tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55979302311840186472024-03-12T21:01:18.689-07:00All Because I Said "Yes"musings about family life, the world we live in, and life in generalEmiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.comBlogger650125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-31101348331924304562016-04-02T16:54:00.000-07:002016-04-02T16:54:12.054-07:00Gym Time!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I LOVE going to the gym! When my kids were small, it was due in very large part to getting a little kid-free time. But now with all my kids in school all day, that is no longer a motivation. I've always really liked knowing that my body was strong and capable. And since I climb far fewer trees these days than I once did, a gym is the easiest way to accomplish that. I've seen how quickly a body can betray, and so while mine is still working well, I intend to work it!<br />
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A few months ago, I let my membership at a local rec center lapse. It's the gym I've used for years, but it was no longer meeting my needs. I intended to just focus on my half marathon training on the roads and trails and combine that with push-ups and other things I could do here at home.<br />
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But then a swanky new gym opened in the downtown of my cute and adorable little town. It took over the old hardware store and is that perfect combination of raw old brick walls, distressed but gleaming old wood floor, and lots of dark metal. It's opening happened to coincide with my decision to get back into weight lifting again. (I don't think I've really focused on lifting since before I had my daughter. She's six now.)<br />
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I love my swanky new gym! It's a 24 hour facility and doesn't always have staff there, so the other day I used my key card to get in only to discover the whole building dark and empty! This, btw, is one of my definitions of heaven. A whole gym, completely tricked out, and all to myself!!<br />
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I then spent the next 10 minutes mentally writing a book involving the murder of a woman who is all alone in a swanky new 24 gym. All this while lacing up my sneakers, picking out my treadmill, programming it, queuing up my running playlist on my iPod, and just settling in.<br />
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Heaven, y'all.<br />
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On the TV screen in front of my treadmill they were showing some sort of championship basketball game for high schools. Basketball is the one sport I don't mind watching. And it was a NJ high school playing against an Indiana high school in a very close game.<br />
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I was all alone, so I cheered loudly at every basket the NJ team made. I booed out loud at missed or lousy calls against the NJ team all while running with my ear buds in.<br />
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It was after one particularly hard-won basket, I threw my arms up in the air and yelled "YES!" for the NJ team, and noticed an older gentleman had come up the stairs at some point and was exactly in my blind spot.<br />
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See?? Total potential for a murder mystery! I have no idea how long he'd been there, but he was clearly amused at my enthusiasm for high school basketball.<br />
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I finished up my miles on the treadmill and then moved over to do my first arm work out with the weights in a reeeeaaaaally long time. So long, in fact, that when I attempted to put my previous lifting weight on the barbell for chest presses, I was....um....<i>overly </i>optimistic. So much so, that I could not lift the bar back up and had to slither out from under it, off the bench, and on to the floor.<br />
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A friend of mine once commented that I reminded him a little of Lucille Ball from "I Love Lucy". At the time I bristled a little at the comparison. But as I've thought of some of the stories I've told him from my life over the years, it's fairly apt. Anyway, as I was slithering out from the bar none too gracefully, that's all I could think of.<br />
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The guy at the gym was nice enough to pretend he didn't see me make a fool of myself that time. I managed to finish up my workout without any further shenanigans, thank goodness.<br />
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I'm happy to report that my subsequent visits to the gym have yielded no such stories and have simply been boring.<br />
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Not so good for anecdotes, but much better for my ego.</div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-86077646218697015722016-03-10T08:13:00.001-08:002016-03-10T18:02:33.483-08:00Twoo Wuv <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Todd and I have been married for a little over 17 years now, and we've known one another in varying degrees for the better part of 34 years. We've reached an age where a lot of our friends have married, had kids, and are beginning to divorce. Or in some cases, have already divorced and are remarrying.</div>
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I can't say that will never happen to us. Mostly because I've learned to avoid definitive statements like that. I've eaten my words far too many times after uttering "I'll never...". That being said, I genuinely like Todd. He is such a good man and I'm always so amazed at his generosity of spirit. </div>
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The other day, I asked if I could borrow his iPod for the day so I could go running. (Technically, I own an iPod, too, but mine is big and clunky and no fun to run with. His is delightfully small AND has my running mix loaded on to it.) But he and the kids have been listening to the musical "Hamilton" on the way to school each morning. When I remembered that, I waved him off with the kids and told him that I would just run later that night when he got home or run without it during the day. No problem. </div>
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Todd is so busy at work with meetings that we often have zero interactions throughout the day. So he leaves the house at 7:20 am, and I don't see him again until 7 pm. (You can take the businessman out of New York...) However, 20 minutes after leaving the house that morning, he pulled back in the driveway. I assumed he'd forgotten something, so I opened the front door to find him coming up the walk with his iPod, as he hurried back to his car to get to work after handing me said iPod he said, "We've listened for the morning, now you can use it to go running today!"</div>
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Such a simple little thing. But a reminder that he cares, and is willing to go out of his way when he can to make my day a little nicer.</div>
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Yesterday was a hard parenting day. (That's the second one in a week and with a different child. We haven't had those in a while, for which I'm grateful, but two in one week was tough.) I was emotionally spent by afternoon. I knew I couldn't call Todd because he's always either in a meeting or heading to one, and I didn't have the energy to craft an email about everything that had gone on and what I was feeling. But I needed to loop him in. We exchanged a few simple texts. He was having a hard day, too, though in different ways. Then last night right before bed, he gave me the last hoarded piece of his Valentine's Day chocolate and prayed wishes for an easier day today.</div>
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It takes so little to show someone you care about them. And while neither Todd nor I are perfect at anything, even and especially that, I appreciate the small and simple ways in which he tries.</div>
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If there were any secret to a happy relationship, it's those small and simple acts of caring. Those little things that say, "Hey, I was paying attention to you enough to know that you could probably use this." </div>
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I am fortunate enough to be told daily by my husband that he loves me. I am kissed each morning as he leaves the house and each night when he comes home, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about these two small examples of caring from the last few days. They were sweet and thoughtful and unexpected and so very appreciated. </div>
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Guess all those hearts with "MTS + EAB" drawn all over my 9th grade algebra book cover were worth it, even if I did end up having to retake the class. ;)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4e0okwDUMFkTjw-aKqmx7YxVbJtbG8c-O_JPiFknvTWYeBRk7bVsv19z5PoVJ-U5RnkbxiSHqXFm9JE5cWf4T7SmFkzVZyGP-sNUY9GFV5DgXz_kiAkU-Wf50MR32GlUm1l1fm0hlc5Q/s1600/20151223_193013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4e0okwDUMFkTjw-aKqmx7YxVbJtbG8c-O_JPiFknvTWYeBRk7bVsv19z5PoVJ-U5RnkbxiSHqXFm9JE5cWf4T7SmFkzVZyGP-sNUY9GFV5DgXz_kiAkU-Wf50MR32GlUm1l1fm0hlc5Q/s320/20151223_193013.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes "this" is a date to Jeni's for ice cream.</td></tr>
