-001.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10-month-old Minnie Charlotte.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEXfRo6E6qfueQ3QRyGTXBxobM_qZVlpxTmb16Q_sZnykjy0oGoAv8jBIR7J_T-O0n-fdbjsYindjfCjHZDsz9jJdwpEro_Ts0GqsPah6GNY2RT7GGu6FzzfU_le61TNxIj3TDdtuqRk/s1600/P1090655-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEXfRo6E6qfueQ3QRyGTXBxobM_qZVlpxTmb16Q_sZnykjy0oGoAv8jBIR7J_T-O0n-fdbjsYindjfCjHZDsz9jJdwpEro_Ts0GqsPah6GNY2RT7GGu6FzzfU_le61TNxIj3TDdtuqRk/s320/P1090655-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posing ...</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/AVvXsEjcnaQHwu5dHIHKW4ZRInaa-f-9OLD_-yOjSHbMhRtOKxZOeIfplr6XMDcXv_lmMDz_xXJahvbqnYsBBiQZFaBIt_BqKPs7_SOy2fPPHHJf4GONCUMOmzAgpMB7Vgxx_OLuJ8N6ey3Nrwo/s1600/P1090664-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcnaQHwu5dHIHKW4ZRInaa-f-9OLD_-yOjSHbMhRtOKxZOeIfplr6XMDcXv_lmMDz_xXJahvbqnYsBBiQZFaBIt_BqKPs7_SOy2fPPHHJf4GONCUMOmzAgpMB7Vgxx_OLuJ8N6ey3Nrwo/s320/P1090664-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And more ...</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/AVvXsEgICbCQP4Ny6y8l_1cG9tNE6II1yzyYRzVkVxv_EvktrqZ_1GuN7B80ikOAOMs1XfE537Gj6v-1oe3pCpXFCiNfdCFSuUHRVZ2fQ5xmDYp_l8Ym_b2x_XC8d8wjdYMvlxiADfrhdM1xBdI/s1600/P1090690-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICbCQP4Ny6y8l_1cG9tNE6II1yzyYRzVkVxv_EvktrqZ_1GuN7B80ikOAOMs1XfE537Gj6v-1oe3pCpXFCiNfdCFSuUHRVZ2fQ5xmDYp_l8Ym_b2x_XC8d8wjdYMvlxiADfrhdM1xBdI/s320/P1090690-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And even more posing.</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/AVvXsEgemidPckwJtTyXF9mqKXlxNNugwNbR8xwuQ4UjYilrXm5RSoaWfQCJxttH4UTOGBmrdv1HSeAd3Ro5-6Pyg3el5-ZCVFWmq3b1JoYtDdGe4doqjhj4fenvPua5VHoJiTjPAd4BjumFCQI/s1600/178192_10151343020368828_1741593392_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemidPckwJtTyXF9mqKXlxNNugwNbR8xwuQ4UjYilrXm5RSoaWfQCJxttH4UTOGBmrdv1HSeAd3Ro5-6Pyg3el5-ZCVFWmq3b1JoYtDdGe4doqjhj4fenvPua5VHoJiTjPAd4BjumFCQI/s320/178192_10151343020368828_1741593392_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girl even asks for Minnie Mouse pancakes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhIC7-m0okYOP8RLH0-Hp0iE8Lxgvn8tgW6ltB5OjnjIs62FxOIwgsMDif6u7vrz9FJR6BMaoIfWVb-vaY7uSeGsmEnTPQDxTWJKKFkEFpYUTFPoPyFFlqneVdLRNDYTXtJJ18zxaRvQOI/s1600/281769_10151399528038828_1759707619_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIC7-m0okYOP8RLH0-Hp0iE8Lxgvn8tgW6ltB5OjnjIs62FxOIwgsMDif6u7vrz9FJR6BMaoIfWVb-vaY7uSeGsmEnTPQDxTWJKKFkEFpYUTFPoPyFFlqneVdLRNDYTXtJJ18zxaRvQOI/s320/281769_10151399528038828_1759707619_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She plays a Minnie Mouse guitar.</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/AVvXsEgYwuEnvIydHNjE8gBAvUj9IrXPGwWz4zDdK5zjo-oeVACLFMt0g3q_qnW3-mkMkPzGA-ybkTS_o1gUnPv2rLQvZg2-GnGbB-ou2RdlSBhJklBzS5HP7kAKgPoMvhCRMrHuBO18tI-f2ww/s1600/DSC_1054-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwuEnvIydHNjE8gBAvUj9IrXPGwWz4zDdK5zjo-oeVACLFMt0g3q_qnW3-mkMkPzGA-ybkTS_o1gUnPv2rLQvZg2-GnGbB-ou2RdlSBhJklBzS5HP7kAKgPoMvhCRMrHuBO18tI-f2ww/s320/DSC_1054-001.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, we'll one up that. Here's Charlotte dressed as Minnie playing a Minnie Mouse guitar.</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/AVvXsEievRHW_LR4m6_dl686-tIBwemlfBD_herWRNCcU6yedxbxJZmz979WJK7RQMtWJvRlFA5UM0wAyoZj-9nkPGkm9nsxW8-yy1RFSPAOF_Vd-kDNwXsMtw9VWTQ_QZ9nAUkKoHrjudYUBF8/s1600/1185965_10151879473078828_1343187115_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievRHW_LR4m6_dl686-tIBwemlfBD_herWRNCcU6yedxbxJZmz979WJK7RQMtWJvRlFA5UM0wAyoZj-9nkPGkm9nsxW8-yy1RFSPAOF_Vd-kDNwXsMtw9VWTQ_QZ9nAUkKoHrjudYUBF8/s320/1185965_10151879473078828_1343187115_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She sleeps with Minnies.</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/AVvXsEhlgzirLrVzd8Uf25-GSzhuEkxwrNNTY8vfNfwaLnTp8Fx2hrAQAOQ42azwpSq4rLUQ7mzJNPzS9RgqFEM2PFn5OAA4Y5JeyImO3FpGZzCFjk1jJSBJ2vfcJImV2Dj-Jckg0SaktEbdOfc/s1600/1016996_10151892990278828_275449049_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgzirLrVzd8Uf25-GSzhuEkxwrNNTY8vfNfwaLnTp8Fx2hrAQAOQ42azwpSq4rLUQ7mzJNPzS9RgqFEM2PFn5OAA4Y5JeyImO3FpGZzCFjk1jJSBJ2vfcJImV2Dj-Jckg0SaktEbdOfc/s320/1016996_10151892990278828_275449049_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And poses as a Princess Minnie.</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/AVvXsEh0z9HpYqKL5WkXYe8c1APPhxdO0_qwGDHdVNAvck-Bkw-sAzNoBL43HiGGa7C3ujqejJLpA0j72n9OJDF700SKs63hPgiCybGf754Gm3e67Ws7LOc6EjbKlTaqnLjM_a1xSngzAEQkGn4/s1600/968919_10151669156693828_34660531_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0z9HpYqKL5WkXYe8c1APPhxdO0_qwGDHdVNAvck-Bkw-sAzNoBL43HiGGa7C3ujqejJLpA0j72n9OJDF700SKs63hPgiCybGf754Gm3e67Ws7LOc6EjbKlTaqnLjM_a1xSngzAEQkGn4/s320/968919_10151669156693828_34660531_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, makes silly faces when she's supposed to be sleeping with Minnies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So, enough proof? Yeah, I know, Charlotte overload. But, the girl loves Minnie Mouse.<br />
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All of this is to show why, when I heard that the Disney Store at the mall was going to be doing a re-grand opening (not entirely sure what that is, but whatever), and Minnie Mouse would be there, I thought immediately of Charlotte.<br />
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Unfortunately, I was in <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2013/10/run-like-wind.html">Chicago running the marathon</a> when it was going on, so I sent the information to Cory as something fun for him to do with the girls while I was gone. He talked with Chris, whose wife, Anne, was in Chicago with me, and they decided it would be a good morning activity. Well, apparently so did all of Johnson County. It was packed. They had to wait an hour in line just to get up to see Minnie. And, by the time they got there, guess who was not thrilled to be there?<br />
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You got it. My little Minnie-loving girl herself. Charlotte.<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/AVvXsEhiAAvYbTQS_Y78yVyEgvCtolDzEA7XLXSb5u-oUtO3Z6w-89cqHSyY35elu_M29W8Nz5-s12hONnpA7zYjprDvkO6qgStn_sMRS0Vz62iMGpx-SN9cwKZJb-Bj3q_prdUGo9faV6Y3x4g/s1600/DSC_0341-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAAvYbTQS_Y78yVyEgvCtolDzEA7XLXSb5u-oUtO3Z6w-89cqHSyY35elu_M29W8Nz5-s12hONnpA7zYjprDvkO6qgStn_sMRS0Vz62iMGpx-SN9cwKZJb-Bj3q_prdUGo9faV6Y3x4g/s320/DSC_0341-001.JPG" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I don't want to be here, and I don't want to wear that hat!" </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/AVvXsEh14GmIFguSRGfDhpEjeRHIKLUuc4yRbWeWsD-LPp4htSo3F4p9tJrIkjpYj6Avx3qKSnDuhQB_AyYFIWA0b9u4QHS16W85rZ0SKnkfJLNP0ZuydcKNjVzusxh9KIFH0Fnn8glVwf6PyoM/s1600/DSC_0342-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh14GmIFguSRGfDhpEjeRHIKLUuc4yRbWeWsD-LPp4htSo3F4p9tJrIkjpYj6Avx3qKSnDuhQB_AyYFIWA0b9u4QHS16W85rZ0SKnkfJLNP0ZuydcKNjVzusxh9KIFH0Fnn8glVwf6PyoM/s320/DSC_0342-001.JPG" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Fine, I'll wear the hat, but I'm not looking at the camera."</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/AVvXsEgV1MnYUuhqlgbw46beoHEI6xCVh-0eyyrok6UXGmoX5_lfOdbDQWkus7bvn-bIfl7drHuMIm-0uzrcI-GR78Taarixh1FkJl2Jy0wUPj4-PJyhte6BIqhREFrcpzLc_vCo4CEhO3XVerA/s1600/DSC_0346-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1MnYUuhqlgbw46beoHEI6xCVh-0eyyrok6UXGmoX5_lfOdbDQWkus7bvn-bIfl7drHuMIm-0uzrcI-GR78Taarixh1FkJl2Jy0wUPj4-PJyhte6BIqhREFrcpzLc_vCo4CEhO3XVerA/s320/DSC_0346-001.JPG" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Fine, I'll look at the camera, but I'm going to give it the stink eye the whole time."<br />
