tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82960270580824198112024-02-19T13:52:13.516-08:00The CalitexansNative Californian marries a Minnesota born/Las Vegas raised dude, and together they have a full-on Texan baby boy.
Chaos ensues.
Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.comBlogger130125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-30158710921292655352013-06-30T09:49:00.001-07:002013-06-30T09:49:35.833-07:00Granola State Continued<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84V3PKSftc3kY2QKzn0qlBm_HbX6zMxR8CIIcUM5tZgji0nJFxk_Dem0F3vxrOz_xOvVmGyGUo72egnETQOzFDlgZybkXghHVlTTx71c9yg0N9z9ZLmOm5OE6o8kvq3la4Zvmy_qIY1Kw/s640/blogger-image--849660891.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84V3PKSftc3kY2QKzn0qlBm_HbX6zMxR8CIIcUM5tZgji0nJFxk_Dem0F3vxrOz_xOvVmGyGUo72egnETQOzFDlgZybkXghHVlTTx71c9yg0N9z9ZLmOm5OE6o8kvq3la4Zvmy_qIY1Kw/s640/blogger-image--849660891.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqF2mX4WwmdBL5tee-MPeapHE2_Sn2pIoVjcK0jB5kZyf5iF9EaLc9OyoMD0Ij7QsyGwMFQEyUBhQrRWor25B8alWBA9rNZV5hgcXsX7zTYbKICcDdJysM3dsCxEz9Jd0CYjBOFBl1rKg-/s640/blogger-image-880376395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_gGFt1sngYJo58TPz4_4D1SPFyAZU7a48k1CrFm0wbmlVOirje8efFKw7mD1jZBM7z2hE3MxjrZhiD5rG8NwF6VdX1uSAMeX-SSGGAZuUm14aS_0-bLHurnXNN817p-BEq89vRXZWo6w/s640/blogger-image-471986271.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-56786186351117269312013-06-25T21:56:00.001-07:002013-06-25T21:59:30.839-07:00For a few weeks... Just Californians.<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicOstYoKTVU3Kt_EtDvSf8pxkjjQOO_4g6SnuVu4S_zK8tTTOsOZtpZUmC5zVdB4icl2bnXmwZRXiy6kIm5L6ioFYZUpNhsrxpd2hIN3pA2tBdjCQkTxkZsnXOKHjyk7CoLMv04zMIp1n/s640/blogger-image-514363745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicOstYoKTVU3Kt_EtDvSf8pxkjjQOO_4g6SnuVu4S_zK8tTTOsOZtpZUmC5zVdB4icl2bnXmwZRXiy6kIm5L6ioFYZUpNhsrxpd2hIN3pA2tBdjCQkTxkZsnXOKHjyk7CoLMv04zMIp1n/s640/blogger-image-514363745.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfolv0yRb_yNhmbicbQGAmAsV0LJrRRyYYZAyJxiJSkmywnQJQAgdqOYz8t66qBVSjDxFKuVQZX5yvKYXV0m8h-y9k7yLfiecDdGUJFUsHSbX-H-_tFWvWM2YOzr7BOBWCHkUdI1EiHpV/s640/blogger-image-2032951957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfolv0yRb_yNhmbicbQGAmAsV0LJrRRyYYZAyJxiJSkmywnQJQAgdqOYz8t66qBVSjDxFKuVQZX5yvKYXV0m8h-y9k7yLfiecDdGUJFUsHSbX-H-_tFWvWM2YOzr7BOBWCHkUdI1EiHpV/s640/blogger-image-2032951957.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9MaGVo6kkSifK1gIj2cCjFSzmg_8rvaBoyHdGcmqUjkKn16bHXPNG6LWSqjXTQgbFL24jxW12lY_RShAresbR-yKq41eob89LvrufT5_XnTcs1_-t8PuKcR_PikYkr4CbBiwkIzl-wWf/s640/blogger-image-726437685.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77224mZ22-DBKmEX_d1rkaGJJVbb_UDx-T0qe1Ol0-NRnMeyugF2cLMnwjXn9OrJ7c1RBO_l5KloFerrZcUQKHeH7rZy6Dkvx3e9K1UvOAq-DLBucDN2r-d0j04es2jfXSsHWALNB1V_L/s640/blogger-image--1205850171.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdHre6pwzGyClcc8NPDAs-zTq6lkenTW_jYkOBOw-Bx9ffx0bUG8qxiJMdloUgl6WRxc71c7cfQo4RxN9z7N2tkI5DrmLrDHKh-IgEcvqfVJLwKB2ZYBeK6n8wO8JBy3vtDfihsXX3GgO/s640/blogger-image--665781508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdHre6pwzGyClcc8NPDAs-zTq6lkenTW_jYkOBOw-Bx9ffx0bUG8qxiJMdloUgl6WRxc71c7cfQo4RxN9z7N2tkI5DrmLrDHKh-IgEcvqfVJLwKB2ZYBeK6n8wO8JBy3vtDfihsXX3GgO/s640/blogger-image--665781508.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEaEa82GQvL2MEarq9HUo9X2ol0YbXGqcHAwPA-Us2P0r_F7uKEWXmhPk6X3AJmj79EhTq7bKDgpyQ6i0zg8-yAsvJsujWLeMMfj-MoVl_Tmfx49VtFN2x3Kba_hB0fF2SYissVB_jO6-7/s640/blogger-image--1018168807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEaEa82GQvL2MEarq9HUo9X2ol0YbXGqcHAwPA-Us2P0r_F7uKEWXmhPk6X3AJmj79EhTq7bKDgpyQ6i0zg8-yAsvJsujWLeMMfj-MoVl_Tmfx49VtFN2x3Kba_hB0fF2SYissVB_jO6-7/s640/blogger-image--1018168807.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7U_XlmzkjF8pba-Y8eQtNUFUsRqV8eyxolD7NTJNm7hdSP3XJIWkEAIAezKhNLo3y3hD7ftCYc09JzwVKjF0heqt0jMHe02qBoJrDgQT7ZXKZhznl1voAl2VYs45J9Aoo1GPGPQ52NKhm/s640/blogger-image--1862551533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7U_XlmzkjF8pba-Y8eQtNUFUsRqV8eyxolD7NTJNm7hdSP3XJIWkEAIAezKhNLo3y3hD7ftCYc09JzwVKjF0heqt0jMHe02qBoJrDgQT7ZXKZhznl1voAl2VYs45J9Aoo1GPGPQ52NKhm/s640/blogger-image--1862551533.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjpnDYrRBumkfKP96x-tsgghCiscjXBOHz8ksVHtxq8XAXCobs74NubaLvCbzDE9A7Ql5hfG2z64q0VjDMMSNDF02otTIULtagBYZHxcHFw_13nVMTqGkQIkO_qzSN3xvKiKDik8Ci2SI/s640/blogger-image-80781766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjpnDYrRBumkfKP96x-tsgghCiscjXBOHz8ksVHtxq8XAXCobs74NubaLvCbzDE9A7Ql5hfG2z64q0VjDMMSNDF02otTIULtagBYZHxcHFw_13nVMTqGkQIkO_qzSN3xvKiKDik8Ci2SI/s640/blogger-image-80781766.jpg"></a></div>Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-34599607598544327852013-04-17T06:43:00.001-07:002013-04-17T06:43:46.675-07:00Sunshine State of MindNo time to explain. Too much sunshine! Destin, Florida. Day 4.<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhks9rLnZz5DOJYhEZPmvylJxeDWTHbIUoYmXSpwrMV4gxbcR7jDnofxMrcH7eE4acV4-oVdg_GEnBNIpFVroORDRmUdz977lYkX5hz059C3bBP-hF6DiKEz2zo1Hc7Wye1fRY1sK2Ca-hL/s640/blogger-image-276908608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhks9rLnZz5DOJYhEZPmvylJxeDWTHbIUoYmXSpwrMV4gxbcR7jDnofxMrcH7eE4acV4-oVdg_GEnBNIpFVroORDRmUdz977lYkX5hz059C3bBP-hF6DiKEz2zo1Hc7Wye1fRY1sK2Ca-hL/s640/blogger-image-276908608.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmQbh6s_yzfySp3qiSd73bXlmY57qwhtv2Fep-ZE-vvDcbCvfj6iNScQaSQnKqRVNzqE7-swuh7Au3_PqV3_dwITDgccoxakE1yquj6t6k4rovOo4vDPbRrVe6NlPsCBfSFoNs241ny8-/s640/blogger-image--1791938471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmQbh6s_yzfySp3qiSd73bXlmY57qwhtv2Fep-ZE-vvDcbCvfj6iNScQaSQnKqRVNzqE7-swuh7Au3_PqV3_dwITDgccoxakE1yquj6t6k4rovOo4vDPbRrVe6NlPsCBfSFoNs241ny8-/s640/blogger-image--1791938471.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNwqeyDrrn_6NQpQ-qJ8Y1JF5Io7mIvCCJxx9ozlfzSPH3qDL5a2Juy5-4tgMuwpmZPdYHkH0eTDTX-85J4pcH88iDp9CmqvakbMC_vAgV-icRyAf4YJioLv5jdYPkgoWUJTVSVwLbdsq/s640/blogger-image-1697994625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNwqeyDrrn_6NQpQ-qJ8Y1JF5Io7mIvCCJxx9ozlfzSPH3qDL5a2Juy5-4tgMuwpmZPdYHkH0eTDTX-85J4pcH88iDp9CmqvakbMC_vAgV-icRyAf4YJioLv5jdYPkgoWUJTVSVwLbdsq/s640/blogger-image-1697994625.