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-84176971082272865682016-02-24T09:05:00.003-08:002016-07-24T20:29:24.899-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 24 or "My Son is the Interpretive Dance Penis in the High School Musical"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 1.28;">Hello, do you think that you could give me Bens phone number so I can get Pippin info?</span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">Oh wait, does he have a phone?</span></div>
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<span class="_5yl5">He has no phone number. He is in the wind. Much like the anatomy he will be playing on stage.</span></div>
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-52477706853432927882016-02-10T10:15:00.001-08:002016-02-10T10:23:15.762-08:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 22<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've mentioned before that an alternate title to "Conversations with Smiths" could easily be "Poor Todd". Bless the man and all that he puts up with from the rest of us.<br />
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Also, for the record, and for context. Benjamin is totally better at doing make-up than I am. Not that it's a high bar or anything. In fact, a toddler could step over it. He's been doing dance and theater since Kindergarten, though, so he's a pro. Other than the occasional swipe of mascara and lip balm, I just don't wear it often enough to be good at application. My sisters who are makeup experts look at my blank face with lamentation whenever we go to visit them.<br />
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However, make-up is necessary on stage, darn it. So a few times a year, I have to suck it up and paint my face.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Benjamin, I'm going to a stage make up workshop in a couple of weeks.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> Oh! Will they be doing age makeup??</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> No. They're doing "looking fabulous when you dance on stage" makeup.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B</b>: Hm. [Knowing he doesn't actually need that.]</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Could be useful for you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> Well, I guess if you won't let me be a stripper, drag could be the way to go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Drag is much classier than stripping. You have to entertain, not just titillate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> Good point. And to do good drag, Brendan said you need to know how to do your contour makeup correctly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> True. Although, you're welcome, for those already fabulous cheekbones you have. Anyway, it's good to keep your career options open, right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> SHHHH!! Will you two behave? We're at church!</span><br />
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(Church hadn't started yet, btw, but we were probably not adding to the overall reverence of the pre-service ambiance.)<br />
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-54960213434703482062015-12-26T17:39:00.001-08:002015-12-26T17:39:31.836-08:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 21<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have a difficult time paying attention in church. Okay, I have a difficult time paying attention anywhere. Benjamin and I sitting next to one another is a particularly bad combination. Sometimes Todd separates the two of us if a speaker is particularly challenging to listen to.<br />
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It's a problem.<br />
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Adding to the problem is that our current congregation has a tradition of being pretty lousy at special programming for major holidays. Perhaps it feels worse for Todd and me because we grew up in churches with fabulous holiday programming. We've been here eleven years, you'd think we'd stop getting our hopes up by now. But, no.<br />
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This past Sunday was particularly painful because one of the few Christmas carols we were going to sing as a congregation was skipped when the undoubtedly nervous speaker rushed to the podium and began speaking before the organist made it to the organ. So the Bishopric let her talk and decided to skip the hymn altogether.<br />
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I was not pleased. And then the speaker as she told a scripture story described some of the people as "not righteous and wicked".<br />
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And Benjamin and I went into "we have the attention span of gnats and are obnoxious to boot" mode and this happened.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> #NotRighteous #Wicked </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: #SameThing #Redundant</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> #SacramentMeetingTalk</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> #NotReallyPayingAttention #ShouldBeSingingTheFirstNoel #Bitter</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd [leaning over in between Benjamin and me]:</b> #SHHHH!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin: </b>#Roasted #DadBurn</span></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-55860945590586790632015-12-18T10:27:00.000-08:002015-12-18T10:27:28.640-08:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 20<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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'Tis the Season for White Elephant gift exchanges!<br />
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Todd and I used to attend so many of these each year, that I began keeping a box in the basement full of things to give at such a party. That way throughout the year as I was cleaning out, I could easily donate to the box and then not have to scramble to find something ridiculous the day before the party. It was already in my handy-dandy box!<br />
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We haven't really gone to as many of the type of parties where white elephant gifts are exchanged over the last few years, which means I haven't really looked in the box for a while.<br />
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Last night my boys informed me that after the play they were going to, the party was going to have a white elephant exchange and what on earth could they possibly give???<br />
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They looked amazed when I told them of "The Box". Without checking the contents, I brought it upstairs and put it on the table so they could find what they wanted, which is how the following conversation happened:<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Are those condoms??</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: Crap! Yes. But, you can NOT give condoms past their expiration date as a white elephant present!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> But, why not? That would be hysterical!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> You can NOT give out expired condoms to anybody, but especially teenagers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Because they're not as effective. Ha! They're even "ultra-thin", so twice as likely to break!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: But white elephant gifts are supposed to be useless. So, why can't we give those?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Nathaniel, teenagers who are in possession of a condom and also in need of a condom aren't very likely to double check the expiration date in the heat of the moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> Hm. Well, most of them are too young to be having sex anyway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Yes, but if you take 36 condoms to a party, odds are good they aren't all going home with the same person. Also, you are a freshman. Do you really want the rest of your high school career to be colored with the memory of you as "that kid who brought 36 expired ultra-thin trojans" to a party?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">[Me quickly scrambling through box to make sure there's nothing else inappropriate for them to take.]</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Good grief, there are so many condoms in this box!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> That's honestly something I never expected to hear my mother say. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Then you haven't known your mother very long.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin</b>: Nathaniel, you should just take the bottle of hot sauce called "Rectal Rocket Fuel".</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> I don't know. That's kind of embarrassing. </span><br />
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-54355400539222161422015-11-17T07:16:00.003-08:002015-11-17T07:17:42.007-08:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 19<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Benjamin has been doing ballet for 5 or 6 years now, but other forms of dance for far longer. His ballet teachers have been trying to convince him of "proper ballet attire" for nearly as long. Since all the other dance forms he does are far more casual, he resists. Oh, he'll don a white t-shirt, and maybe some black athletic pants if black ones happen to be clean, but black ballet tights and a dance belt? No.<br />
<br />
Just no.<br />
<br />
[A dance belt, btw, is a balladore's version of a jock strap. Imagine, however, that a jock strap and a thong got together and hybridized. Visual confirmation NSFW.]<br />
<br />