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</tbody></table>
That was the best photo we got.<br />
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My Minnie-Mouse-loving 3-year-old proved once again that she is in charge of all picture-taking opportunities. I sure hope this is no indication of how she'll be when we ultimately go to Disneyland. Geez. It's a good thing she's so cute when she actually chooses to look at the camera. I just need to keep looking back to that very first photo. Awwww ...<br />
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By the way, this is Chris with his adorable boys and their adorable picture:<br />
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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/AVvXsEh5tUT-fr5e50ZLroAo2ZqKR0NzwBJ527q2Zr7uf9__Kqcw1q4ZeZfJzJQDWehI2bzc4oxoOEc8vJC4kMEmE8E4OxitsBc4jP4ZiU2MK2eq4YnplcR2bLdrMmTJbd4qqTys2Rytn-wYd5k/s1600/DSC_0338-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tUT-fr5e50ZLroAo2ZqKR0NzwBJ527q2Zr7uf9__Kqcw1q4ZeZfJzJQDWehI2bzc4oxoOEc8vJC4kMEmE8E4OxitsBc4jP4ZiU2MK2eq4YnplcR2bLdrMmTJbd4qqTys2Rytn-wYd5k/s320/DSC_0338-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Granted, Landon's not "smiling," but he's not giving the camera the stink eye. Sigh.</td></tr>
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<br />Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-90672185215963716812013-11-09T17:32:00.001-06:002013-11-09T17:33:25.460-06:00My little songbirdEven though I was in church choir in middle school and high school, I'm not really a singer. I mean, I can belt out a mean Journey song when I'm tooling around town in my car by myself, but, actually sing? Yeah, not so much.<br />
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My sister can really sing, and I did enroll each of my girls in Kindermusik classes for years when they were young. I want them to have some musical aptitude, even if it doesn't really come from me. If you remember last year, we had a little incident in which I had to cram a learning session of <a href="http://lifemakesmelaff.blogspot.com/2012/11/come-as-child.html">"Jesus Loves Me" for Molly so she could sing in a church video</a>. She did great singing that song, but when I approached her with the idea to join the children's choir this year, it was an absolute, definite "no."<br />
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Melanie, the director of the children's choir, and I slowly started working on sneaking the idea into her little brain. Parent manipulation at its best, right? We even brought my sister and good friend Leigh into the plan. Every once in a while, we would bring up the idea of singing in the choir around her. And, slowly (very slowly) she started to maybe, sorta, kinda come around to the idea.<br />
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I have no idea why she was so terrified. But, oh, was she. Molly is not a timid girl. She ran right into Kindergarten with nary a tear, the same for first grade and every dance class, art camp or gymnastics class I signed her up for. I could not for the life of me figure out her hesitance for this.<br />
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Finally, we found the right incentive. Jake! (Leigh's son, thus her involvement) We asked Molly if she wanted to join choir so she could sing with Jake. Now, we love Jake, but he and Molly don't go to the same school and everyone's schedules are crazy, so we honestly don't see a ton of each other. I really think that Molly was excited to be able to see Jake more.<br />
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She finally agreed. We went for the first time a little over a month ago. We waited for Jake outside, and they went in together. After that, it was all good.<br />
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She loved singing, and she loved choir. She had her first performance with the choir at church two weeks ago. (It was the weekend before Halloween and the church was having a trunk-or-treat afterward, so that is why there is a witch and cheerleader in the choir.)<br />
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Get ready to be blown away with the adorableness of this:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/KrgK8mAHtH0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
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I didn't get very good pictures, but here's an out-of-focus one for you:<br />
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I did take this picture after church, and it's super cute of both girls:<br />
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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/AVvXsEgiur0E1YOV843dNGR08gquO3QtUUx25jDkk7sbKt9yhbg10F1B05C3XICr9jxXCgi5FEvAYlZTcjZYrkhxjnFei90X_fK6r2Zx5XfJpq1RkJyYN_036KQK5yxn0qCkXtZuLK6sGUoYR24/s1600/524689_10152014349983828_1622820232_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiur0E1YOV843dNGR08gquO3QtUUx25jDkk7sbKt9yhbg10F1B05C3XICr9jxXCgi5FEvAYlZTcjZYrkhxjnFei90X_fK6r2Zx5XfJpq1RkJyYN_036KQK5yxn0qCkXtZuLK6sGUoYR24/s320/524689_10152014349983828_1622820232_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a better photo!</td></tr>
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So, now Molly is happily singing in choir. She loves it, and I'm glad I persevered in attempting to persuade her. Melanie even said she's been doing great. I may have a little songbird, yet.<br />
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Or, maybe she'll just enjoy it now and then grow up to be a mom-of-two driving around town belting out <i>Journey</i> and looking really awesome and totally cool to everyone she passes.<br />
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I mean, I've heard rumors that can happen, haven't you?Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-86577203663592853162013-10-17T14:59:00.001-05:002013-10-17T14:59:23.921-05:00Run like the wind!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wow. I made it through. I made it through Chicago.<br />
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If you've been following along with this blog, you might know that I was talked into running the Chicago marathon by my friends Anne and Kelli. They had decided to run it, and somehow I didn't want to be left out of the fun, so I said I would do it, too. We worked like mad to get through the crazy computer system on the day entry opened, and finally got the notifications that we were in. (<i>The number of people trying to sign up at the exact same time crashed the computer system this year and created whole debacle. I think the whole thing is going to be a lottery next year</i>.)<br />