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifE4q8_tf7sxG692eXFT7Y75J64peL7u3tv8q9mqMVT_TJMW8vVXQOy4oHVLp2GL_0umDQzjyrKbA0DlTESHyz7SK8ZTfndofQ9yUqGMT2fYFwkjIOeqXAQQSHs1Q1Y6F1LGva-Z5iZO0U/s640/blogger-image-41548177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifE4q8_tf7sxG692eXFT7Y75J64peL7u3tv8q9mqMVT_TJMW8vVXQOy4oHVLp2GL_0umDQzjyrKbA0DlTESHyz7SK8ZTfndofQ9yUqGMT2fYFwkjIOeqXAQQSHs1Q1Y6F1LGva-Z5iZO0U/s640/blogger-image-41548177.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjek7j6WJT0JHT_5TfEKiYAL_U0mdtqCvEikv1wnBLt8Jcc3898pV0YFu8u8IrysphIdqaLwZaBafq6Lf8VLZjdbh0IOf4TKnFNHo2h-AFfpbDxnYOIVbfRJzeL91BLVR7HgEG-RjOxFZ9Q/s640/blogger-image-619186107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjek7j6WJT0JHT_5TfEKiYAL_U0mdtqCvEikv1wnBLt8Jcc3898pV0YFu8u8IrysphIdqaLwZaBafq6Lf8VLZjdbh0IOf4TKnFNHo2h-AFfpbDxnYOIVbfRJzeL91BLVR7HgEG-RjOxFZ9Q/s640/blogger-image-619186107.jpg" /></a></div>Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-61033484151430694282013-02-25T18:31:00.001-08:002013-02-25T20:31:39.082-08:00Life Lessons from Downton Abbey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhB_62tQrvHO8u0h_92aeqcPf51BrOTRUz1CtxSGSvLsFTGRLOyncAn4Y9XmRUwflv04bs6VvDc2sPPnildWaSymaonnMOz1weYw5cHmBxEe0eTrXWspBSTjjmuSJZBDJqHT2S5dYf4f3/s1600/downton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhB_62tQrvHO8u0h_92aeqcPf51BrOTRUz1CtxSGSvLsFTGRLOyncAn4Y9XmRUwflv04bs6VvDc2sPPnildWaSymaonnMOz1weYw5cHmBxEe0eTrXWspBSTjjmuSJZBDJqHT2S5dYf4f3/s400/downton.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i><o:p>***Spoiler Alert!***</o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you didn’t tune into PBS on Sunday Nights for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Downton Abbey</i>, you’d better have a good
excuse. Were you flying a plane? Performing open heart surgery? Vaccinating
children in Papua New Guinea? Surely there must be a good reason! The season 3 finale attracted over 8 million viewers and was
the subject of 80,000 tweets the night it aired. Though season 3 ended
tragically (Matthew!), it also left us with a few lessons to ponder over the
next year as we wait for season 4. In an effort to steer clear of the drama
that our fictional friends endured this season, here are a few hard lessons
they learned for us:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have a Great OB/GYN<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Poor Lady Sybil. You know you were standing on your couch
screaming, “Go to the hospital already! Forget what that pompous doctor Sir
Philip says! Take your hot Irish husband and GO!" Sybil’s family doctor, Dr.
Clarkson, knew that she was suffering from eclampsia while in labor, but in the
end he couldn’t convince the family or their famous doctor pal Sir Philip that
she was in grave danger. Lady Sybil died from eclampsia shortly after giving
birth to a daughter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lesson learned:
Choose a doctor you trust, have a birth plan that they support, and make sure
you have an advocate who will make everyone stick to the program.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYGz_URR6xkeZh13uFRn5ur-DLjt1jNRbY38zwAiAoh-Y7a_q3k5qho-3zmhAm8R8SY4VH48puG_GYJicW0gL9UH6XIpncCV_iCC_Re0jG1zDUSouC5ewb1H1CCTvut0VZgTsrO_ndhiF/s1600/sybil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYGz_URR6xkeZh13uFRn5ur-DLjt1jNRbY38zwAiAoh-Y7a_q3k5qho-3zmhAm8R8SY4VH48puG_GYJicW0gL9UH6XIpncCV_iCC_Re0jG1zDUSouC5ewb1H1CCTvut0VZgTsrO_ndhiF/s320/sybil.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Sybil, I love you more than green beer, but I'm totally going to let your dad make every medical decision for us."</td></tr>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A Man is Not a
Financial Plan<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Viewers can deduce from season 3 that Cora, known downstairs
as Lady Grantham, married Lord Grantham for his title and he married her for
her money. Fine, we can say they were in love too if it makes you feel better.
Lord G invested Cora’s fortune into a doomed railway scheme and ended up losing
it all and putting the estate in jeopardy. They were almost going to have to
move to “Downton Place” and live with fewer servants- egad! Good thing the
Downton Abbey heir, Matthew Crawley, has the best luck ever (for now) and inherited
money from his dead x-fiancée’s father. He reinvested it back into the estate
therefore saving them all from having to brew their own tea.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lesson learned: Don’t
rely on others to make your financial dreams come true. Whether you help bring
home the bacon or not, it’s smart to have an idea of what state your finances
are in. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqni-CegjRODSRGTWLptxmkhYdzHCv33sTsU0v6bQQnN1MjVxluQUkEs8o59rT4YjXQods-tewrPYupGvtt4W2x6_mq_x-9cj9iPOOk1pcMBerc7GE1KhCKV23eMFKbstcZ3-1Kcbaf_0/s1600/lord+g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqni-CegjRODSRGTWLptxmkhYdzHCv33sTsU0v6bQQnN1MjVxluQUkEs8o59rT4YjXQods-tewrPYupGvtt4W2x6_mq_x-9cj9iPOOk1pcMBerc7GE1KhCKV23eMFKbstcZ3-1Kcbaf_0/s320/lord+g.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Where should I invest Matthew's newest fortune? A balloon factory? Time travel research? Garbanzo bean farming?"</td></tr>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s Good to Have a BFF<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When Mrs. Patmore isn’t whipping up a kidney soufflé or making
snarky remarks to her kitchen maids, she’s chatting it up with her BFF Mrs.
Hughes, the housekeeper. When Mrs. Hughes had to go see Dr. Clarkson about a
lump in her breast she took along Mrs. Patmore as moral support. When Mrs.
Patmore was being wooed by the raunchy spice salesman at the country fair, Mrs.