I am sure I'm biased, but Benjamin is a beautiful ballet dancer. (So is Caleb, but Caleb totally doesn't care about ballet other than to torture his poor teacher.) I can't be totally biased, though, because one of Benjamin's current ballet instructors wants him to audition for a summer ballet intensive that he seems to think Benjamin will have no trouble both being accepted in to and given a big scholarship to attend.<br />
<br />
My son is feeling very flattered at the idea of such a thing and is planning on auditioning at one of the regional auditions in a couple of months. His teacher pulled him aside last week and said, "So, you know you're going to have to wear ballet tights and a dance belt to audition, right?" While I wasn't there for this conversation, I have this teacher for a dance class also, and I can imagine the gleam in his eye as he said it. There was probably internal clapping going on, too, as he thought, "Aha! I got him! He'll HAVE to come to class properly dressed NOW!"<br />
<br />
This was the conversation Benjamin and I had following:<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> Mr. Adam says I need dance tights and a belt for the audition.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Did he cackle maniacally as he told you? Or say, "Neener neener neener?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> No.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> You know he was doing it on the inside. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> Yeah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> The time has come, my son.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> It is the coming of the great and dreadful day of the dance belt!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> You poor thing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> There shall rain down hellfire and brimstone and dancebelts!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> I'm sure it's not that bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> I don't even know if everything will stay in place given my lack of bottom.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Maybe it will help your bottom look better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> I'll be in tights</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Yes. Well, we'll have to make time to go shopping for dance belts and tights one of these days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B:</b> Hellfire and brimstone and dancebelts. [heavy sigh]</span><br />
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-75890064549456964022015-10-31T08:56:00.000-07:002015-10-31T09:02:46.960-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 18<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://changeisonus.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/your-vote-counts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://changeisonus.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/your-vote-counts.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
It is election season again here in Franklin County, Ohio. Voting here is a big deal. It should be a big deal everywhere, but it is particularly big here. Although, a little less so since this isn't a presidential election year. Thank goodness! We still get mailings and door signs and people knocking starting in September and oh the number of phone calls we get. I pretty much tune out everything candidate related until mid-October, then pick up the guide written up by the Ohio Women's League of Voters, do a little additional research, and THEN decide for whom I'm voting.<br />
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I do have some very definite opinions on the issues we get to vote on, though, so those I have decided well in advance. The other day I received a phone call that went like this:<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caller:</b> Hello? Mrs. Smith? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> This is she.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caller:</b> I was wondering if I could give you a little more information concerning issue #-.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> No, thanks. I'm already planning on voting for it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caller: </b>Oh, that's wonderful! Would you like a yard sign to show your support?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> No. My husband is likely voting against it. This is usually the case, so we try to keep the yard a neutral zone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caller:</b> I see. That sounds complicated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me: </b>It's not bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caller:</b> Well, thanks for your vote, Mrs. Smith. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> No problem. I'll try to trip my husband on the way out the door on election day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caller:</b> We would certainly appreciate that, Ma'am.</span></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-32092001535954631992015-09-25T11:26:00.000-07:002015-09-25T11:26:28.936-07:00Conversations with Smiths - Part 17 (Or "The Walls Have Ears")<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(There is an explanation for this conversation at the bottom of the page if you're interested, but could be classified as "TMI".)<br />
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This occurred when Todd and I were speaking on the couch in the living room while Lilyanna was playing on the floor nearby. She was being loud enough in her play that I didn't realize she was listening.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lilyanna: </b>Momma, what does "horny" mean?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me: </b>[<i>sotto voce muttering at being heard</i>] It means something has a lot of horns.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lilyanna:</b> But you don't have a lot of horns, Momma. You said you were horny. What else does it mean?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> The other meaning isn't really polite for little girls to talk about, but I promise we discuss it when you are older.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lilyanna:</b> Like when I'm six?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Probably twelve.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> At this rate, maybe ten...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Twelve.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lilyanna:</b> I think when I'm seven.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Twelve.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
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Why did nobody warn me of the crazy hormonal surge that would happen as I approached 40??? Oh my goodness, for months I've had to have this constant mantra running through my head as I go out into the world, "It is <b>NOT OKAY</b> to grab strange men from off the sidewalk/in the store aisle/anydarnplace and have your way with them, Emilia! It is <b>NOT OKAY</b>!" My body, however, does not seem to have gotten the memo. Good grief, this is crazy! It is way worse than teenage-hood, and that is saying something. (To be clear, no strangers have been grabbed thus far. So my brain is winning.) Still, I'm walking around in a nearly chronic hormonal miasma.<br />
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I heard on the radio last week that there is a new medication for women who suffer the opposite problem at this age and later I said to Todd, "Can you imagine if I took that medicine right now?? I would never let you leave the house!!"<br />
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Ugh.<br />
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Anyway, as I was discussing this with a similarly aged friend on Friday night, she was so happy that it wasn't just her, and I was equally relieved for the same reason. Another friend overheard our conversation and said, "Oh, I have something that could help with that." And all I could do was blink at her as I realized that I don't really<i> want</i> help with it. Is it distracting to be this randy at all times? Yes. But it's also kind of fun. And my similarly affected friend agreed. I don't know what this says about either one of us, except that if we're going to have to go through these crazy hormonal changes, we might as well enjoy them.<br />
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The realization makes me suddenly more compassionate towards people who suffer from manic depression. The depression part sucks, but the highs are just so high! Who would want to give that up? (I don't advocate not taking prescribed medication if you and your doctor think it will help you be able to function best in life, but I <i>get </i>not wanting to take the medicine.)<br />
<br />
I assume that this will all crash at some point. Or perhaps it will just gradually trickle down. Either way, the meantime I will continue to appreciate this little part of being alive and in reasonably good health.<br />