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Then, it was time to wait. Well, wait and train. It seems like this all happened so long ago, yet, the time also crept up on me.<br />
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The girls and I spent all summer slogging out long runs in the heat and humidity and torrential downpours. We followed the training plan from "<a href="http://anothermotherrunner.com/">Train like a Mother</a>," and I got in all my miles. I'd experimented with different fuels and tried different clothes. I knew what worked. I was ready.<br />
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But, I was nervous. Very nervous. Like, stomach tied up in knots, dream-interrupting nervous. You'd think, with this being my third full marathon, that I'd be done with nerves. Or, at least, they wouldn't be that bad. I actually think, though, it was because of my previous marathons that I was so nervous.<br />
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My first, in 2006, was in Dallas in April. It got up to 92 degrees that day. I think it was about 87 degrees with 80 percent humidity when I finished. Um, yeah, miserable. I immediately said I would never do another marathon.<br />
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My second was in Tulsa, OK, in 2010. It was also warm that day, even though it was November, with temps reaching 79 degrees. And, high humidity. I hit the wall around mile 22 and hated the last 4 miles with every ounce of my being. I said I'd never run another marathon.<br />
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While I was glad I had run both of these, neither of them were exactly "fun." Nor was I ever eager to do it again. I was so afraid of that happening to me again. So, this trip, I was nervous. So nervous. And, I definitely seemed to be the only one of us nervous for the entire trip. What in the world had I talked myself into?<br />
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But, let's step back a day or two to the beginning of the trip ...<br />
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Kelli, Anne, Marsha and I took off from KC on a plane bound for Chicago early on Friday morning. We wanted to get to Chicago early enough to enjoy time while we were there and not have to feel rushed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu3n-wrwOM57-sibAmAHFQMdUFfI-X9Yg7cQkVR4llsVBNmW4IvmN4gh6VqfADGqxN3lSxkvcHVZtVkzT4_ToXRFulRZpXCnf3dWRZBoAGZp_N6zWr2cZE2-VqRm8mu2FRwvtegzwWL4o/s1600/1380738_10151981572128828_577256083_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu3n-wrwOM57-sibAmAHFQMdUFfI-X9Yg7cQkVR4llsVBNmW4IvmN4gh6VqfADGqxN3lSxkvcHVZtVkzT4_ToXRFulRZpXCnf3dWRZBoAGZp_N6zWr2cZE2-VqRm8mu2FRwvtegzwWL4o/s320/1380738_10151981572128828_577256083_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the KC airport. Apparently our barista thought we looked like an Emi and Kian instead of Amy and Anne.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpbyESRYXTUHhR7emCyQqMKwqiq7g5ZpS4IIqEJBpEHH1go_Z-93feM1wd4qX4tpZhK_HR_9U-1CRQiHZ1ucR21Pp_aUcKCIGGXfEDGa0FbwpArL-sF_yd-b7zPKzGFvJaAvr7UnGAHU/s1600/20131011_094618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpbyESRYXTUHhR7emCyQqMKwqiq7g5ZpS4IIqEJBpEHH1go_Z-93feM1wd4qX4tpZhK_HR_9U-1CRQiHZ1ucR21Pp_aUcKCIGGXfEDGa0FbwpArL-sF_yd-b7zPKzGFvJaAvr7UnGAHU/s320/20131011_094618.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne and Marsha on the L to get to our hotel.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, Kelli and me.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We dropped our bags off at the hotel, grabbed some lunch then took off down Michigan Avenue.</td></tr>
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We checked out Niketown, which was amazing. They were having a dance party, complete with DJ gearing up for the marathon. After that, we headed to the expo. Oh.My. Gosh. This expo was amazing. Everything you could possibly want was there. Shoes, clothes, fuel, accessories, jewelry. Everything. We were in awe.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUaVSfQXA5pPq6531QB8S_9Y8jsoEJWf7P6M-C3HgXIImDstCwfQk7w8xBdyHOkzqbWPkg-hZBeV3Hxu06bdTr1a7SDS3In8VP9qartpzg8q-Hg5t9akhi8ozWy0hHeJIQJZnGTKTR0s/s1600/1374845_10152023795612228_1716905235_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUaVSfQXA5pPq6531QB8S_9Y8jsoEJWf7P6M-C3HgXIImDstCwfQk7w8xBdyHOkzqbWPkg-hZBeV3Hxu06bdTr1a7SDS3In8VP9qartpzg8q-Hg5t9akhi8ozWy0hHeJIQJZnGTKTR0s/s320/1374845_10152023795612228_1716905235_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We took a picture with <a href="http://www.ultramarathonman.com/web/">Dean Karnazes</a>.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimpKwu2OXjPmPMA-MEJYQId-anneK3ASVayrmrpRz9eL41IFMK3CC2c7zSUfMBMBfu2ta4QypDipWPypRjUNKPT_AFauKpjgOD3anpoA_gxWWRKKakDD87YJdEzhqKl1cn4SEj0BLmHE/s1600/20131011_124230-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimpKwu2OXjPmPMA-MEJYQId-anneK3ASVayrmrpRz9eL41IFMK3CC2c7zSUfMBMBfu2ta4QypDipWPypRjUNKPT_AFauKpjgOD3anpoA_gxWWRKKakDD87YJdEzhqKl1cn4SEj0BLmHE/s320/20131011_124230-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We posed with cool signs.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzFKmBDWYunAK-e7PRPrfWgm5Lbxd01r60pO92q5qUd9Q561gE_3RGCcXj0sB8c4XS2Ngse4DQy5yBsbDF-xT04yB4HWkelJdVElUHFk-LP2JkPVXPFXrnQkh3KXOJk8kzwANI6-ohWc/s1600/20131011_125705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzFKmBDWYunAK-e7PRPrfWgm5Lbxd01r60pO92q5qUd9Q561gE_3RGCcXj0sB8c4XS2Ngse4DQy5yBsbDF-xT04yB4HWkelJdVElUHFk-LP2JkPVXPFXrnQkh3KXOJk8kzwANI6-ohWc/s320/20131011_125705.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We signed under a magnet, then got to take the magnet home as a souvenir.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGYT0Dh8iOZDwlDy9JPDDzHIz3BFYNg57Ye_-G1x5ctJOMFUnANHq4aaVXej3ee89ItOkZ5M-dXmpJW3S53jdGJZDa7xRTgRMpl3Mcs4zG7O-CU9xZYhdq_raMbe4JtXHg_lAb73lCBkc/s1600/1404239_10201249193850157_516793328_o-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGYT0Dh8iOZDwlDy9JPDDzHIz3BFYNg57Ye_-G1x5ctJOMFUnANHq4aaVXej3ee89ItOkZ5M-dXmpJW3S53jdGJZDa7xRTgRMpl3Mcs4zG7O-CU9xZYhdq_raMbe4JtXHg_lAb73lCBkc/s320/1404239_10201249193850157_516793328_o-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We posed with our spot on the wall.<br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QA_rYDbSpfOvoLHHmOoNIDEzlxgB2PrbWLFePSAwHq2i3hKDGfU1d_Hnvt_mm3xOAymKkUINaHGz-lEDYmWicgLlcq2RAwatyBGogaTPP-6ipDFo2GcLB2v77cI3qr6UDuKldFFObTM/s1600/20131011_144234-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QA_rYDbSpfOvoLHHmOoNIDEzlxgB2PrbWLFePSAwHq2i3hKDGfU1d_Hnvt_mm3xOAymKkUINaHGz-lEDYmWicgLlcq2RAwatyBGogaTPP-6ipDFo2GcLB2v77cI3qr6UDuKldFFObTM/s320/20131011_144234-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We got free tasters of wine!</td></tr>
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I mean, you couldn't get a better expo than all that, right?</div>