Hughes told her that he’s a lecher and only after her crazy awesome cooking
skills. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lesson learned: You’ve got to have good friends who will
look out for your best interest and aren’t afraid to tell it like it is. Also,
beware of creepy men who only ask you about your cooking skills.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7rpqP4aS4GIcG74Tm8FNI_sX8hkcQYbPsCOYc_W_ujDE_akZcLVffDALyOJerVuhIJUbz8hBdedtUEUj_zFPH0QdhgCMQZdWF8ayvEEeQ2nWQ9B7BdnnJoa_SdO14QMGsnx9pPXSr7MZ/s1600/hughes+and+patmore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7rpqP4aS4GIcG74Tm8FNI_sX8hkcQYbPsCOYc_W_ujDE_akZcLVffDALyOJerVuhIJUbz8hBdedtUEUj_zFPH0QdhgCMQZdWF8ayvEEeQ2nWQ9B7BdnnJoa_SdO14QMGsnx9pPXSr7MZ/s320/hughes+and+patmore.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Does this hat make my butt look big?"</td></tr>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Money Can’t Buy
Happiness<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even though the aristocratic Crawley family has so much
money that they actually pay people to button their shirts, they don’t seem to
be terribly happy. Take Lady Edith. She’s continually bullied by her older
sister, jilted at the altar by a geezer with only one working arm, loses her
younger sister to eclampsia, and at the end of season 3 was being pursued by
her newspaper editor who is married to a “lunatic” and cannot get a
divorce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like watching post-Edwardian
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jerry Springer</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lesson learned: Having a lot of money does not make you
immune to difficult times. Happiness is a choice.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrYxYjnIe8PkojxVLBv6S9onoOL02pb5BaWzH9ghJ2-a9EhorLxLVq6IIfAw5uCJtbZF0tzKPjbqHnjBAKBNh6x9sfD1C9ol-oT9QEEILHebQb8tgg2Js_TRScbj34Blc0T6LzrY3fSTR/s1600/edith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrYxYjnIe8PkojxVLBv6S9onoOL02pb5BaWzH9ghJ2-a9EhorLxLVq6IIfAw5uCJtbZF0tzKPjbqHnjBAKBNh6x9sfD1C9ol-oT9QEEILHebQb8tgg2Js_TRScbj34Blc0T6LzrY3fSTR/s320/edith.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"How can I be happy when I have a name like Edith?"</td></tr>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stand By Your Man<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anna, who works as a ladies maid to Lady Mary, fell in love
with Bates the valet, but they were only married for what seemed like five
minutes before Bates was convicted of murdering his x-wife Vera and then thrown
into prison. Don’t worry- Vera was absolutely horrible and nobody liked her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anna made it her business to prove that Vera
had actually killed herself, that Bates was innocent, then succeeded in getting
him exonerated, and did it all whilst tending to the ubiquitous needs of Lady
Mary. Well done, Anna!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lesson learned: We all need someone in our corner that will
cheer for us and defend us when nobody else will. That Tammy Wynette really
knew what she was talking about.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnv0bLvY4z0xJqzBLblf3mpZlU84Ztn9Ch5KT4blDRwBNr0BobrV3CI7nvQR7C4cC6B0MYqcdMd73cTTRwpFm1lTSYcgSGjUV2UMwpJGX3A_BlRRPmIfCJi5I4VCRa33l9Hl8FWn0JhIRG/s1600/bates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnv0bLvY4z0xJqzBLblf3mpZlU84Ztn9Ch5KT4blDRwBNr0BobrV3CI7nvQR7C4cC6B0MYqcdMd73cTTRwpFm1lTSYcgSGjUV2UMwpJGX3A_BlRRPmIfCJi5I4VCRa33l9Hl8FWn0JhIRG/s320/bates.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh hey. While you were in solitary confinement I used all your dry shampoo. My bad."</td></tr>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wear Your Seatbelt<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Remember Matthew Crawley’s good luck? It ran out at the end
of the season and he was killed in a car accident (actor Dan Stephens wanted
off the series). Of course the show’s writer Julian Fellowes had to pull at our
heartstrings and make the crash happen immediately after Matthew’s wife Lady
Mary gave birth to their son and heir. Darn you Julian!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lesson learned: Wear your seatbelt and keep your eyes on the
road. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZb29gSay3U7l7U_2yVJ5ZYT87TWTh31EdNKttHEu80x1shpKyMzu1zhbMw_6Ktdf5hvS3Fa0JZCMvd-7InLEm8aBCpXmWY0mcJ3e5c_XLIUzeutcJk3YUjPzweU5VnZFjwFjzM2Mb488w/s1600/matthew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZb29gSay3U7l7U_2yVJ5ZYT87TWTh31EdNKttHEu80x1shpKyMzu1zhbMw_6Ktdf5hvS3Fa0JZCMvd-7InLEm8aBCpXmWY0mcJ3e5c_XLIUzeutcJk3YUjPzweU5VnZFjwFjzM2Mb488w/s320/matthew.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"La la la la la. Okay, the instructor said to keep my eyes on the trees. No- the fluffy clouds. Or was it the..."<br />
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Photos courtesy of pbs.org.</td></tr>
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-47916768914150317032012-12-29T21:16:00.000-08:002012-12-29T21:16:10.351-08:00Real Christmas Photos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On Thanksgiving our friends Greg and Sally said they'd take our Christmas picture at a park by their house in College Station.</div>
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The sign of true friendship: offering to take pictures of a family with a toddler.</div>
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In order to get Wes to look in the general direction of the camera, Greg had to wear a duck hand puppet and make ridiculous quacking noises. </div>
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Here are my three favorite outtakes. </div>
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<strong>The Trifecta of Awful</strong></div>
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Eyes Closed. Head Turned. Speaking.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QEpUuU56u7kuuDus0MZWuNZyb-f4khEFmxD2rqBQ32Er-FHB2J0TE2wyvAZJ8UTdpqpLKp9BTUe1IpUbHg915HdIRqHTMDnsy-wAHqkfECwbp6Ppw5TQAUkDC1g75ldffg3zdK3rSFVR/s1600/DSC_0055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QEpUuU56u7kuuDus0MZWuNZyb-f4khEFmxD2rqBQ32Er-FHB2J0TE2wyvAZJ8UTdpqpLKp9BTUe1IpUbHg915HdIRqHTMDnsy-wAHqkfECwbp6Ppw5TQAUkDC1g75ldffg3zdK3rSFVR/s320/DSC_0055.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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<strong>The Body Drag</strong></div>
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We will drag you until we get a photo where it looks like we're casually strolling through the woods in our finery and my stiletto boots.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH63BP2tP478HAOqV5uqCrFmYoaMcdTv3oK-fOOGhY_Fc7dQfHK-QILl4reaSTbvNzQezsX9T5gycFEhdR2JDRJc31gZyZ5YzZBbknY95N1Wqf9SSNPmc_afGYW9s_PEvBGtMhDEhjSHo3/s1600/DSC_0105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH63BP2tP478HAOqV5uqCrFmYoaMcdTv3oK-fOOGhY_Fc7dQfHK-QILl4reaSTbvNzQezsX9T5gycFEhdR2JDRJc31gZyZ5YzZBbknY95N1Wqf9SSNPmc_afGYW9s_PEvBGtMhDEhjSHo3/s320/DSC_0105.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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<strong>The Rag Doll</strong></div>
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Perky and energetic toddler decides to go into dead weight mode. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjxBQcldTp-i5vWVFU61I9Yurs8bKhczQK4bk2ZoHbzPB3ItOlOiglpIDZPJk9Niog6RfRUji-Sk4zswpQQAc1Wy0FJedlGCfWT-QPflEfHZVwoO-nbXZZ1bPOM65oE-B9iVK5AGcPAyV/s1600/DSC_0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjxBQcldTp-i5vWVFU61I9Yurs8bKhczQK4bk2ZoHbzPB3ItOlOiglpIDZPJk9Niog6RfRUji-Sk4zswpQQAc1Wy0FJedlGCfWT-QPflEfHZVwoO-nbXZZ1bPOM65oE-B9iVK5AGcPAyV/s320/DSC_0135.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-59609585873785171922012-12-13T17:42:00.000-08:002013-03-30T10:03:01.272-07:00Wes Wears Many Hats<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The newest exciting clothing trend happening in the Anderson house is hats. Previously, Wes turned into a crazy person when I tried to put a hat on him. Now he naps and bathes in them. </div>
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Yesterday he used the dog bowl as a hat, and he has even worn coffee filters as hats at the grocery store. Like I said, he's a fan.</div>
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When Wes can't find his cowboy hat he will wear a bike helmet around the house instead, and that's just not normal. It covers his eyes causing him to bump into stuff, but it's okay because he has on the gigantor helmet.</div>