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However, I apparently do need to be a little more circumspect about where I relate these stories to Todd. Because Lilyanna listens a little too well sometimes....</div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-22612893184814767042015-09-22T17:44:00.001-07:002015-09-22T20:23:57.100-07:00Conversations with Smiths - Part 16<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> So, last night before bed I brushed my hair like I typically do right before bed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd</b>: Uh-huh</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> This morning when I woke up to teach seminary, I put my hair into a messy bun. But I discovered that there was a horrible clump in my hair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> And?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> There was a partially melted dark chocolate covered almond in my hair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Really?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Yes. Is there something you want to tell me about last night?</span></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-2526275276336848022015-09-06T18:43:00.000-07:002015-09-06T18:43:15.359-07:00Conversations with Smiths-Part 15 (Or "I Have the Creepiest Kids Ever")<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every couple of years my husband gets bored and switches jobs. So far, always within the same company and it's always other people coming to him and fighting over who gets him next. (This is a good problem to have.) But we also try to be open to all the possibilities, which means the idea of moving.<br />
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It also means that every two years I remind him of my list of acceptable places to live. Because I really am okay with picking up and going whenever. But I have a few places I'm not willing to live.<br />
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We've never really let the kids in on the conversation of where they would or would not be willing to live, but we were discussing it with them in the room this last week.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> We could live in South or North Carolina if I work for [lists several companies]. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Or we could go back to NY and live in the city for a couple of years. Or England!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Well, yes, we <i>could</i>, but those would not be as easy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> But it would be an adventure!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> [Gazes at me with more patience than I deserve.]</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> I prefer North. The Yankee in me is traumatized by even thinking about living that far south of the Mason-Dixon line. Besides we have way more friends and relatives in North.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> Wherever we move, it just has to be a state without the death penalty.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> [Stares at Nathaniel]</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me: </b>[Finally recovers enough to talk] Um, why would you need to live somewhere without the death penalty, Nathaniel?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> Because....Reasons. You don't need to know any more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Oh my gosh, you are so super creepy sometimes.</span></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-40917820350190133512015-08-28T12:55:00.001-07:002015-08-28T13:10:59.695-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 14 (Or Why Emilia Keeps a Journal)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
While we were in Europe, instead of writing in my journal, I chronicled our trip on postcards representative of the things we saw that day, so even though I had my trusty journal in tow, it didn't get opened much on our trip. When we arrived home, I discovered my entry from the plane ride en route to England. I'm SO glad I recorded this conversation!<br />
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This took place in the car on the morning we left the house of our friends, the Shropes. And after our bemused families and significant others sat and watched as my friend, <a href="http://emtoddsmith.blogspot.com/2015/08/conversations-with-smiths-chapter-11.html">Dave</a>, and I pummeled each other for hours.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> It was so fun to wrestle like that again!! I never get to do that anymore!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Do you need to do that more?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> [Questioning eyebrow, wondering where he's going with this]</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> I'm not offering myself, mind you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Oh, really? Are you offering to get a wrestling partner for me?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Sure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Do I get to pick out what he looks like?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Sure. You can even pick out what color speedo he wears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Oh my gosh!! Best 40th birthday present EVER!</span></div>
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I don't turn 40 until next year, but Todd's been asking me what I would like for that milestone birthday. Unless he proposes something better in the meantime, I may need to remind him of this conversation in a few months. ;)</div>
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-24258975144472392342015-08-26T13:03:00.001-07:002015-08-28T12:58:49.468-07:00Conversations with Smiths-Part 13<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.nationalsportsmemorabilia.com/sites/nsdweb.com/files/imagecache/product_full/Ohio-State-Official-Footbal_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.nationalsportsmemorabilia.com/sites/nsdweb.com/files/imagecache/product_full/Ohio-State-Official-Footbal_0.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
I have always claimed to know nothing about football. It's not a baseless claim, despite the fact that I was in marching band for 2 years of high school and therefore attended all the Friday night football games.<br />
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Also, despite the fact that I dated a football player (although, it was off-season). He was very nice about and I think even a little amused by my ignorance of the sport. I regularly referred to him as My Big Dumb Jock, and he was nice enough not to point out that in this particular area, I was the dumb one.</div>
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And then in college I was surrounded by other music majors. The majority of us had been in marching bands, but we didn't talk about football. Until I started dating a guy (also a music major) my sophomore year who was appalled at my lack of football knowledge. We started dating in November, and he almost immediately began trying to teach me about it. I was not an enthusiastic student. I did, however, agree to watch the SuperBowl that year. I brought homework to do and only really looked up during the commercials, such was my enthusiasm for the event. </div>
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He managed to teach me one thing. I think we were at a diner when it finally sunk in. There may have been sugar packets involved in the explanation. But, the one piece of football knowledge I have retained is this: A sack is when the quarterback is tackled behind the line of scrimmage. </div>
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At the wedding of this ex-boyfriend, my husband actually thanked him for working so hard to teach me that one thing, because he wasn't getting anywhere with furthering my football knowledge.</div>
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That's it. That's all I know. I know the definition of a sack. It's like my party trick. I now live in a land obsessed with college football, and when accused of knowing nothing, I pull out my one piece of knowledge. (Also, I knew that this year OSU managed to do very well with their 3rd string quarterback. But you can't really live here and NOT know things like that.)</div>
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Or at least I THOUGHT that was all I knew. Until last night.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> So, while I was sitting outside the trainer's icing, I heard this really weird thud come from the football field and there was our one shining hope for a decent football season. He's an incredible linebacker and now it looks like he's out for the season!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Oh, no! What happened? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> They think his ankle is fractured. It was an incredibly hard sack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: [getting all excited!] But that wasn't a sack. He's not the quarterback.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Yeah, but it doesn't always have to be the quarterback for it to be a sack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> [reading the definition of "sack" from my phone] "Sack-<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">In </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_football" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="American football">American football</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"> and </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadian_football" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="Canadian football">Canadian football</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">, a </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">sack</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"> occurs when the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quarterback" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="Quarterback">quarterback</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"> (or another offensive player acting as a passer) is </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tackle_(football_move)" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="Tackle (football move)">tackled</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"> behind the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Line_of_scrimmage" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="Line of scrimmage">line of scrimmage</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"> before he can throw a </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forward_pass" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-decoration: none;" title="Forward pass">forward pass</a>.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Yes, but linebacker isn't an offensive position.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> [glowers at me]</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Face it. I know more about football than you. [I totally don't, but it's fun to egg him on.]</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> You really don't, Mom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Apparently, today I do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Okay, what's a wide receiver?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Someone who catches the ball...you know, but far away from things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> I'm just not going to talk anymore.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