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Saturday, we were determined not to walk as much, in hopes of giving our feet a rest. We took a morning boat tour around Chicago. It was beautiful.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDB1vYAELa9y8S2QfhPBBKONLw40ATy9M39YIg6ahtSUDhojK5w9mH6Azwx7RSBj3KYnJGt1w-5LbbIhWiAsz24tCw-YpId3HPq6o7t7YvuMj1_9w-BTBybmSURkezMhoDTHAdl7SexE/s1600/20131012_104612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDB1vYAELa9y8S2QfhPBBKONLw40ATy9M39YIg6ahtSUDhojK5w9mH6Azwx7RSBj3KYnJGt1w-5LbbIhWiAsz24tCw-YpId3HPq6o7t7YvuMj1_9w-BTBybmSURkezMhoDTHAdl7SexE/s320/20131012_104612.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous day for a boat ride!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweAB3xweuFisUXCqkJ8sgdTQJhn2kXe5atRk4XVye8O5Klq466ikzbb6Ix71BC-IN0kOHURLzohFj98E6qMt-KoIX5bkkDlUNY-Q92Q4Vzqegz90yc1lQUIvOquE16-3J4FqfYfRe91Q/s1600/20131012_122216-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweAB3xweuFisUXCqkJ8sgdTQJhn2kXe5atRk4XVye8O5Klq466ikzbb6Ix71BC-IN0kOHURLzohFj98E6qMt-KoIX5bkkDlUNY-Q92Q4Vzqegz90yc1lQUIvOquE16-3J4FqfYfRe91Q/s320/20131012_122216-001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then, we went to Lincoln Park and checked out the shops down there. What should we happen to run across? A KU bar. Rock Chalk Jayhawk!</td></tr>
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We had dinner with lots of friends, then went to bed early to get ready for the marathon the next day.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtMlU00hPEDJz4eYp8GEz85B4Hi6URiEG8LuG-Lo6p4KxmD46TjEjBA54rKtCwBhhVeJV0siUBXKYJuE9MIn7wScv08WhtZDsxmGbRD6h6AMM7hpLsgp2oGhgLvPB2klXwlynCj0lJAk/s1600/20131013_061628-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtMlU00hPEDJz4eYp8GEz85B4Hi6URiEG8LuG-Lo6p4KxmD46TjEjBA54rKtCwBhhVeJV0siUBXKYJuE9MIn7wScv08WhtZDsxmGbRD6h6AMM7hpLsgp2oGhgLvPB2klXwlynCj0lJAk/s320/20131013_061628-001.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up before the sun. Ready to check our gear and find our corrals.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXOY3o_CTcr1R-na9fBI1n8Nw5PMRRg-UONefjiZtQ6tHO8edTMLskglqsj1jb-6tpyQE6hXbwivrjI0rxIOJUMGVQmxq5MfhE6qdFI8nlcTVdy9uiUWD2ZESgqjMfRbNwVqvfqrCFLI/s1600/20131013_070056-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXOY3o_CTcr1R-na9fBI1n8Nw5PMRRg-UONefjiZtQ6tHO8edTMLskglqsj1jb-6tpyQE6hXbwivrjI0rxIOJUMGVQmxq5MfhE6qdFI8nlcTVdy9uiUWD2ZESgqjMfRbNwVqvfqrCFLI/s320/20131013_070056-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The security wouldn't let us go down a corral, so we said goodbye to Marsha, and Kelli, Anne and I made our way to the D corral. And, waited.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQ3QL_PiyykIMFqzxHxgW2VxfRxOB8sSBeqUGsygPuPzn5ODAZpGucwT54kd7B1BRsqB_1WcUSjNgXmjW4ltvKJL3kjpvhTqtNd3OzlUB7Va_O5GF6u6NeDsotXtVx-lkiY6ZohqrPxI/s1600/20131013_070858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQ3QL_PiyykIMFqzxHxgW2VxfRxOB8sSBeqUGsygPuPzn5ODAZpGucwT54kd7B1BRsqB_1WcUSjNgXmjW4ltvKJL3kjpvhTqtNd3OzlUB7Va_O5GF6u6NeDsotXtVx-lkiY6ZohqrPxI/s320/20131013_070858.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside our corral.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbz2-teqff4CHb9cp8hJgCMXAJCPYb-k7FqVei6Hslv9UWyIYj-9Epgui_GJakAbkHJjmZpXmTmaDOxHKPTzDywgvMl8gwTZ4vzUzhXZjxEAKYyM9CwyXif7VlYt2_1Y1-eKlapgyuRQw/s1600/20131013_070948-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbz2-teqff4CHb9cp8hJgCMXAJCPYb-k7FqVei6Hslv9UWyIYj-9Epgui_GJakAbkHJjmZpXmTmaDOxHKPTzDywgvMl8gwTZ4vzUzhXZjxEAKYyM9CwyXif7VlYt2_1Y1-eKlapgyuRQw/s320/20131013_070948-001.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time to pose for some pictures.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RZoiUhp7Q7OnB2Pr01x8N13G496f6xgnAhspD2kjZexFvNs51newEYiWBo_5kdHOOGeOKcPkoGaw3ID81DW9MHSrIC_XSZRUhwHD9xmshAakxl0J4IH0HVuj7RULpK4EPboRRFZOUcY/s1600/20131013_071550-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RZoiUhp7Q7OnB2Pr01x8N13G496f6xgnAhspD2kjZexFvNs51newEYiWBo_5kdHOOGeOKcPkoGaw3ID81DW9MHSrIC_XSZRUhwHD9xmshAakxl0J4IH0HVuj7RULpK4EPboRRFZOUcY/s320/20131013_071550-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lining up to start. </td></tr>
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Anne, Kelli and I made plans to stay together for the whole marathon. So, we started the race, and tried to make sure we were going slow enough. That is the key, I've decided. There is so much excitement and adrenaline pumping through you at the beginning, it's easy to go out faster than you'd planned. Unfortunately, I think that's what we did. Chicago did an AMAZING job putting on this marathon. The crowd support is unbelievable. There are people lining the streets. Everywhere. And, not just people with friends or family running the marathon, but just people in the city. Out there to cheer runners on. It was awesome and amazing. I kind of teared up a couple times thinking about it while I was running. </div>
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The signs were also great. A lot of people had government-related signs, ie. "You run better than the government" or "The government may quit, but you can't" or "The government can't shut you down!" One of my personal faves was a sign that said, "Nerdy accountant sign: Chicago Marathon Entry = $175. You are $56.23 of the way done!" </div>
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I spent the whole time people-watching, sign-watching and building-watching. There was never not something to look at. The first 8 miles flew by before I even knew it. My hardest miles were probably between 11 and 15. They weren't bad, but just a little more draining in the head. Anne kind of hit a wall around mile 19. She'd had a dreaded side stitch, then couldn't get back in the groove. I decided to try to encourage her by saying, "Just think, in less than an hour, you'll be a marathoner!" Yeah, that was not the right thing to say. I got a hand to the face and she physically moved far away from me. She doesn't actually remember this now, so I chalk it up to crazy marathon brain. :)</div>
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Around mile 20ish, the back of my left knee started hurting. But, only when I was running slow. When I sped up and stretched it out, it felt great. So, I started doing the super annoying run-fast-stop-wait-run-fast thing. I know it's obnoxious, but it's the only thing that helped my knee and allowed me to still stay with Anne and Kelli.</div>
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About .5 miles from the finish line, Kelli spotted, in the mother of all coincidences, Marsha. She had started in the corral behind us, but we were going to be able to cross the finish line together. How amazing is that?!?</div>