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It's sort of a symbiotic relationship.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXuPazu5wgWiK75z8sMgJNv312RdC3jaivzTc-Uv7bf9howNPtEu9sUALCHqgfTTWoC94nmXSyQCdoanfY-b7mZd6K2qaRGSfKSB-X2CNNFDrliagJwqEwSCcHkBv6lIp0xhBRLMR2Iwb6/s640/blogger-image-1952437401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXuPazu5wgWiK75z8sMgJNv312RdC3jaivzTc-Uv7bf9howNPtEu9sUALCHqgfTTWoC94nmXSyQCdoanfY-b7mZd6K2qaRGSfKSB-X2CNNFDrliagJwqEwSCcHkBv6lIp0xhBRLMR2Iwb6/s640/blogger-image-1952437401.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTgOo5urO2bmmvHDyjwCPL5sY_KeYQgg5zyuLqHtdNCd8Ar9jLX2kwb_vvM5k7zNt2rIJCxFpEjocTynb7tcJLatvvvgVuJsJGiG62T-ZJtpTr-AAA0_0SwkrlhuEStR54i39kV6bPwUp/s640/blogger-image--957329446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTgOo5urO2bmmvHDyjwCPL5sY_KeYQgg5zyuLqHtdNCd8Ar9jLX2kwb_vvM5k7zNt2rIJCxFpEjocTynb7tcJLatvvvgVuJsJGiG62T-ZJtpTr-AAA0_0SwkrlhuEStR54i39kV6bPwUp/s640/blogger-image--957329446.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxsoQEKAKdVC31-dRNwfdIvBCp-YJSy5Lp4PgoVZ688VbBprfuGhyphenhyphenNxuzXVxd-2SlUyVr5REQqIC62kFAstNn8YvQPelSq0vP_WTr-Wz1rYK2bMRVTX7lLozGRQs5h-Jzn5BWCoYLyltH/s640/blogger-image-793902537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxsoQEKAKdVC31-dRNwfdIvBCp-YJSy5Lp4PgoVZ688VbBprfuGhyphenhyphenNxuzXVxd-2SlUyVr5REQqIC62kFAstNn8YvQPelSq0vP_WTr-Wz1rYK2bMRVTX7lLozGRQs5h-Jzn5BWCoYLyltH/s640/blogger-image-793902537.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNkNB_c8d0vrdpETl7nXvFtA69lBcQZOhlteSYGHtr4ks-3lNWHbA0Ydiddm384094svdaqGB0FhByl9eYq8itTPQdWGo9Aiqrb4VJtguzbL1-rDkqS0iAxiSYchCHlMewa85c7iSgZQT/s640/blogger-image-1709831885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNkNB_c8d0vrdpETl7nXvFtA69lBcQZOhlteSYGHtr4ks-3lNWHbA0Ydiddm384094svdaqGB0FhByl9eYq8itTPQdWGo9Aiqrb4VJtguzbL1-rDkqS0iAxiSYchCHlMewa85c7iSgZQT/s640/blogger-image-1709831885.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidk6zE_e2wLtndfNqgnvCMY0jxBIWu9LtMFe_KfCEBU2-7T1BSIMxgQbGtDAXt13Q7zTyPj-K4uHywzjhHUQQqUcCr3GG0BwLAfzlDQX-nRcmJYAObi93pwUis_vDHud22PluCX32mFhRF/s640/blogger-image--209103568.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidk6zE_e2wLtndfNqgnvCMY0jxBIWu9LtMFe_KfCEBU2-7T1BSIMxgQbGtDAXt13Q7zTyPj-K4uHywzjhHUQQqUcCr3GG0BwLAfzlDQX-nRcmJYAObi93pwUis_vDHud22PluCX32mFhRF/s640/blogger-image--209103568.jpg" /></a></div>
Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-2652170286866943232012-10-10T19:34:00.001-07:002012-10-10T19:41:09.813-07:00Who Needs a Yeti? We've Seen Teeth!<div align="center">
Can I just share with y'all a picture of my boy that makes my heart want to explode with joy?</div>
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Do you know how hard it is to get a picture of his top teeth? </div>
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This is the Anderson equivalent of photographing Bigfoot.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJv_TFYPy8TGt2dH3BZYE6DqsMg_LvjmoE3eqR2JHfdkQYFL2v6azY88pEG4bBuZ2SEPH0N9gy1hTjWw5iAqKYQ0K_Td4bY45691ipnMnAUwZM2S6vQvTotu3SIEfNpbf4rtXjrviQ45L/s1600/DSC_0319+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJv_TFYPy8TGt2dH3BZYE6DqsMg_LvjmoE3eqR2JHfdkQYFL2v6azY88pEG4bBuZ2SEPH0N9gy1hTjWw5iAqKYQ0K_Td4bY45691ipnMnAUwZM2S6vQvTotu3SIEfNpbf4rtXjrviQ45L/s640/DSC_0319+(2).JPG" width="436" /></a></div>
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Exploding. For real.</div>
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-81155659327993902502012-10-09T21:29:00.001-07:002012-10-10T10:24:11.999-07:00A Tale of Two Catalogs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Today I received two holiday catalogs in the mail.</div>
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Pottery Barn and <a href="http://donate.worldvision.org/OA_HTML/xxwv2ibeCCtpSctDspRte.jsp?go=gift&xxwvCampaign=1136161&section=10389" target="_blank">World Vision</a>.</div>
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The pottery barn catalog made me feel holiday-ish and nostalgic, and instilled in me a huge urge to own a large platter in the shape of a turkey. No seriously. I'm pretty sure that's what the pilgrims served the Indians (er- Native Americans) dinner with, right? The pictures are pretty and shiny and happy and make me feel like I need to have pretty and shiny things to be happy. And there is nothing wrong with owning pretty and shiny things. They do make me happy.</div>
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The World Vision catalog made me cry. Actual tears. Legit tears.</div>
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(Has anyone seen my hormones?)</div>
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It's not a sad catalog with pictures of starving kids. To the contrary actually. The photographs show happy people. People who are holding animals and supplies that were bought by strangers in other, wealthier countries who realized that it's not all about shiny and pretty. And I guess that's what makes me cry. The loveliness of it all.</div>
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Last year I bought a couple goats for someone through World Vision. And before you get any thoughts like, "Oh that Jana is <em>SO</em> benevolent and awesome to the max!" you should know that I paid for it with a Visa gift card that I got from AT&T U-Verse for signing up for television service. So no, it wasn't all that benevolent and awesome. I didn't even really earn the money. </div>
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But it felt <em>really</em> good to spend that money on World Vision. I did it in Wes' name and they sent a little thank you card to him. I cut out the picture in the catalog and put it with the thank you and stuck it in his baby book (which let's face it- has nothing written in it yet).</div>
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Tomorrow I'm going to look at the World Vision catalog with him and try to teach him animal noises. Which is probably pointless because I don't know what kind of noises alpacas make and whenever I ask Wes what ANY animal says he responds with "ROOOOAAAARRR!"</div>
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So I guess I have choices this Christmas. Buy a ceramic turkey? Or buy a real bird. </div>
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Keep the catalogs coming World Vision. You've got a lot of competition out there.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisr4kryXW_f8SuURtAss9xItAs7tvBfglWGX6vaOmCeNTcxreTn-4fYsKIsHa27LWBo9ftHXzAEAlrognJs24a_TTT-VnF7G0uoO8n9kl7UppJJljyQ9YCjy5xoA__UIOiDUFf7mmLOhIv/s640/blogger-image-1334259267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisr4kryXW_f8SuURtAss9xItAs7tvBfglWGX6vaOmCeNTcxreTn-4fYsKIsHa27LWBo9ftHXzAEAlrognJs24a_TTT-VnF7G0uoO8n9kl7UppJJljyQ9YCjy5xoA__UIOiDUFf7mmLOhIv/s640/blogger-image-1334259267.jpg" /></a></div>
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To hook those in need up with proper goods, visit <a href="http://www.worldvisiongifts.org/">www.worldvisiongifts.org</a>.</div>
Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-70255856767307275372012-10-08T18:48:00.000-07:002012-10-08T18:48:24.046-07:00TV and Assaulting Satan<div style="text-align: center;">
Today Wes watched a lot of TV. Well, I can't be sure how much of it he actually paid attention to, but the electronic babysitter was on more than I want to admit. But I will say that we saw puppets cruising around New York, science kids, dinosaurs, trains, worlds made of words... you get it. </div>
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PBS extravaganza. </div>
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I was laying on the carpet by Wes and I started to feel bad.</div>
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Like maybe I wasn't a good mom.</div>
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I know why we call Satan the <em>Enemy</em>. He creeps in and fills me with self doubt. <br />
I don't appreciate it. </div>
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So I sat there and started to think about the Truth.</div>
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Wes has a clean diaper. His tummy is full. His favorite snuggle is laying nearby. We just read three books. I let him dump his blocks all over the floor (the ones with sharp pointy edges that scurry under my feet when I walk causing me to say not nice things at them). Our house is warm and safe. I have already given him oodles of kisses for the day. Later I am going to take him on a walk by the Waterway and to Frost Cupcakes for a treat. </div>
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And after I catalogued all the good things Wes had going on at that moment and for the day, I didn't feel so bad about myself. Or the TV. </div>
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And I felt like I had slamma-jamma'd the Enemy right in the kisser. All Batman style. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ka-POW!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMadKdc47fYKPIsyz7IwMOU7ZpIIW0ds6XJtau90wpv26XMWX0KgDpT7uV4fBGohyphenhyphenvCLAZ17JBtl8XuzLF6rFrhCicW26BB6qo6HizAA2DlGoTk4kWGUoXjfKtTfF_j7-TAhf5dLEbsa3/s640/blogger-image-1978570627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMadKdc47fYKPIsyz7IwMOU7ZpIIW0ds6XJtau90wpv26XMWX0KgDpT7uV4fBGohyphenhyphenvCLAZ17JBtl8XuzLF6rFrhCicW26BB6qo6HizAA2DlGoTk4kWGUoXjfKtTfF_j7-TAhf5dLEbsa3/s640/blogger-image-1978570627.jpg" /></a></div>
Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-82029610451740473682012-10-07T21:34:00.001-07:002012-10-08T18:56:43.805-07:00Round Top Ain't For Sissies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
On Friday I had the pleasure of going to the place where people of all ages </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(okay, middle aged-women and gay men primarily)</span> </div>
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go to find priceless artifacts</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(in reality quasi-desirable junk of all shapes and sizes)</span> </div>
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for low prices:</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(not low enough)</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">ROUND TOP.</span></div>
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If you are unfamiliar with what it is, it's basically a bi-annual antique/junk extravaganza held in various barns and fields along a country road in and around a tiny, barely on a map town named Round Top. Vendors come from all states to hock their goods, and I use that term loosely. We saw everything from velvet paintings, to old saddles, to salvaged industrial lighting to row boats to stuffed armadillos (I only saw one this year, so make that singular). </div>
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This time, I was joined by my lovely and talented interior designer pal Kate Duckworth of <a href="http://maisonmarket.com/" target="_blank">Maison Market</a>. We left the babies with those deemed responsible (husbands) and headed out into the wild blue yonder (wait- is that the sky?) in her big ol' Texas truck. After making a pit-stop for donuts of course.</div>
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It was a lot of fun until we ran out of money, and that happened too quick. I didn't take "artsy" pictures because I didn't want to haul around my ginormous camera, but here are a couple shots with the iPhone. If you like anything -no seriously- ANYTHING, then you should go to Round Top this spring. Because I guarantee that you will find it. </div>
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With sequins. </div>
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And rust.</div>
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Sitting next to a statue of the Virgin Mary made out of bottle caps.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YybBY6kYqLhPNNZ9bv3991NLlRjKERpyoh8aBIZMgYWn_7Vest28KU6-eBK4syYAeBzqkC_3o0DFkhKEZPmDNBMtDqKB19kCcNOqP6vq9Dl-Q-lnTlsQo6tkwQ7ZMF6jV0ZGFp2rUvdx/s640/blogger-image--441419722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YybBY6kYqLhPNNZ9bv3991NLlRjKERpyoh8aBIZMgYWn_7Vest28KU6-eBK4syYAeBzqkC_3o0DFkhKEZPmDNBMtDqKB19kCcNOqP6vq9Dl-Q-lnTlsQo6tkwQ7ZMF6jV0ZGFp2rUvdx/s640/blogger-image--441419722.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilau72PYn7cOxrCwi-9VQS4lMl9gNqGkBegHFBBR5gqLmBtWvadDOcZWicjorNsMqK-aLRHkM4g3GKOwa4wM5QjrnuwCYAdkC1LNGJXS80j9Ng6b_PyqH4fQunU5ndi3NQvSZVnvfYVlET/s640/blogger-image-215574677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilau72PYn7cOxrCwi-9VQS4lMl9gNqGkBegHFBBR5gqLmBtWvadDOcZWicjorNsMqK-aLRHkM4g3GKOwa4wM5QjrnuwCYAdkC1LNGJXS80j9Ng6b_PyqH4fQunU5ndi3NQvSZVnvfYVlET/s640/blogger-image-215574677.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YmJtGH5SAbtR1gmBTp-UYnS0_o_1HNXI56APXvdnyHuIVcVpoPDSEjXWI5CJD7UJYqhUaQ0cS2MUBhzemVMRRJdQAhMLLN9RjGIpDsOvHOyNeR9QrctqW4O8m5Ns7QJKsid5U4kKv4p8/s640/blogger-image-334950700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YmJtGH5SAbtR1gmBTp-UYnS0_o_1HNXI56APXvdnyHuIVcVpoPDSEjXWI5CJD7UJYqhUaQ0cS2MUBhzemVMRRJdQAhMLLN9RjGIpDsOvHOyNeR9QrctqW4O8m5Ns7QJKsid5U4kKv4p8/s640/blogger-image-334950700.jpg" /></a></div>
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In the end, here's how I did.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bought:</span></div>
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Eames era fiberglass shell chair $20</div>
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white metal stool $20</div>
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vintage oil painting of two dudes in the wilderness: $40 (ouch)</div>
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two red buckets $10</div>
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delicious chopped BBQ beef sammy $7.00</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Almost Bought and Didn't and Kind Of Regretting:</span></div>
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Catalina Island and Long Beach pennants</div>
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additional Eames chair in white</div>
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ten inch industrial wooden spools </div>
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metal marquee letters</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Glad I Didn't Buy:</span></div>
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stuffed armadillo </div>
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stuffed crocodile</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Injuries:</span></div>
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three fire ant bites</div>
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blisters from stiff unworn low top Converse</div>
Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-91767681896073801182012-10-04T10:53:00.000-07:002012-10-04T10:53:48.756-07:00Garden Ridge Opened/There Goes My BudgetAt some point last year, I sent up a little prayer asking God to help me be a better steward of my money. He listened, and shorty thereafter <a href="http://www.gardenridge.com/default.aspx" target="_blank">Garden Ridge </a>went up in flames. <br />
<br />
Temple of holiday decor, flameless candles, glass jars, cheap art, fake plants, pottery, an entire "Seen on TV!" section, obscure and random packaged foods from abroad, tiny little chotchkies. POOF! Up in smoke.<br />
<br />
Apparently it was arson, but I'm not claiming any part of that. It happened while I was at <a href="http://www.chuys.com/" target="_blank">Chuy's</a> eating delicious enchiladas with that addictive tomatillo sauce. I saw the smoke, and hoped that it was nearby WalMart on fire and not Garden Ridge, because let's face it, this is Texas and there's a WalMart at every highway exit. But the nearest Garden Ridge is not near enough for me to even know where it is.<br />
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But hold on friends (insert trumpet fanfare here). Garden Ridge has re-opened! Wooooo!<br />
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I went the other night to check it out, and other than their decision to skip fall decor and go straight to Christmas, I was not disappointed.<br />
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Hello, nineteen aisles of cheap plastic Christmas bulbs! Good to see you, entire wall of doormats! I nodded to the eight rows of lamps and shades as I walked down to the reproduction vintage furniture quadrant. Greetings, fake factory cart coffee table! It was great. They even had a whole section of hospital scrubs, which has never made sense to me. But they were there, animal print and all!<br />
<br />
And just before I left empty handed, (this was reconnaissance only) I spotted the one item that really epitomizes (1) Garden Ridge, and (2) Texas, the ten foot tall inflatable patriotic Marine Santa.<br />
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Welcome back Santa, and Semper Fi.<br />
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-19968350233240506522012-10-01T12:57:00.001-07:002012-10-04T10:55:32.825-07:00Antiques, The Zoo, and a Little Upchuck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Friday was a bit of a bust. Kent actually agreed to go to Round Top (antiques galore, junk heaven, Kentie torture chamber of unhappiness) and we decided to make a day of it with Dub. We woke up early (7:30, egad!), packed a lunch, loaded the car up with tie-downs, moving blankets, our hiking backpack for baby, and set off like a herd of turtles.</div>
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We made it about half way there (45 minutes) and suddenly Wes puked ALL OVER himself. Carsick? Mostly milk and toast. MILQUETOAST! It was nasty, nasty, nasty. Of course, I didn't have a change of clothes for him other than some too-small cozy pants that were somewhat dirty and just happened to be in the car. Mother of the Year Award, coming soon!</div>
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We realized that Round Top was not going to happen and that we needed to go back... to the zoo? Yes, to the zoo apparently, because we popped into our house for clothes and then drove 45 minutes to the Houston Zoo which was a flaming inferno of heat and ended up being kinda miserable. We did enjoy watching Wes crawl through a tube under the Piranha tank though. Good times. </div>
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Later, we returned to a hot car that had been baking a puke-covered carseat for 4 hours, so that was fun. </div>