At which point Todd and I high-fived and we continued with dinner. Also, it should be noted that I had NO IDEA that I knew what linebackers and wide-receivers were! They must put something in the water in Columbus....</div>
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-57577861886807748922015-08-13T09:00:00.000-07:002015-08-13T09:00:15.470-07:00Conversations with the Smiths- Part 12<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgte5UaedBB2HRVn_eHwbXABTaUxdUo68jKpmQ9HzhuL0zCI1LII3pbMagUBKVrMxoxag9dNDS157F2_wLhWUrz8jPvFaFl_rigxP4DRYSYlbPw6doQOGkJjJmiYRpkWniKmV-5jwANaIQ/s1600/20150725_135709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgte5UaedBB2HRVn_eHwbXABTaUxdUo68jKpmQ9HzhuL0zCI1LII3pbMagUBKVrMxoxag9dNDS157F2_wLhWUrz8jPvFaFl_rigxP4DRYSYlbPw6doQOGkJjJmiYRpkWniKmV-5jwANaIQ/s320/20150725_135709.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<b>Me: "So, tonight Benjamin has to be at the church at 6:15 to go over the music for the choir on Sunday, then Caleb has scouts there at 7, and the older boys have to go over to Rosie's house for the campfire, also at 7. AND Nathaniel's hippie commie high school parent meeting is also at 7. So, I'll take the kids at 6:15, leave Caleb there at 6:50, take the other boys over to the campfire, then go to the parent meeting. Can you just go and catch the first 10 minutes until I get there, and then you can pick up all the boys and take Benjamin to dance?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Todd: Or.....I could just go to the parent meeting.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Me: WHAT???? After what happened the last time I sent you to a parent meeting at the beginning of the school year??</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
[It was before preschool for the same child that is now starting high school. But still, he told me nothing and I spent the whole year in utter confusion. The teachers and parents would look at me perplexed and say, "But we covered this at the parent meeting at the beginning of the year. Don't you remember?" Grrrrrr.]<br />
<br />
<b>Todd: That was a LONG time ago!!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Me: He skipped two grades in the meantime. It wasn't THAT long ago!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Todd: I promise I'll take notes.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Me: Hm. You promise?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Todd: Yes</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Me: </b><b>Really good notes?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Todd: </b><i>sigh </i><b>YES</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Me: Fine. I guess you can go instead. But they'd better be excellent notes!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Epilogue: Not only did he take good notes, he took them in Google Drive, so he could share the file with me. He brought me the dates and agenda AND he even asked a clarifying question or two that he knew I'd want the answer to. He has redeemed himself nicely. Although, when I asked if he wanted to go to the regular high school parent meeting tonight since I went last year for the other son, he totally balked. Ah, well.<br />
<br /></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-74540552279088454572015-08-13T08:38:00.004-07:002015-08-13T08:43:06.822-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 11<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I think we can all agree that an alternate title for the "Conversations with Smiths" could be "Poor Todd". The man puts up with a lot from us, bless him.<br />
<br />
A few nights ago while at the pool with friends, I was explaining that I'd had reunion with my childhood friend, <a href="http://emtoddsmith.blogspot.com/2009/05/keep-old.html">Dave</a>. Dave and I became very good friends at the tender age of 9. We are as different as can be, but found mutual satisfaction in long walks and hikes and beating each other up. Now, when I say beating each other up, I'm not being euphamistic. We were rough on each other. There was biting, scratching, hair pulling, tackling, wrestling. Hours of my youth were spent in hand to hand combat with this boy. And we both loved every minute of it! (Well, maybe not the hair pulling. I still don't love that.)<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/AVvXsEgED74Zu6J5pXp_kyrElgE-ukFX2CL_gCZj1F3OC5uph8oydTbn3gA6xgQI5dt96e0fSKtcdN79Jr41zG6eeWRetUEDHaZKNMbfKw8Wm2SsXr3bi9ighZPGptv7KYWIlh5iZaXReUXKb0k/s1600/20150724_102758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgED74Zu6J5pXp_kyrElgE-ukFX2CL_gCZj1F3OC5uph8oydTbn3gA6xgQI5dt96e0fSKtcdN79Jr41zG6eeWRetUEDHaZKNMbfKw8Wm2SsXr3bi9ighZPGptv7KYWIlh5iZaXReUXKb0k/s320/20150724_102758.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Todd even took pictures to document.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Anyway, we spent the night at the house of our dear friends, the Shropes, the night before we left on our European travels, and I persuaded Dave (a relative of theirs) to come visit. I'm not sure my family or his (with the exception of his sister who had been there for the childhood/teenage version of our friendship) knew what to expect of this reunion. But what they got was a front row seat to a knock down drag out between the two of us. My children were amused at first, then disturbed, and eventually they fled. Todd continued to chat with our friends as if his wife wasn't pinned under a full grown man who she was kicking in the head to be let go of.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<b>As I related all of this to the friends at the pool, one of them turned to Todd and said, "Was that the weirdest thing you've ever experienced?"</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Todd without missing a beat said, "Being married to Emilia? Ha! Um, no."</span></b></div>
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-30581753563489646612015-07-19T11:26:00.001-07:002015-07-19T11:26:29.213-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 10<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Remember yesterday when I mentioned that we tend to get a leeetle bit off track during scripture study time?<br />
<br />
We had just read this scripture:<br />
<br />
<i><span class="verse" style="background: 0px 0px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Pahoran, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 25.2000007629395px; margin: 0px 1px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">18 </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Pahoran, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;">Lift up thine eyes round about and behold; all these </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Pahoran, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;">gather</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Pahoran, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"> themselves together, and they shall come to thee. And as I live, saith the Lord, thou shalt surely clothe thee with them all, as with an ornament, and bind them on even as a bride. [1 Nephi 21:18, but quoting Isaiah 49]</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Pahoran, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: medium; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: Is this scripture telling us to tie up our wives?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Todd</b>: What?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Caleb</b>: Hey, Dad, I guess you need to tie up Mom.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Todd to me</b>: What is he talking about?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Me</b>: Binding up brides, naturally.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Todd</b>: Um, Ok.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Me</b>: Ha. Good luck.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Benjamin</b>: That's true. If Mom doesn't want to be tied up, there's no way Dad would be able to do it.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: Mom would beat you up if you tried, Dad.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Caleb</b>: Yeah. Mom would win.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Todd</b>: [<i>who thought he was being too quiet for the kids to hear, waggles his eyebrows at me</i>] Well, I didn't know you were into that sort of thing.