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We all four crossed the line with our arms raised high in the sky. (I may have to break down and actually purchase a copy of that official picture). We were all marathoners.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3z-AdKvhMrYgFg7KNKD68er0fGLIF07pQqmArfqm6DKb1ZVCgFEUYTkSDX9vRiFuHRv86YRoOWobNvCM1v1V2BBMRWu2EZXpXAcAOy6Juanpub1IpDc3yLjuSmNbJaCKoo5M1CF2ETA/s1600/20131013_131142-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3z-AdKvhMrYgFg7KNKD68er0fGLIF07pQqmArfqm6DKb1ZVCgFEUYTkSDX9vRiFuHRv86YRoOWobNvCM1v1V2BBMRWu2EZXpXAcAOy6Juanpub1IpDc3yLjuSmNbJaCKoo5M1CF2ETA/s320/20131013_131142-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the finish line!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaUpPx_9qutr17Dv0kmnNy3xcPx_bqithvnIiw9c68OK_4IH0b_yAeJyQjUvrbNRMIdNxTqTOUTWffkbB5SEYVwPFnavngX56qbVacasvrPa0p9o61yD2U0Iw5K0Ab5RULA4pyYGL-cA/s1600/20131013_124316-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaUpPx_9qutr17Dv0kmnNy3xcPx_bqithvnIiw9c68OK_4IH0b_yAeJyQjUvrbNRMIdNxTqTOUTWffkbB5SEYVwPFnavngX56qbVacasvrPa0p9o61yD2U0Iw5K0Ab5RULA4pyYGL-cA/s320/20131013_124316-001.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelli and I drinking our free beer at the end. I drained the whole thing. I don't know how it really tasted, but at that moment in time, it was amazing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7w_UYzaLB4STmvgi7VeKhblEGNNil7GNjk6ehhyvrtcN5ocpOM3v2Iq7EyANoToAE3uvya8eDhggTbB5Gr1zM2pM32EcWRyL8mFeF0dTmATaRW3OyGb4dEybZBsKGVP-9_QIUP-X7eY/s1600/20131013_130723-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7w_UYzaLB4STmvgi7VeKhblEGNNil7GNjk6ehhyvrtcN5ocpOM3v2Iq7EyANoToAE3uvya8eDhggTbB5Gr1zM2pM32EcWRyL8mFeF0dTmATaRW3OyGb4dEybZBsKGVP-9_QIUP-X7eY/s320/20131013_130723-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelli and Ashlee in our "spot" in the plaza area after the finish. Another coincidence, Bill and Ashlee walked right by us after they finished. Seriously, in a race with 45, 000 runners, we could never have planned to meet everyone like we did.</td></tr>
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I was feeling pretty good, albeit tired, after the race, but we'd heard there was finisher gear somewhere in the after-party area. So, while Anne, Bill and Ashlee headed back to the hotel, Kelli and I searched for finisher gear with Marsha and Sheila. After a while of searching and having no luck, Kelli and I decided to just head back for some hot showers. Unfortunately, we realized that we'd sent our map, aka Anne, back to the hotel already. We asked a security guard if he knew the way back to our hotel and he pointed in a direction and said, "yeah, it's just 7 blocks up that street."</div>
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Um, 7 blocks seemed like nothing when we'd walked down to the race that morning. But after running 26.2 miles all over Chicago, 7 blocks might as well have been another marathon.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71QqIXIWOEofPt3jncPanUZ-1RCeSjM55ood_P_Qqk1VO0wGNS1pOZBwUSPOY66iI8-TWkdcJobQDx2_v-o4NlmJ74nCUMOh2zkruEpweF5Ka8JnrnPbwcCqm6cDfioG_erVjNr_1j8k/s1600/20131013_135916-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh71QqIXIWOEofPt3jncPanUZ-1RCeSjM55ood_P_Qqk1VO0wGNS1pOZBwUSPOY66iI8-TWkdcJobQDx2_v-o4NlmJ74nCUMOh2zkruEpweF5Ka8JnrnPbwcCqm6cDfioG_erVjNr_1j8k/s320/20131013_135916-001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelli and I made a pit stop at the Bean on the long, long walk back to the hotel.</td></tr>
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After finally arriving back to the wonderful Hyatt, we showered, got ready and headed back out. Kelli swore that we would be less sore if we walked around a lot after the marathon. I wasn't convinced, but decided to give it a try. We headed back to Niketown to find that elusive finishers' gear and got to have another dance party with the employees there. Then, met up with a bunch of people from our Sunday running group, Sunday Runday, at a bar and had a delicious beer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jU_Nih-2lPZxOW2eu85_VsUdEtslqNmMhI3amISLlgHStqf-MYEs3fxhGvm0DvLRhjpFQHqG_JcoL2vlV4KkJEIMum0TLtu7VKVCaRQWOsc7-0g8blewlb2_wmCHELHEQdjqkp1CEiM/s1600/1381491_10201260773299636_170683020_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jU_Nih-2lPZxOW2eu85_VsUdEtslqNmMhI3amISLlgHStqf-MYEs3fxhGvm0DvLRhjpFQHqG_JcoL2vlV4KkJEIMum0TLtu7VKVCaRQWOsc7-0g8blewlb2_wmCHELHEQdjqkp1CEiM/s320/1381491_10201260773299636_170683020_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After finding our Finisher's Gear at Niketown!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhiJx2p9IL_kgxtZBB8-qeRrxu0bQZO6Yx4mRWj1SJObT0nohdgg16cbm_u2vZ8qdHULKGaDQlv4u3t4GIte5lto7zPIZjLqGVYJBAfld7Ii8SuuDuDQv22bfCKoxcqgx2nFwbDINFl8/s1600/20131013_163917-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhiJx2p9IL_kgxtZBB8-qeRrxu0bQZO6Yx4mRWj1SJObT0nohdgg16cbm_u2vZ8qdHULKGaDQlv4u3t4GIte5lto7zPIZjLqGVYJBAfld7Ii8SuuDuDQv22bfCKoxcqgx2nFwbDINFl8/s320/20131013_163917-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sunday Runday Chicago Marathon crew.</td></tr>
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We met up with Sheila, Marsha and Carla for dinner that night back out in Lincoln Park. Only, by the time we got there, sat down in the quiet, dark restaurant and ordered dinner, I was drained of any and all energy. I seriously thought I was going to fall asleep face first into my plate of ravioli. We didn't even have the energy to walk back to the L stop, so we took a cab back to the hotel and collapsed into bed.<br />
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The next day, we slept in, then meandered through Chicago before we had to head to the airport.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrQ5rU6yTRH_ul2Exx7WzZpCQiyXGpzPvWgMuLZlLqn_DSzFVDD8Vc0agy1fg0ikTqtrtr4LRmBVy2lpoPcH8UPFh8iKewE2JYd3GUTQkTkKYX1cYRpzRtrfgoiUuXTBgEf8aIDQqjhg/s1600/20131014_111503-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrQ5rU6yTRH_ul2Exx7WzZpCQiyXGpzPvWgMuLZlLqn_DSzFVDD8Vc0agy1fg0ikTqtrtr4LRmBVy2lpoPcH8UPFh8iKewE2JYd3GUTQkTkKYX1cYRpzRtrfgoiUuXTBgEf8aIDQqjhg/s320/20131014_111503-001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We found this bar, which unfortunately we didn't actually get to go in to. But, I had to take a picture.<br /><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYIx7Br0iKfea5G7Y5AhonX0pOcWUJlQXnjMndmccuYX35vFCad8bhGQWXkQlU5ErMHZgkF6UjXgKVzXfemQSNc8S31CI5iZcgkNZ3Z3YJJmPohBZIOyu6lONCCo0kjZF74_OyLp3_XBs/s1600/1376552_10151987847673828_1516303300_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYIx7Br0iKfea5G7Y5AhonX0pOcWUJlQXnjMndmccuYX35vFCad8bhGQWXkQlU5ErMHZgkF6UjXgKVzXfemQSNc8S31CI5iZcgkNZ3Z3YJJmPohBZIOyu6lONCCo0kjZF74_OyLp3_XBs/s320/1376552_10151987847673828_1516303300_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I forgot to take my traditional finish line pose, so I took a picture on Michigan Avenue instead.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4YNJpgaKu9F2X6iNQVJeIpiBHKDxUm6VwlAjPE8-eru8jguK-2lCRgsOEUUCECEcwX9NMhJtn-jHLWnzrZy_y7oMGEX-fVDAWAYMflqgC0MtfaHe87fyqDLxdqcbA7ATXtXFHTOj9hQ/s1600/1382398_10201265701062827_267109560_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu4YNJpgaKu9F2X6iNQVJeIpiBHKDxUm6VwlAjPE8-eru8jguK-2lCRgsOEUUCECEcwX9NMhJtn-jHLWnzrZy_y7oMGEX-fVDAWAYMflqgC0MtfaHe87fyqDLxdqcbA7ATXtXFHTOj9hQ/s320/1382398_10201265701062827_267109560_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This time, we took a picture at the Bean with Anne!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8olCNhFmBjsQtjAd4Rx-08nX4-Zuj2VF54idi48HoFHwGHfcTsqjp3nlaxSgDDm8yCmmkq6MCGnOIewTjWjMcoAPbLcyF2kCCEDLmvo02Ao1ElLXOf1vPazNhpYjCn6n0zhZoJUOuk4w/s1600/20131014_140109-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8olCNhFmBjsQtjAd4Rx-08nX4-Zuj2VF54idi48HoFHwGHfcTsqjp3nlaxSgDDm8yCmmkq6MCGnOIewTjWjMcoAPbLcyF2kCCEDLmvo02Ao1ElLXOf1vPazNhpYjCn6n0zhZoJUOuk4w/s320/20131014_140109-001.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And my most delicious pizza and cider right before we headed to the airport.</td></tr>