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Saturday felt bad for what his friend Friday had done to me, and so Saturday gave me some rain to make it all better. And it did.</div>
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-77771672055322649742012-09-27T20:25:00.001-07:002012-10-01T13:01:35.231-07:00Painting With A Twist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Tonight I celebrated my friend Kate's birthday at Painting With A Twist. For those of you who don't know, it's a short "lesson" in which you basically copy an artist's masterpiece (and I'm using that term loosely). Fortunately, we were not forced to paint some lame margarita glass scene (they had several!) or something even cheesier- a smiling sea nymph (they had those too). If you've gotta paint something, , the Eiffel Tower isn't so bad.</div>
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-23143360842270304702012-09-26T16:33:00.002-07:002012-09-26T16:37:33.914-07:00New 'Do<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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Wes' hair was getting a little hippie-ish, and I haven't taken him to the kids' salon in the mall because I'm afraid they'll make him look like a dork. They sent out a promotion to our house with a picture of a boy with a haircut, and he looked like he walked out of 1991. It as awful. But I decided to finally bite the bullet and give it the old college try. Now I'm not about to go apply at Fantastic Sam's, but I have to admit hat it turned out...decent! Special shout out to those who make it possible: Sesame Street, NutriGrain Bars (bribe) and my Fiskars sewing scissors. </div>
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Later this afternoon, Wes discovered his shadow for the first time. Now how cute is that?</div>
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-50827178409917012722012-09-25T18:49:00.002-07:002012-10-04T10:55:05.293-07:00Day Trip to AggielandMy friend Sally lives about an hour and fifteen minutes away in College Station, which is home to Texas A&M. You can always spot an Aggie (that's what they call themselves) because graduates wear huge gold rings that look like cage fighting rings. And then you see a 115 lb. woman wearing one and you realize that it <em>must</em> be an Aggie ring because surely she could not win in the octagon.<br />
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Side note with relevant past and present info: Sally's mom (Christy) was/is BFF's with my mom (Kathy) from way back when they were growing up in Southern California. Sally and I happened to move to Texas at the same time, but she's only here temporarily until her smartypants husband finishes his PhD from A&M, which is likely to occur soon. Then they are high-tailing it back to Southern California because they're normal humans and who wouldn't want to return to the coast? (me)<br />
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Okay, back to the present day. The drive to Sally's is "rural" for my standards and since Wes was asleep in the backseat I had to be quiet (read: no celly conversations) and this gave me time to observe things as I drove. So allow me to present a list of things I learned along the way.<br />
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Morrissey's Greatest Hits is only fun to listen to for about half an hour, then it's just sad noise. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">When armadillos get hit by a car, they bust open and leak a watery substance. (Don't worry, I didn't hit one. I just observed like, 10 of them dead on the shoulder.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">The gas station on 149 and 105 offers the following: check cashing, tacos, minnows and worms. (see photo) </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">If a big truck comes up behind you to tailgate, and in your rear-view mirror you can see that he has a large decal across his windshield that says "COUNTRY BOY" and he is also sporting a rather large CB radio antenna, slow down and let him pass. Because Bubba will ride your butt until you do.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can buy a big round bail of hay for $48.00.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you're about to drive for over an hour, and you know your child is going to be sleeping in the car, therefore preventing you from being able to stop and pee, DON'T drink 3 pints of sweet tea before you leave. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you don't follow lesson #6, and you must pee via bush squat, wear something that blends with nature, because no amount of foliage can camouflage an atomic red blouse. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's legal to drive a truck with say, 10 day laborers in the bed of the truck. (see photo)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you want to pretend you're Anne of Green Gables, go to Old Town Montgomery with other kindred spirits. (Look at the houses below. Is that Marilla looking out the window?!?!)</span></li>
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Spending time with Sally, her son Dean (Almost one! Big dude!) and her visiting momma Christy was refreshing, and worth the drive, as usual. <br />
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-27540231970323212442012-09-24T11:50:00.000-07:002012-09-24T11:50:23.147-07:00Sporty InfluenceI was one of those annoying but typical kids that wanted to take lessons in all sorts of things, but never longer than two weeks or so. It would only take that long for me to realize that it takes hard work to be good at __________ (fill in the blank) and that you can't just show up and be great at a whole lot after just one lesson unless you're _________ (fill in the blank with name of someone you know who's annoyingly awesome at everything instantly). <br />
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Because of my quitting habit, my mom stopped buying me outfits and/or equipment for every kind of lesson I took, and instead resorted to borrowing or thrifting. So I was the girl at ballet class in a poo-brown leotard with a pee-yellow tutu and a cornflower blue ribbon in my hair to tie the "look" together. Smart on her part though, because I'm pretty sure I quit ballet after a month or so, and moved on to the slightly less mainstream "sport" of baton twirling. <br />
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You heard me. Baton.<br />
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Why the baton you ask? My mom had been a twirler back in her 1960's glory days and I think she may have influenced this decision. For some reason the local news came to do a story on our class on Saturday. That night, we excitedly sat down in front of the TV and waited to see if I had any camera time. Not only was I in a shot but it was a close-up of me in the pee-yellow leotard being scolded for chewing gum. The shot followed me off to the left and zoomed in as I tossed the gum in a trashcan. We used to have this whole thing on tape but later my older brother Jeff taped over it with episodes of Beavis and Butthead. <br />
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During late elementary and junior high I took figure skating lessons. I must have done so for several years because my parents did invest in some shiny white Riedell ice skates and one neon costume with a skirt. I liked figure skating, but I never seemed to get very good at it, and you can only skate in circles for so long before you get bored and try to do a triple lutz triple loop (yes, that's a real move) and fall and get hurt and then everyone is laughing at you, especially the younger girls who are better and have cooler costumes with matching skate covers. Brian Boitano trained at my rink and accidentally slammed into me one time and sent me sliding face first toward the door where they keep the Zamboni. Thanks a lot, Brian Boitano. Figure skating wasn't my thing. <br />
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Then came soccer. <br />
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In 9th grade I sold my ice skates, bought some cheap plastic cleats, and enrolled for club soccer. This turned out to be a great decision. I could run and be wild, kick stuff, slide tackle (beware the red card!), fall down, get dirty, and hopefully, get GOOD at it. And in some ways, I did. I went on to play a little in college and then recreationally until a few years ago. I married another soccer player, Kent, who had played from early childhood through college as well, and was way better than I ever was. <br />
We kick a ball around every now and then. We watch the World Cup. We still like soccer more than other sports. We're soccer fans (but not like the crazy Europeans).<br />