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Me:</b> [<i>Smirking at him with one eyebrow raised</i>] You don't know everything about my past.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Benjamin:</b> [<i>The one sitting furthest from us, but the only one who heard</i>] Ahh! [<i>Looking completely horrified! Eyes bulging wide open, face frowning, and then curling himself into a ball on the couch to whimper.</i>] Don't want to know! Don't even want to think about it! Aahhahahaha! Scarred for life. Life, I tell you!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Todd:</b> Oh, stop. We're your parents. We have sex. Get over it.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Ahhhh! Make it stop!!!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: And THEN you can use the tied up brides as Christmas trees; you know, with all the ornaments you hang on them after you bind them up.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Me</b>: PLEASE, stop talking, Nathaniel.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, Palatino Linotype, Pahoran, Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00784314); font-size: 18px; line-height: 25.2000007629395px;"><b>Todd</b>: [<i>snapping the scriptures closed and sighing peevishly</i></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Pahoran, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">] I guess we're done with scriptures for tonight. I don't know why I even bother some nights. [<i>looking at all of us who are giggling and snorting]</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', Pahoran, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
And again we must say, Poor Todd.</div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-88199610272144767002015-07-17T08:20:00.000-07:002015-07-17T19:15:22.148-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 9<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.kuroneko.co.uk/aridor/guest/dream/monthLOTR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.kuroneko.co.uk/aridor/guest/dream/monthLOTR.jpg" height="228" width="320" /></a></div>
We Smiths spend a lot of our family together time in three places; the car en route to wherever, the dinner table, and in the living room for family scripture study and then family prayers.<br />
<br />
Family scripture study is a challenge for any family for a number of reasons. It's difficult to get everyone in the same place at the same time. Also, it's difficult to read when you have family members of all different ages and reading/comprehension levels.<br />
<br />
In our case, though, the problem seems to be that it's a problem because we're all together. Once one person loses it, everyone but Todd quickly follows leaving him to try desperately to rein us all back in, poor man.<br />
<br />
Tonight was a good example. While reading Isaiah 49, we got a little, um, distracted.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caleb</b>: In Primary a few weeks ago, they asked us which of the 10 commandments we knew. I said, "THOU SHALL NOT PASS!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: Did anyone get it?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caleb:</b> [Name of one of his friends] got it. But none of the other kids...But all the guy teachers laughed a lot.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin</b>: Yeah, knowing the men who are teaching in primary, I can totally see that. Except maybe for Brother A. I don't know if he would have...nah, I mean he's seen Zombie Prom, surely he's seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> "You shall not pass" is from "The Lord of the Rings"!! [He was totally appalled at his brother for not remembering this, btw.]</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin</b>: Oh, yeah! Eh. Same difference.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caleb:</b> Right, like when Galdalf used the Holy Hand Grenade to defeat the Balrog!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Or when the Eagles saved everyone from the killer bunny!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> Or when the Ents-</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> The Ents who say "Ni!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> Right, when the Ents who say "Ni" kill the Balrog, because Ganldalf counted to 4 with the Holy hand grenade, and then turned into Gandalf the White.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caleb:</b> And then Gandalf stood on the bridge asking everyone what their favorite color was.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Grey! No, White! Ahhhhhh!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: Actually, the Ents who say Ni, killed the Beast of Ahhhhhh, too.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> [Groaning] Guys, come on! Can we please focus, here??</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>All of us:</b> [Still laughing]</span><br />
<br />
Poor Todd.</div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-65441541772840475732015-07-16T19:43:00.000-07:002015-07-16T19:43:26.255-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 8<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<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/AVvXsEijypuq-C8jpUDYF0frfAc8jK93LDdv8KCO6i2l-VKyJC7N3KvLkGt5PHu81TR0y5B-dW1mDVAwNOImlw0C2pG7Hdmil2c66mIki2TJRRKlWPkeA5zyfSQLi-qeGyVRG52XhS-L13H4MlM/s1600/20150404_191656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijypuq-C8jpUDYF0frfAc8jK93LDdv8KCO6i2l-VKyJC7N3KvLkGt5PHu81TR0y5B-dW1mDVAwNOImlw0C2pG7Hdmil2c66mIki2TJRRKlWPkeA5zyfSQLi-qeGyVRG52XhS-L13H4MlM/s320/20150404_191656.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture has nothing to do with the story. But it amuses me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the car driving home from the orthodontist:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> [grabbing MY water bottle] Thirsty!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me: </b>You know that's empty, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> [looking sad and dejected] Stupid heavy metallic water bottles. They trick me every time!! I'm SOOOOOO thirsty!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> [practically drawling with dryness] Just drink your tears, Benjamin. Drink your tears of sadness.</span></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-20307563401155319652015-07-15T13:15:00.000-07:002015-07-15T13:15:17.156-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 7<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/34/72892417_b1ab365428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="101" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/34/72892417_b1ab365428.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
At the dinner table:<br />
<br />
<b>Benjamin:</b> Smock, smock, smock!<br />
<br />
<b>Nathaniel:</b> Smock, smock, smock, smock, smock smock!<br />
<br />
<b>Caleb</b>: Smock, smock, smock, smock, smock, smock, smock!<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> STAAAAAAAHHHHHPPP!!!<br />
<br />
<b>Todd</b>: [looking at me confused] What's wrong with you?<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> ALL DAY LONG they've been following me around saying the word, "Smock"!! I've never had a problem with that word before, but now all of a sudden it's like nails on a chalkboard for me!!<br />
<br />
<b>All the children:</b> smock, smock, smock, smock!!<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b>: AHHH! [covering my ears and shuddering]<br />
<br />
<b>Todd:</b> Why are you guys saying, "Smock"?<br />
<br />
<b>Benjamin</b>: [Explains cartoon above, since he'd been reading the entire Calvin and Hobbes collection]<br />
<br />
<b>Nathaniel</b>: we also discovered another word that works. Watch this!<br />
<br />
<b>All the children</b>: Quark, quark, quark, [ etc.]<br />
<br />
<b>Me to Todd</b>: That one doesn't bother me as much. It just sounded like I was being followed around by a bunch of baby ducks. Also, this is why I look like I do at the end of the day when you get home from work.<br />
<br />
<b>All the children:</b> [look smugly satisfied with themselves for nearly driving their mother crazy]<br />
<br />
<b>Todd:</b> You need a swear jar.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Ooo! 25 cents per smock! I like it!<br />
<br />
<b>Nathaniel:</b> I do not agree to these terms.<br />
<br />
<b>Caleb:</b> Mom, we could also make it so you have to put money in for all your British curse words. You know, since you were supposed to stop saying them before we go to England. [looking at me knowing full well I really haven't stopped at all.]<br />
<br />
<b>Benjamin: </b>[counting on his fingers, presumably up to $1] Smock, smock, smock, smock!<br />
<br />
<b>Caleb:</b> quark!<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> [softly pounding head on table.]<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-51066848495831169952015-07-14T10:27:00.001-07:002015-07-15T13:13:21.775-07:00Conversations with Smiths- Part 6<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm a fan of good vocabulary words. As is my sweet husband.<br />
<br />
He used to have a word of the week he would hang up on the inside of our front door for the kids to learn and use, so dedicated to the task of making sure our kids had a good vocabulary was he.<br />
<br />
The other night, I was able to teach everyone at the dinner table a new and very useful word. (It would have been exceedingly useful in Part 5 of this series of conversations)<br />
<br />