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All-in-all, the trip was amazing. The marathon was fabulous. I finished it not thinking "I'll never do one again," but instead thinking, "I want to do that again!" I finally got through my mental nerves and had a great race. I mean, sure, I think I'll lose a couple toenails, and I've been icing my knees for a couple days, but, wow, it was totally worth it. </div>
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Thanks, Chicago, I gave you my nerves and you gave me back my love of the race!</div>
Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-18145834975626163922013-09-22T19:29:00.000-05:002013-09-22T21:00:52.567-05:00Dancing her way through preschoolIf anyone has ever tried to talk to Charlotte, well, you'll know why we've been concerned about her starting preschool. She doesn't talk to strangers. She doesn't talk to people she knows if it's a new situation. Sometimes she doesn't even talk to people she knows in familiar situations. This is Charlotte.<br />
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When I first started going to a mom's group two years ago, I had to drop her off in the childcare room. She cried the ENTIRE time I was gone. Entire time, people. She was still crying when I got back almost two hours later. At church on Sundays, she would refuse to go into the nursery. That meant sitting with us in the pews for the whole hour-long service.<br />
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I signed her up for gymnastics with her little friend Ella last November. She loved it when she was out there, jumping, turning, flipping. But, she refused to go out for her class until Ella was there. Every. Single. Time. Ella was usually late, so I would sit there with a clingy 2-year-old in my lap watching class until Ella showed up.<br />
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Ella quit gymnastics after one session, but Charlotte really loved it, so I knew we had to stick it out. It took a lot of time, but eventually she started going out without crying and fussing. Seriously, it took months, but it eventually it happened.<br />
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So, needless to say, I was worried about preschool starting. I had signed her up for the 3-year-old class at the same preschool Molly used to attend. As the time started approaching, I started getting more and more nervous. The week before preschool started, the school had a meet-the-teacher time. We had a 9 o'clock appointment to meet Miss Patty in the Panda Room.<br />
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Cory and I were both going to go with Charlotte, but I forgot the paperwork for the school, so I turned around halfway and let Cory take Charlotte. I was a couple minutes late and walked into the class to see Charlotte clinging to Cory and burying her head into his shoulder. She absolutely would not look at Miss Patty. She absolutely would not talk to Miss Patty. She absolutely would not take a picture for Miss Patty.<br />
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Do you think I'm exaggerating to make a good story? Yeah, no, I'm not.<br />
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This is the picture Miss Patty took to put on the wall. Lovely, no?<br />
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Alright, so after that disaster of a meeting, I got even more nervous about preschool. Being my baby, I've become rather attached to Charlotte. Meaning, not only was I nervous about how she was going to do, I was also nervous about how I was going to do without her.<br />
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The big day arrived. I had to drop my baby off at preschool. We took some first-day-of-preschool pictures.<br />
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It took a while for her to warm up, but we finally got a couple cute smiles. Now, on to the main event. After the disastrous meet-the-teacher, we decided Cory shouldn't go to preschool drop-off. So, that left me.<br />
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Our preschool has a car drop-off line. We just pull up and the teachers come to your car, get your child out, and send them up the sidewalk into school. (PS. This was golden when Molly was in her first year of preschool, and I had a baby Charlotte in the car, too. I never had to get her out of the car.) Anyway, with visions of clingy Charlotte dancing through my head, I thought maybe we should try the drop-off line.<br />
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We started driving closer and closer to school, and I could tell Charlotte was getting more and more nervous. She stopped talking as much. We got in the drop-off line. We pulled up. The door opened.<br />
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Charlotte got out of the car. She put on her backpack and walked up the sidewalk. All by herself. Without crying. Without clinging. Without even looking back at me.<br />
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And, that's when I started crying.<br />
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I had to go into a parent meeting in the preschool, so I asked my friend Kelli if she would go and peek at Charlotte to make sure she was ok. She was. She was playing with the other kids. Later, I talked to Miss Patty, and I explained to her my reasoning for using the drop-off line for the first day. She said she heard teachers in the hallway calling out, "Hi Charlotte," so she looked out, and Charlotte was walking down the hall with her backpack on and a big smile on her face.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Much better picture on the first day of school for Miss Patty.</td></tr>
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Turns out, the one I should've been worrying about all along was me.<br />
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So, she's been doing great. She already drew a picture for her friend Addy in her class. She tells me all about her snacks and playing on the playground. She gets excited every morning for school. I even enrolled her in a dance class, and she's been doing great in there, too. No clinging. Dancing and listening to the teacher.<br />
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My baby girl is loving preschool. She's loving dance. And, she's loving gymnastics. And, I'm still tearing up every time I drop her off. Sigh.Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-3263786228608709862013-08-23T18:43:00.000-05:002013-08-26T13:37:57.252-05:00Marathon WomanIn case you missed it, I'm currently in the throes of training for the 2013 Chicago Marathon. This will not be my first marathon. It will be my third. But, if you'd asked me after either of my others, I would've told you that I would not do another one.<br />