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Poor Wes. If he wants to try baseball and football or something even scarier to dad- dance or gymnastics, he'll have to deal with hand-me-down gear. But I think if he comes to us and in his little voice says "I want to play soccer", dad will drop what he's doing and zip over to Sports Authority for some kangaroo leather Adidas Copa Mundial cleats and a UEFA Euro Official Matchball. And that's not cheap, friends. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kentie a la 1984</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuImTbGbwAKv1M58PXHmxRiGN7IK4EnJDHP76aU_eyRZKDPPYGygpTECsLYbpV8E5R_cqUaF5VGnYkZqzeLcUz8sSg0WK2go6xJ0cH3RP12FD0Rs72BvR8KQNrUmA9cpw7yWLnl7FsMRN/s640/blogger-image--1275124769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuImTbGbwAKv1M58PXHmxRiGN7IK4EnJDHP76aU_eyRZKDPPYGygpTECsLYbpV8E5R_cqUaF5VGnYkZqzeLcUz8sSg0WK2go6xJ0cH3RP12FD0Rs72BvR8KQNrUmA9cpw7yWLnl7FsMRN/s640/blogger-image--1275124769.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">College Glory Days</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWqWdR3FWqjOJLFpw7deZmJgdf6I2BCgQwVTy_1joz26Jvkqh5NTxW56DCCEJ6P8ffnxtw3q21id6nDUqfGzRif6RsIw6vT4bt_zOFt6B1C-2e0b5uVvwOnPVcpr8ZzYcsC6N08trCR0_/s640/blogger-image--991679238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWqWdR3FWqjOJLFpw7deZmJgdf6I2BCgQwVTy_1joz26Jvkqh5NTxW56DCCEJ6P8ffnxtw3q21id6nDUqfGzRif6RsIw6vT4bt_zOFt6B1C-2e0b5uVvwOnPVcpr8ZzYcsC6N08trCR0_/s640/blogger-image--991679238.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wes doesn't quite get the whole kicking part yet. </td></tr>
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-24502641646329874202012-09-20T13:06:00.001-07:002012-10-04T10:54:47.343-07:00Walk Through The 'BurbsToday at Bible study there was a bit of an "open mic" for women to express any praises they had from the week. If I hadn't been totally intimidated by some women's tales of God's amazing answer to prayer, then I would have gotten up and praised Him for sending some cooler weather our way. And y'all, this is Houston, so cooler weather just means under 90° and NOT crazy humid. (And Lord, while you're at it could you destroy every living mosquito? M-kay, thanks!) Seriously, I totally understand why people in the Pacific Northwest get all depressed, because even though we get more than our fair share of sunshine, it's so miserably hot that we can't go outside much, and half of my girlfriends have vitamin D deficiency. (okay, I know of one) <br />
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Moving on. I harnessed up the dogs and took my brood of dependents on a long walk in the neighborhood. It was so good for my soul! Even George was happy to pee on every vertical surface over 4 inches high. Hey, he had months of leg-hiking saved up! <br />
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But y'all... How great is fall? I'm totally going to enjoy it when it arrives in three more months.<br />
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-15536344588688388652012-09-18T10:16:00.000-07:002012-09-18T10:16:42.190-07:00Hürdy Gürdy Down to IkeaTo me, Ikea is sort of the amusement park of stores. It's just a fun place to hang out if you're like us and have kids and it's flaming hot outside and you just can't stomach one more trip to the Germ Tree. I mean there's housewares, food (oh, the Swedish meatballs, how I love you and your price point), play areas for kids, and arrows to keep you on track (unless your husband tries to skip places like the office area by cutting through the bookshelf section). But Ikea is not close, so we can't go to just buy one item. No, we have to wait until we have a whole list of things, and that list usually looks like this:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Ürgtorp</li>
<li>Liken</li>
<li>Schmupple</li>
<li>Gröten</li>
<li>Flärdengärten</li>
</ul>
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Am I right? The names are hilariously foreign a la Swedish Chef from Sesame Street. But once we have a few things we mosey on down there for some family shopping fun. So first we stopped at Rudy's BBQ and then headed down in the rain. Here's a few pictures from our outing.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess this does not apply to Wes?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8mf8v-Ix8Y6bgCcrNlWhZnI8dEcWaHp5wZaa20L0EGVv3mV4uS2oVE4hmqI91xqYSLGO2tpal2rbI5g2r3_BbXCu4rnL7whJzBaWCOcV5b2jr1KTlabwYvI3wKyvqIRn1-MurCII4ynW4/s640/blogger-image--1229812707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8mf8v-Ix8Y6bgCcrNlWhZnI8dEcWaHp5wZaa20L0EGVv3mV4uS2oVE4hmqI91xqYSLGO2tpal2rbI5g2r3_BbXCu4rnL7whJzBaWCOcV5b2jr1KTlabwYvI3wKyvqIRn1-MurCII4ynW4/s640/blogger-image--1229812707.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wes found the one room with a working TV and cartoons. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2v_AOPSmQR14dVcA3VkBOgyAmJHxZGKy6RbxdToNAQPtdo14VDE7N4nuagrZmZ9_GrBDLxXfutjZr3VOJPchferKsz2-l1Yr6Z7_A4wljZTwXm_cEgV9CtyHdwjuIX1YnLxNOGCPppYE-/s640/blogger-image--342696199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2v_AOPSmQR14dVcA3VkBOgyAmJHxZGKy6RbxdToNAQPtdo14VDE7N4nuagrZmZ9_GrBDLxXfutjZr3VOJPchferKsz2-l1Yr6Z7_A4wljZTwXm_cEgV9CtyHdwjuIX1YnLxNOGCPppYE-/s640/blogger-image--342696199.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remind me never to forget to bring diapers to Ikea. Cha-Ching!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsNnJiDC8AsyTnQDDHrbOHPSTL-4knzN8hyphenhyphen33NmSXFLvwaq8dh4mj0Yzw8Xbyuq-xvcWBCI6fT5l5W_ACaiSTnJm02bFE3dNIZHpntu6MlmCw3RCPAldSzZC6p-LnbZWaURAExyq0VyXM/s640/blogger-image-830704595.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsNnJiDC8AsyTnQDDHrbOHPSTL-4knzN8hyphenhyphen33NmSXFLvwaq8dh4mj0Yzw8Xbyuq-xvcWBCI6fT5l5W_ACaiSTnJm02bFE3dNIZHpntu6MlmCw3RCPAldSzZC6p-LnbZWaURAExyq0VyXM/s640/blogger-image-830704595.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing cubbies in Ektorp. yay!</td></tr>
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-42792206923579425802012-09-14T10:58:00.001-07:002012-09-14T10:59:35.330-07:00Here We Go Again, Again.I'm quickly tiring of Facebook. Yes, it's a great way to share photos of Wes with the fam out on the west coast, but it seems like every time I log on my newsfeed consists of (1) horrible duckface pictures, (2) college football rants, (3) lame motivational quotes, and (4) pictures of food. Not that I'm totally innocent. I'm sure my FB friends in Alaska have no interest in my call to local women to attend bible study (which I'm helping to facilitate- YIKES!)So I'm going to try and update the blog instead, though we both know that my mom (yes, you mom) is the only reader. And I'm okay with that, because I can never decide if blogging is narcissistic or not. Yeesh, who knows. <br />
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And so, here we go. Let's start this thing off right, with a picture of the world's cutest 17.5 month old.<br />
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Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-502475935590760692011-10-20T19:41:00.001-07:002012-10-04T10:56:08.959-07:00And a Baby Makes Three.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-E-DuC3y9THzU6YxQXh8QzinH1Ne3584qTFBEVExqYO1Ba6Eope7bpuIsfS-3WAg-AxlkV7_-OoeEutbreUAKbQxLEE4q__kaoU2Ol5cqbBvRcrJfquI9AlPhJtOVoP2Yd3Uf7O4UTeJq/s1600/IMG_9330.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665772428916155426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-E-DuC3y9THzU6YxQXh8QzinH1Ne3584qTFBEVExqYO1Ba6Eope7bpuIsfS-3WAg-AxlkV7_-OoeEutbreUAKbQxLEE4q__kaoU2Ol5cqbBvRcrJfquI9AlPhJtOVoP2Yd3Uf7O4UTeJq/s400/IMG_9330.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 267px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
In August of last year I sat in front of a high-profile fertility doctor while he told me that I had about a 4% chance of conceiving a baby. Apparently he was wrong, because unbeknownst to me, I was already in the family way and cooking up a bambino. Fast forward to March of the following spring, and I managed to deliver Wesley Aaron Anderson into the world. So here we are, now with a 6 month-old and a foggy memory of a skeptical doctor.Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-19472384008720584202010-04-13T15:13:00.000-07:002010-04-13T15:15:54.613-07:00Estate Sale EtiquetteOne thing I certainly miss about living in Southern California is the totally awesome estate sale scene. Kent and I used to get the paper on Saturday morning, grab a map, and head out in search of musty old books, bark cloth curtains, Depression glass, vintage tools, and whatever other jackpot was waiting for us. Long Beach was the best, because the neighborhoods are old. The older the house, and the more overgrown the junipers were, the better the goods inside. The Woodlands is roughly a 40 year-old town, and estate sales are not even allowed, which means that our pastime has been significantly reduced since moving here. <br /><br />There is of course the sad truth behind these Saturday outings: it means that someone has recently died. <br /><br />Usually, the family outsources the running of the estate sale to another company. Personal items are removed from the home, giving it more of a garage sale kind of feel. There are however exceptions. Last Saturday Kent and I went to one, and in the bathroom were unopened packages of Depends adult diapers for sale. Not far from that were semi-used bottles of shampoo and conditioner with price tags on them. A week ago some nice granny was shampooing her hair, and this week strangers are brushing them aside to find better stuff. <br /><br />So here are my thoughts on how to give your relatives dignity whilst selling off their life’s possessions:<br />1) Take personal pictures out of the frames before selling them. Nothing is sadder than seeing a nice old lady’s 1940’s glamour shot that she took for her man during the war, tossed into a bucket with a $1.00 sticker stuck on it. <br />2) Remove toothbrushes, hairbrushes, beauty products, and leftover toiletries from the bathroom. Please do not resale adult diapers!