*All names of friends have been changed to protect the identity of those who are both hot and not.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Wait, so what was the name of the friend you were hanging out at the pool with last night? I thought that was John, the human bologna.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> No! That was Joe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Really? Who's the human bologna, then? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Jay.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Hm. Oh, wait. Joe is the one who is bff's with Mellie who is a total diva and Brady doesn't get along with at all, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Exactly. Joe is Michael's brother.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Michael who?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> You know, the one who played the older brother in the first show we did this year?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Really?? Wow. Poor Joe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Why poor Joe?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Because Michael is hot.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> And Joe just...isn't. He's squidgier.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Yeah. Michael is<i> fine.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> And callipygian.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caleb:</b> What does that mean?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Callipygian: having well-formed buttocks.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> He really does.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me to Todd</b>: He really does.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> [shaking his head at the both of us]</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> Is this discussion really happening? And why do you know this word?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> I read. It's a good word to know. Now that you know it, I expect you to use it in conversation this week.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> I don't think I have those kinds of conversations.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">[We then went on to use the word at least a dozen more times in context before dinner was over. Vocabulary for the win! Incidentally, Caleb has been the best at incorporating it into his vocabulary.]</span></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-9866069860773621402015-07-06T14:02:00.000-07:002015-07-06T14:02:58.884-07:00Conversations with the Smiths- Part 5<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Benjamin is kind of an amazing dancer. While I have rhythm, there is no grace from me. Todd was graceful once upon a time, but lacking in physical confidence. Benjamin has neither of these problems.<br />
<br />
I have long told Benjamin that he has to take at least one dance class throughout high school regardless of his busy schedule, just so when he's in college he can get a part time job at a local dance studio teaching.<br />
<br />
When I mentioned this to a friend of mine who has 4 daughters who dance, she said, "Oh! I'd never thought of that! That's a much better option than using the skill set to strip!"<br />
<br />
We laughed, but I later mentioned the conversation to Benjamin.<br />
<br />
While we were at the grocery store.<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/AVvXsEjsSTIU7VBXH0ku3WEPnmvvzIn5aSr0WKtac1PsaHH1B22BHiOF-fDgiIcMRkDub0gO9bSnu0hTPqP9Rn-E2IDIdqKVv5WYlnUeYxgm6CAyJLAIUgCwGRCuCkK71Y036-r-pCjjf7-R2Yg/s1600/20150603_122745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSTIU7VBXH0ku3WEPnmvvzIn5aSr0WKtac1PsaHH1B22BHiOF-fDgiIcMRkDub0gO9bSnu0hTPqP9Rn-E2IDIdqKVv5WYlnUeYxgm6CAyJLAIUgCwGRCuCkK71Y036-r-pCjjf7-R2Yg/s320/20150603_122745.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ballet Boy.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The conversation between he and I afterwards went something like this as we were standing in line:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Look, all I'm saying is that we've invested thousands of dollars and hours over the years in dance classes and you have a skill set that you can use to help you earn money in college. You might as well get some future use out of it, even if you're not going to go on professionally.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> That's true. Although, some studios only hire if you have a degree in dance.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Then don't apply for a job at those studios. There are plenty that don't do that and just look at your dancing, performing, and teaching experience.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> [Nods while looking at the candy and gum in the check out aisle.]</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Just DON'T use that same skill set to be a stripper!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> [Loading groceries on the belt and looking thoughtful] I don't know, Mom. I think I'd make a pretty good stripper.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> [beat...then throw my head back in laughter] Ah! Just what every mother wants to hear!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> I've got the moves AND you know I have the abs.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Yes, but you also have inherited the Smith No-Bottom. You need a good firm rump to be a good stripper.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> I can call Great Uncle Blake and ask what exercises he uses for a better bottom. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me: </b>That would be a fun phone conversation. "Hey, Uncle Blake. You don't remember me probably, but I'm your nephew Todd's son and remember when at that family reunion my Mom joked you all had the same Smith-No-Bottom, you showed yours off and said 'Not me, I have exercises for that!'? Yeah. I need the exercises. Why? Oh, to further my stripping career."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin: </b>Hm. Maybe Dad could call for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Yeah, cuz that would be less awkward. Seriously, though, No stripping.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> I bet the money's better.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: I'm sure. But you have no bottom, so it's a moot point.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin: </b>WHY do you know about what male strippers are supposed to look like??</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Oh, look. The car. Quick put the groceries in so we can get home before the ice cream melts!</span></div>
Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-74012057927341755302015-07-05T18:29:00.000-07:002015-07-05T18:29:17.384-07:00Conversations with the Smiths- Part 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have sort of a love/hate relationship with having all my kids home for the summer. On the one hand, it's a lot of fun to be together...mostly. We end up enjoying one another's company more than we're able to during the hustle and bustle of the school year. There is time to make music together, cook together and play together. On the other hand there is also time to get on one another's nerves.<br />
<br />
Constant exposure to the humor of males ages 11, 12, and 15 means that my own juvenile sense of humor is even worse than usual in the summer.<br />
<br />
Two conversations to highlight this point.<br />
<br />
Have you ever seen this toy?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.fatbraintoys.com/images/products/detail/PL017/3.jpg"></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.fatbraintoys.com/images/products/detail/PL017/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://www.fatbraintoys.com/images/products/detail/PL017/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
My family got addicted to it during our last visit to California, so we gifted Todd with it for Father's Day. (He was the most addicted.) It's a puzzle that is bizarrely difficult for something sold in a toy section of stores. Anyway, since it's summer and we have time, all the kids have been working with it. Benjamin when the ball drops out of the maze making it so he has to start all over again responds the frustration by banging his forehead on the ball. Leading to this discussion:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Guys, time for scriptures and prayers!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Why is the ball all wet?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd: </b>I wiped it off before since it was kind of dirty.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> From my greasy forehead.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Why?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> Benjamin has a problem with sticking his forehead on balls.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">[silence]</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me and Todd:</b> BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd: </b>[getting himself in control] Okay. Does everyone have scriptures?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin: </b>Oh my gosh, Mom! You are so immature!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> I didn't actually mean it that way [though looking smug that I'm still laughing]</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> [Wiping the tears from my face and still unable to stop laughing]</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> [Only slightly exasperated at trying to reel the other adult in the room back in] Emilia, why don't you read first?</span><br />