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As I stared at my blackened toenails and hobbled gingerly down all flights of stairs after my first one in Dallas, I swore up and down that I was a one-and-done marathoner.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling victorious ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">but, completely dead after the Big D in 2006.</td></tr>
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Then, I had a couple kids, and felt the need to prove to myself that I could still do it. So, I signed up for another one. This time, I swore 'round about mile 24 of the Route 66 marathon in Tulsa, OK, that I would never do this to myself again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Sarah, who I peer pressured into running. That was it for me. I was done in 2010.</td></tr>
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Well, it's three years later, and somehow I got peer pressured into signing up for another one. This time in Chicago. I was excited about going on a trip with my girlfriends, but the daunting training miles and 26.2 race miles were not all that exciting for me. Don't get me wrong, I would do it, but I wouldn't be super happy about it.<br />
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So, with all these training miles and running constantly on my mind, I happened across a blog that mentioned the autobiography of Kathrine Switzer. Switzer is the first woman to run with a number in the Boston Marathon in 1967. She's also the woman made famous by this series of pictures:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkPoLyJztuwPpktN3XeLqjhOYt9dYt0k916SHfjhcf7-OVJ9zzkQn3K0zbUlORhLRhqDI2YdUe6jfVnmINCEMgV9mQICGcahf84wWOIMvkumTvFpyW0iPvKsZNv48I-NtCLlGZ31TMb4/s1600/switzer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkPoLyJztuwPpktN3XeLqjhOYt9dYt0k916SHfjhcf7-OVJ9zzkQn3K0zbUlORhLRhqDI2YdUe6jfVnmINCEMgV9mQICGcahf84wWOIMvkumTvFpyW0iPvKsZNv48I-NtCLlGZ31TMb4/s320/switzer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Switzer being chased by race director Jock Semple who was yelling, "Get the hell out of my race and give me those numbers!"</td></tr>
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Although she'd officially registered, she'd done so using her initials, K.V., so they didn't know she was a woman. Race officials, clearly, were not happy when they found out, as women weren't supposed to run. I'd heard of this story before and knew of Switzer, but didn't know a ton about her. So, of course I was intrigued by the thought of a book by her.<i> </i><br />
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<a name='more'></a><i>I tried to find it at our library, but they didn't have it. I then discovered this handy-dandy interlibrary loan thing, where our library will borrow books from other libraries around the country if it doesn't have a book you want. This is not related to the story, but I just wanted to put it out there in case you didn't know about this awesome service. I got the book in three days and picked it up from my local library. It was a sweet deal.</i><br />
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You know all those little blurbs that you are supposed to fill out about yourself on Twitter or Goodreads or wherever? On those short, little "about me" sections, I often write "wife, mother, runner, reader." These are the things that are important to me. Now, take away family and you've got runner and reader. I love to do both. So, books about running, I mean that's right up my alley. But, you throw in history and strong women, which are my favorite things to read about, well, let's just say this book was made for me.<br />
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The book probably wouldn't be classified as a page-turner, but I, for one, couldn't stop reading it. While pouring through this book, I kept stopping to tell Cory something unbelievable I'd read. (I also told many unsolicited anecdotes to my running girlfriends on our long runs. Sorry, girls!) I love history, but this is not ancient history. Women were not allowed to run in the Boston Marathon in 1967. That is not that long ago, guys. In fact, women weren't officially allowed until six years later in 1973. That is a mere seven years before I was born!<br />
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Switzer also talks about the fact that women's basketball had different rules than men's basketball in order to cut down on the amount of running involved. In the 60s, women had six players on a team and were allowed only three dribbles and weren't allowed to cross the center line. A women's basketball coach said at the time that women would never be allowed to play "men's" basketball because the excessive number of jump balls could displace the uterus.<br />
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In fact, although the women's 800 meters was finally allowed in the Olympics in 1928, it was removed again after the top three racing women ran so hard that they "tumbled breathlessly into the infield" after the finish (as you do after running all out for a half mile). It was not added back into the Olympics until 1960, but any distance longer than that was not even considered.<br />
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Switzer talks about what all her friends and detractors used to say to her about women running. She was told that she would get big legs, grow a moustache, turn into a man or turn into a lesbian. All just from the simple act of running. And, a marathon? Women just weren't capable of running that distance. That was a simple fact.<br />
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The lasts half of Switzer's book focuses on her efforts, along with a lot of others, to get the women's marathon added to the Olympics. The amount of work, time and effort that it took to get something that I take for granted as a natural part of the Olympics is amazing. It was added in 1984 in Los Angeles. 1984?!?! I was alive and toddling around when this happened, people.<br />
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Not only is it amazing that Switzer, and other women at the forefront of women's running, changed what it was perceived that women could do, but they did it while literally running in men's shoes. While I'm the first to admit that running shoes have gotten way prettier even since I've been running, it never occurred to me that there was a time when you couldn't buy women's running shoes. Running shoes didn't even really exist, but any kind of shoe for exercising was made for a man, along with the clothes. Switzer writes about testing out different clothes to wear (including a leotard and tights) because shorts were made for men and they didn't fit women's bigger hips and thighs. These early women runners were pioneering everything!<br />
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One day, while reading this book, I told Molly what I was reading about. "I'm reading a book about a woman who was one of the first women to run in marathons. Did you know that girls didn't used to be allowed to run?" "Why?" Molly asked. "Because they didn't think girls could do it." "That's not fair," Molly said. "Girls can run! You can run. I ran a 5K." Then, Charlotte piped up, "I ran a 5K, too!"<br />