<br />3) Only sell vintage/desirable clothing. Kent and I went to an estate sale where all of a man’s clothing was in his closet, right down to his belts and ties on a peg rack. There were new flannel pajamas hanging up that his poor grandchildren had probably given him for Christmas. Way too personal! Sell old Jackie O coats, 1950’s prom dresses, fox furs, etc., but leave granny’s mu-mu collection out. <br />4) Never sell wedding albums. Sad, sad, sad. Nobody wants it? Well strangers don’t either. <br />5) If you sell military uniforms, take the medals and dog tags off. I bought a WWII men’s army uniform, complete with pilot’s cap and wool overcoat, and when I got it home, I found his dog tags and medals in the pocket. I can’t believe that nobody in his family wanted those! (I Googled the guy, and he had been a big-wig animator at Disney, and had been chief animator for several Disney movies.) <br />6) Clean the place first. I have been to more than one estate sale where there was cat poop and rat dropping in the bedrooms. Gross. I know the cat urine smell is hard to mask, but please try.<br /><br />Anyway, just a thought.Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-18719766591311095392010-01-25T15:06:00.000-08:002010-01-25T15:32:09.585-08:00Be Careful What You Register ForAs of late, I have felt slightly in Limbo. I’m not getting pregnant. I’m not getting busier with work (praise God). I’m just floating along waiting for the next phase of life to start. <br />To occupy my mind, I decided to take a college course at Lonestar. Initially I had settled on taking a photography class, but it was two days a week in the middle of the afternoon. If the class is during a bad time, I can see myself missing a lot. So I decided to take a Creative Writing course on Thursday nights. <br />I am still deciding if it was a bad idea.<br />Unbeknownst to me, this is a fiction writing class. Oops. I have no interest in making stuff up. I am a NON fiction kind of gal. Truth!<br />Let me share with you why I am not sure this is my cup of tea. Here was an actual interaction on the first night…<br /><br />Female student (sort of trashy looking, lots of cleavage and maybe 20 years old)<br />Male student (20-something, round, pink faced, red lipped, greasy, towhead)<br />SCENE:<br />Female: So right now I am really into Steampunk novels and Space Opera.<br />Male: Excellent choice, milady.<br />Female: Thank you good sir.<br /><br />Wow. What have I gotten myself in to???Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-25576420726054810172010-01-14T12:27:00.000-08:002010-01-14T12:42:24.176-08:00Hating on HaitiWhat are they teaching kids in high school these days? Or should I say <em>not</em> teaching them? Last night I went to church to lead my 9th grade girls Bible study, and when I suggested that we spend some time in prayer for the people of Haiti, they all looked at me with blank expressions.<br /> “Why? What’s in Haiti?” asked one.<br /> “You didn’t hear about the horrible earthquake that has destroyed the capitol city and possible killed thousands of people?” I replied.<br /> “Um, no. I don’t really watch the news.”<br /> “Right.”<br />Seriously? I work at an elementary school and even we talked about it. <br />I can’t be too hard on them though. Something bad happened when I was in 9th grade and I didn’t even learn about it until college. Remember what was happening in Rwanda in 1994? Half a million people murdered in ethnic genocide? I was too busy thinking about boys (Jake Spence), music (Weezer) and sports (soccer) to pay mind to another part of the world. <br />So to make up for it I now spend hours glued to the TV watching CNN’s live coverage as the Silver Fox Anderson Cooper roams around the streets of Port au Prince looking for survivors. <br />The most horrific thing I saw was not scenes from Haiti at all, but a clip of Pat Robertson saying that the earthquake happened because 200 years ago the Haitians had made a pact with the Devil. <br />Click.<br />I couldn’t stomach any more.Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-8826607279620166992010-01-12T14:39:00.000-08:002010-01-14T12:46:21.332-08:00CreeptasticToday I attended a training on how to restrain students when they are having meltdowns and trying to hurt themselves or others (mainly me). The training was at an old school nearby, that is now only used for stuff like this. <br /><br />In the classroom I was in, this sign caught my eye:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIs5FizrkWXXu-xKNis2E71MNjI1FnTu4ai7QiC9xYEsFyZlkUhIW4T1WhPU-yx4JUZCjUa2e5951TWXpfrYRyjxExvFcj6wBjUeHmQXsWOQmJJBytXOKGJoMTlt6YOvOC4g3J53MrVk6/s1600-h/dummy+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIs5FizrkWXXu-xKNis2E71MNjI1FnTu4ai7QiC9xYEsFyZlkUhIW4T1WhPU-yx4JUZCjUa2e5951TWXpfrYRyjxExvFcj6wBjUeHmQXsWOQmJJBytXOKGJoMTlt6YOvOC4g3J53MrVk6/s400/dummy+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425987415597654658" /></a><br /><br />Loud screams. Hair standing on end. Freak Out.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDRetRxFbSXr0zyd9IF6tMT2QtoOck2aA-ZM3VOsOtoJ2QvPRkqsd9ufKaTq5EHovIVeCI0OoxOo2Ci3U026gQbOkrgtCCirNgmpi-YqZf_WkTr3Y66J3JQQrHNi7zk4_B2bLqSdqqT4G/s1600-h/dummy+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDRetRxFbSXr0zyd9IF6tMT2QtoOck2aA-ZM3VOsOtoJ2QvPRkqsd9ufKaTq5EHovIVeCI0OoxOo2Ci3U026gQbOkrgtCCirNgmpi-YqZf_WkTr3Y66J3JQQrHNi7zk4_B2bLqSdqqT4G/s400/dummy+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425987948863308210" /></a><br /><br />It was staring at me right in the face. I was expecting a beige foam body shape, not friggin' Bride of Chucky. It was awful!Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8296027058082419811.post-24440277560115834572010-01-03T13:57:00.000-08:002010-01-03T14:10:03.609-08:00Christmas 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZvHLqFxMbII3x6c4JdnWAW-cKT7KB9n2hj3IJiBsDP_wqSG9pm8a1olqu8pSb-kSuAl8Pi1Y6N0d5LgXT48qEbfzGt6sFjzpQVxYsVWZOOA-KfGuK4bW79_5R9MDBslTYD5BgR8fF1HQ/s1600-h/DSC_0141.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZvHLqFxMbII3x6c4JdnWAW-cKT7KB9n2hj3IJiBsDP_wqSG9pm8a1olqu8pSb-kSuAl8Pi1Y6N0d5LgXT48qEbfzGt6sFjzpQVxYsVWZOOA-KfGuK4bW79_5R9MDBslTYD5BgR8fF1HQ/s400/DSC_0141.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422638224832015954" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7o9XgwiwQpeFYQTn4FsfAWbuC1F6ZpLZCdrHLEVDoZFAE1AzMdEztNKbB08Ln_qXsvpbA0o2MVc28JTBkeBivrM0lsIh_UHAM82_5uLiUENPEFdebJHyZuyCDNiCZlLicvMGO9RB8MB9/s1600-h/DSC_0132.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7o9XgwiwQpeFYQTn4FsfAWbuC1F6ZpLZCdrHLEVDoZFAE1AzMdEztNKbB08Ln_qXsvpbA0o2MVc28JTBkeBivrM0lsIh_UHAM82_5uLiUENPEFdebJHyZuyCDNiCZlLicvMGO9RB8MB9/s400/DSC_0132.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422638215599126690" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4uDbgCWCup3KDYcLCxpk7CWSCYdWXjw8ziBV5-9PkuBWj2CXjHvhxJRUsnQq3CiOzhU0k7G18RoJ05YeDkXTCUvXpufE9W36H8s1aY66hSx_pDJkw4Y3iVdqlXf5odNi6b094pDZiFlef/s1600-h/DSC_0085.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4uDbgCWCup3KDYcLCxpk7CWSCYdWXjw8ziBV5-9PkuBWj2CXjHvhxJRUsnQq3CiOzhU0k7G18RoJ05YeDkXTCUvXpufE9W36H8s1aY66hSx_pDJkw4Y3iVdqlXf5odNi6b094pDZiFlef/s400/DSC_0085.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422638213953035634" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHkkOYNbxB6ltOx3MB8LEUrshmGrf1YlWXnCMFAen0sXHHfUseR0HL0Cm_1dA0zSVoQmbOmrcbK-o5g0EutfAqkecI29l5NECaBj_LwCBolUGE6zEm-A7Vfn9IXWOpiV8tYgHFFplmnbvg/s1600-h/DSC_0098.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHkkOYNbxB6ltOx3MB8LEUrshmGrf1YlWXnCMFAen0sXHHfUseR0HL0Cm_1dA0zSVoQmbOmrcbK-o5g0EutfAqkecI29l5NECaBj_LwCBolUGE6zEm-A7Vfn9IXWOpiV8tYgHFFplmnbvg/s400/DSC_0098.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422638204435745170" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAmQsQJiHzMdlmca7eSKhimgLN1FS4t8QO8FyJKpXc9k1jQYQvMM1drT-UtNZmFOStYlgkBAPGOtRU7tT1SYtPkhJgA3LlwLzg_58t03liKRozeA-PKUjBcj-U4lSBUVreIjlpAO0j8cI/s1600-h/DSC_0074.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAmQsQJiHzMdlmca7eSKhimgLN1FS4t8QO8FyJKpXc9k1jQYQvMM1drT-UtNZmFOStYlgkBAPGOtRU7tT1SYtPkhJgA3LlwLzg_58t03liKRozeA-PKUjBcj-U4lSBUVreIjlpAO0j8cI/s400/DSC_0074.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422638195098392578" /></a>Jana Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13683864330122879483noreply@blogger.com0