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Watermelon is one of my favorite things about summer. I routinely chop a melon in half and just eat that with a spoon for breakfast, lunch, and snacks. Benjamin has been giving me a run for my money this summer though, and will often steal the other half of the watermelon from me.<br />
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Half Dollar Hot Dog Night is one of my other favorite things about summer. And while it is lovely to have cheap hot dogs and drinks at the pool every Tuesday, I like to take some fruit to help round out the meal a bit.<br />
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The other day as we were getting ready to go to the pool, I asked Benjamin for help.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: Here, take this tool and grab a tupperware and scoop out enough watermelon for us tonight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin</b>: [Taking one look at the melon ball tool and then the watermelon, then adopting his best surfer boy accent] Dude. Ballin'!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">-------------------------------------------------</span><br />
There are way too many jokes about balls going on this summer. Lilyanna and I and our delicate feminine natures may be forever scarred. ;)<br />
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-31475751338956954952015-07-04T11:46:00.000-07:002015-07-04T11:47:35.198-07:00Conversations with the Smiths- Part 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Our 15 year old was in a production of "Zombie Prom" this Spring.<br />
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Lilyanna was particularly fascinated by the whole idea of the show and kept asking how the main character, Jonny, becomes a zombie.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixB8uxxRxnnJBwf0j6Td7rm_6P2cDPopoRSp8RvtJyCJ9WJ9YCKYgcV9KoZZWM-qU8hg1E8QCXQWDR3QDQIdKhGEtareSkOKvfzeJ6XloWe9jGyd-Ktb8FHzLxpqBUHgF-cPaDi55g-qQ/s1600/20150521_221251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixB8uxxRxnnJBwf0j6Td7rm_6P2cDPopoRSp8RvtJyCJ9WJ9YCKYgcV9KoZZWM-qU8hg1E8QCXQWDR3QDQIdKhGEtareSkOKvfzeJ6XloWe9jGyd-Ktb8FHzLxpqBUHgF-cPaDi55g-qQ/s320/20150521_221251.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My kid is the one who is not green.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Both Benjamin and I had explained that he drives his motorcycle into a Power Plant but instead of dying, he turns into a zombie.<br />
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Weeks later, after seeing the posters for the show, meeting some of the other kids involved in the production, and hearing a bit more about the story line, Lilyanna piped up from the backseat of the van saying, "So, are they going to use a real bush in the play?"<br />
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Me: What do you mean?<br />
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Lilyanna: In "Zombie Prom", when he jumps into the power plant, will it be a real bush or a fake one?<br />
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Me: Um....OHHHH! Not THAT kind of plant, Lilyanna!<br />
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Benjamin and Me: [fumbling explanation of what a power plant is while trying to not laugh too hard. We didn't want to hurt her feelings, after all.]<br />
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-59541477615025788772015-07-03T22:18:00.000-07:002015-07-03T22:18:27.358-07:00Conversations with the Smiths- Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've already told this one on facebook, so sorry if it's a repeat to you, but it's a great snapshot into the psyche of 12 year old Nathaniel these days. That is to say disturbing and brilliant.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A few weeks ago at the dinner table Nathaniel jokingly said that he had a wife and 19 kids, then a few minutes later referred to his wife and 17 kids.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Wait. What happened to the other two kids? You said 19 before. Now there are only 17?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> [Not evening missing a beat] Soylent Green baby food. Obviously.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> [Alternating wildly between being completely appalled and completely proud and amused by my son's wit played out with slightly guilty and uncontrollable laughter]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: Speaking of Soylent Green, do you think they mix the eyeballs right in, or save those for other things?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Like what?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: Salads?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: Actually, the sclera makes it very difficult to cut into an eyeball.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Everyone at the table:</b> [Looks at my remark with horror (except Nathaniel, who is intrigued)]</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> WHY do you know that??</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> Like how difficult?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Well-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Todd: </b>COULD WE PLEASE NOT DISCUSS THIS AT THE DINNER TABLE??</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> Hm. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Caleb:</b> [Singing] "You know we love our Soylent Green!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Everyone at the table except Todd who was looking for a Tupperware in the kitchen so he could pack his lunch for the next day and possibly avoiding us and the current dinner conversation</b>: "Merry Christmas fr</span>om Chiron Beta Prime!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
This song is the reason my kids even know what Soylent Green is. (Spoiler alert: "It's people!")<br />
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5597930231184018647.post-9469962563438596582015-07-03T16:07:00.001-07:002015-07-03T16:07:59.076-07:00Conversations with the Smiths- Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I need a place to record a few conversations we've had so far this summer. <div>
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I haven't had a decent night's sleep in months. First was my typical spring twitterpation beginning in April which left me completely blissed out and high on life, green things, pollen, warmth and sunlight. Who needs sleep with such a potent combination? </div>
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Then there was a medical scare in the family that left me unable to sleep for worrying. </div>
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Then it was stumbling into the rabbit hole that is fanfiction. So, reading won out over sleeping.</div>
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Last night, I couldn't sleep because I was giggling remembering some of the aforementioned conversations. I was actually laying in bed in our darkened room next to my sleeping husband and giggling. I finally gave up on sleep and went downstairs to clean up the mess my children recently made of all the photo albums. </div>
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I should have just sat down last night and written this then, instead, I stayed up until 3am when I couldn't read or walk in a straight line anymore. I miss being able to fall asleep at normal times.</div>
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Onto the conversations, though. This one from the last day of school, whilst sitting around the dinner table. [On the last day of school, our high school theater director puts up partial cast lists and names all 10ish shows for the following school year.]</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd to Benjamin</b>: So what are the shows for next year?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin</b>: [Lists a bunch] and "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Oh, you should totally sing the erection song!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> That's what I told him, when I heard the show list!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> Um...okay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: [Horrified gasping that his parents are discussing erections at the dinner table]</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: Every kid wants to hear their parents tell them to sing a song about erections, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd</b>: To be fair, I just meant that it's a really good song for a tenor. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Benjamin:</b> [Trying desperately to refocus the conversation] Well, I'm excited!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: I guess you'd<i> have</i> to be to sing a song about erections...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel</b>: [Moaning, blushing, and running from the table]</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: Why isn't anyone eating the peas?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> Because they're still frozen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me</b>: Frozen peas are great! They were one of my favorite snacks when I was a kid.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Todd:</b> But they're still frozen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Me:</b> New slogan for the pea council, "Frozen Peas! They're not just for vasectomies anymore!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nathaniel:</b> [Groaning from the next room]</span></div>
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Emiliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16048808594518495647noreply@blogger.com0