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"Yes," I told them. "You both can run, and I can run. People were just silly back then."<br />
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This book was the perfect choice to read during this marathon training. I have never felt so inspired and grateful just to be able to do what I love. I love that my 3-year-old and 6-year-old girls know that running makes you strong, and does not make you grow a moustache. I love that more women than men now run road races in the US. I love that this thing that I love to do was made possible by the strength of women runners before me.<br />
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It may sound cheesy, but this book made me proud to be a woman, a runner and a mother. It makes me happy to show up on Sundays for my long, long training runs. It makes me excited for October 13, 2013. I will be there because the women before me fought and proved us all capable. Our triumph is their triumph and their triumph was ours before we even knew it.<br />
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Seriously, get this book. It's that good.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrLPPGloQ6TEJH_rmTW44gk9OYGSGK6w1GRUSFV_Q1WjDmZ_nQqIhcjI_WyNoFuXDkQ87_cMpiOj00wt0lO7UBlgzi8ypa3Tv_P2Y2mlLOyxVxBG4R_FdW9ghFh9u5Pbi7ModHl0ni4o/s1600/DSC_0768-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrLPPGloQ6TEJH_rmTW44gk9OYGSGK6w1GRUSFV_Q1WjDmZ_nQqIhcjI_WyNoFuXDkQ87_cMpiOj00wt0lO7UBlgzi8ypa3Tv_P2Y2mlLOyxVxBG4R_FdW9ghFh9u5Pbi7ModHl0ni4o/s320/DSC_0768-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My prides and joys. Running with two strong girls who will never be told they can't run because they are girls.</td></tr>
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<br />Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-326716664801787253.post-43412350434450892932013-08-14T09:15:00.001-05:002013-08-14T09:16:49.894-05:00Wait?!? What?!? I have a 1st grader?!?I know everyone says the same thing when school starts each year, "I can't believe my kid has gotten so big." "I can't believe school is back in session." "They are growing up way too fast."<br />
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Yes, those are all cliches, but oh, man, they are so true. I thought every single one of those this morning as I walked Molly to her first day of first grade. Seriously, 1st grade?!?! I still remember them handing her to me in the hospital and not even thinking that school was anywhere close to my future. I distinctly remember hearing other moms talk about their kids going to school and I couldn't even comprehend anything about it because it was so far from my realm.<br />
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Man, it did not take long for me to be smack dab in the middle of that realm. I don't remember okaying that.<br />
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Molly, however, has been super excited for school to start. She loves school. She's never been nervous about it at all. For her first day of preschool, she jumped out of the car, waved her hand and said, "Bye, Mom!" without even a hug or kiss. I've never had to worry about her being sad or nervous for school. Me, on the other hand?<br />
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I know I should be used to this. I did it last year. I had the whole sobbing in front of the school librarian after dropping her off at Kindergarten fiasco. But, I'm still sad. She's my baby. I've been hugging her a little bit longer and squeezing her a little bit tighter these last couple days, just trying to steel myself up for today.<br />
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And, today came:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP57otbn9abfOgkfODKmFn58NnbOk4vLre1YZb-hrNjI4upz3srddF0s1u0q-8khuGxeKLSpbG2duXBK4HStbA7FpOrquMSm2KeTsIVSdXQ3FZ5-U9wFq4-EnPf6MzX8U_Khb8as3BKkI/s1600/20130814_075747-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP57otbn9abfOgkfODKmFn58NnbOk4vLre1YZb-hrNjI4upz3srddF0s1u0q-8khuGxeKLSpbG2duXBK4HStbA7FpOrquMSm2KeTsIVSdXQ3FZ5-U9wFq4-EnPf6MzX8U_Khb8as3BKkI/s320/20130814_075747-001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her grin was so big. She was so excited to go.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, she wanted to take a picture with her sister. Love this picture so much. Even with Charlotte's crazy outfit.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI1skd6iZrk57yH018iGZbdCRAmXpi39f2DnE11aB9J2QgLsF5Fl5JhqrUGy2SEjjjwOXnScC2Ykpv1I70wWYHXNGG3zDm-HRfIU-SJaag5MXnikopxZ3E7HkJ9jN8t9wmjY156asDco/s1600/20130814_080151-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI1skd6iZrk57yH018iGZbdCRAmXpi39f2DnE11aB9J2QgLsF5Fl5JhqrUGy2SEjjjwOXnScC2Ykpv1I70wWYHXNGG3zDm-HRfIU-SJaag5MXnikopxZ3E7HkJ9jN8t9wmjY156asDco/s320/20130814_080151-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The walk to school.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Charlotte in front of the sign at her school.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She has her very own locker in the hall this year!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6SlR8arPX2hMKvpQozjYlIl6NoKwGboFG_loMZpP-F0e4y72HWq_uzSdnwfrkxlEUeUJO1ieZ-HNQdUCUrLlohyphenhyphenW3N1txgz3s2xYSlrIbQhH7BlXnzDARqnxowbORBLNFdTDH0bOpL7Q/s1600/20130814_081133-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6SlR8arPX2hMKvpQozjYlIl6NoKwGboFG_loMZpP-F0e4y72HWq_uzSdnwfrkxlEUeUJO1ieZ-HNQdUCUrLlohyphenhyphenW3N1txgz3s2xYSlrIbQhH7BlXnzDARqnxowbORBLNFdTDH0bOpL7Q/s320/20130814_081133-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At her desk.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQNz71akyt07iubKIEpiKZdhLb834EpMwwE1T3r7hZKpvetKXDVNaFFqbzIOfYcYPK_xg5Ab_2_hS1OJNOT45ZgXjSw6hJvRKKSSO-PZQIagLMjOAMmnYszXc-0dOoLGJMR-Qhih-6O4/s1600/20130814_081246-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQNz71akyt07iubKIEpiKZdhLb834EpMwwE1T3r7hZKpvetKXDVNaFFqbzIOfYcYPK_xg5Ab_2_hS1OJNOT45ZgXjSw6hJvRKKSSO-PZQIagLMjOAMmnYszXc-0dOoLGJMR-Qhih-6O4/s320/20130814_081246-001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, bothering her teacher for one more picture. They are both cute!</td></tr>
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And, of course, we hadn't charged the battery on our camera, so I had to make do with my phone camera. Urgh. Unprepared momma. Also, I forgot my big sunglasses on the walk to school, so I had to hold back the tears until I got home so as not to look like a complete crazy mom. Now I'm hanging out with Charlotte at home. She told me that she wouldn't cuddle with me, but will play with me. I'll take it, I guess. I think I'll also get some Starbucks for a little treat for myself :)<br />
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Bonus for today, though? It's only a half day, so I get to pick Molly up at 11:40 and have a celebration lunch with my not-so-baby girl.<br />
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<i>Disclaimer: Yes, I know I'm being ridiculous. I can't help it. </i>Amy Randolphhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06874153795900924333noreply@blogger.com0