tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42920435738753358812024-03-12T21:38:06.152-07:00 Kim's Crazy LifeErma Bombeck meets Karen Walker in this 40 something single mom's crazy life. Armed with Xanaz and sarcasm she tackles midlife, teenagers and all the other stuff that makes us all grab a glass of wine every night.Kim Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14327344085902516392noreply@blogger.comBlogger372125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-71910508664930747142013-05-26T08:22:00.000-07:002013-05-26T08:22:20.794-07:00New Blog Page<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://kimscrazylife.com/">http://kimscrazylife.com/</a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lCRYcLxp4I0/UaInj7GREjI/AAAAAAAAAO8/oUnxcdpPmvM/s1600/prescription+bottle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lCRYcLxp4I0/UaInj7GREjI/AAAAAAAAAO8/oUnxcdpPmvM/s1600/prescription+bottle.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Please go to www.kimscrazylife.com to see my new blog page as well as all the other fun things I have added! Don't forget to "follow" me and subscribe and I will come to you. </span>Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-13585751053256936372013-05-13T16:41:00.003-07:002013-05-13T16:41:26.395-07:00Favorite Things For Summer<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Word on the street is that it is supposed to be spring around here but the temperature is still dipping close to freezing at night. All this cold weather has left me nothing to do but shop online and drink wine. Lucky for you I have found some hot and fun items for the summer and all you have to do is click on the link and purchase. My mission is to feed your shopping addiction. Fabulous loves company!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love it! Love it!</td></tr>
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1. This beautiful necklace was literally screaming my name. I love all things monogrammed and shiny so this was perfect. Browse other fabulous items at <span style="color: magenta; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Monogramsical </span>and tell them I sent you. <a href="http://www.monogramsical.com/">/</a><a href="http://www.monogramsical.com/jewelry.html">http://www.monogramsical.com/jewelry.html</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kKPa3voXGUY/UZFzrQNNy8I/AAAAAAAAAOA/PfPw18bOOUU/s1600/baseball+bling+flip+flop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kKPa3voXGUY/UZFzrQNNy8I/AAAAAAAAAOA/PfPw18bOOUU/s200/baseball+bling+flip+flop.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baseball Bling!</td></tr>
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2.The ballpark can be a dusty messy place but with these shiny shoes I will be blinged out and full of spirit when the West Oakland Warriors take the field. Go to<span style="color: magenta; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Cocomo Soul </span>and get yourself a pair! <a href="http://www.cocomosoulboutique.com/">http://www.cocomosoulboutique.com/</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2gKj8VxAz1k/UZF3EoeHg8I/AAAAAAAAAOY/U8uFmPpXhOk/s1600/hot+mess+mom+tumbler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2gKj8VxAz1k/UZF3EoeHg8I/AAAAAAAAAOY/U8uFmPpXhOk/s320/hot+mess+mom+tumbler.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drink up!</td></tr>
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3. The coolest and hottest tumbler for the beach or the ballpark this summer. Order one for you and one for your best friend and partner in crime. Go to<span style="background-color: magenta; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Hot Mess Mom</span> and tell her you saw her on my blog. She is fabulous! <a href="http://hotmessmom.com/store/736/">http://hotmessmom.com/store/736/</a><br />
Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-62053253403912773942013-05-03T08:54:00.000-07:002013-05-03T09:20:58.907-07:00Daycare and Diesel And Things That Go Boom In The NightSpring has finally sprung and the time has come to open up the windows and let in some fresh air. The birds are chirping and you can hear lawn mowers off in the distance, unless that is you have neighbors like mine.<br />
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I live directly behind an elderly couple. She runs a daycare and he shoots off fireworks randomly all year long. Don't they sound lovely?<br />
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From the time the snow melts until it blankets the ground again my neighbor will just randomly and without any warning start shooting off fireworks. There is nothing like laying in bed at night and having firecrackers and bottle rockets start to explode. My poor beagle jumps straight up in the air and lands in the middle of my bed. Apparently he is afraid of loud noises which explains why this adorable dog breed for hunting was abandoned at the shelter. We lay together alternating licks on my emergency Xanax until it subsides.<br />
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My next door neighbor and I have both lost our minds and left out bodies and ended up standing in the mulch behind our houses in our pajamas yelling at him to stop at the top of our lungs It's not pretty but that is what he has driven us to.<br />
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We have called the police numerous times and nothing ever happens. So we live in a firecracker war zone of fear during the summer.<br />
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His wife runs a daycare and those kids love to play outside and they all have great lungs. Aside from the firecrackers, there is nothing quite like being startled by a toddler screaming blue bloody murder 12 times a day while Ms Mary yells "use your words". <br />
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I know by now you are wondering where I live and if you too could own a home where there is so much excitement and entertainment. Just when I thought after ten summers it couldn't get worse they got a new dog named Diesel. I am assuming their old dog either died from a firecracker induced heart attach or finally ran away.<br />
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Diesel is a very large dog and apparently not very smart. Diesel wanders away ALL THE TIME! All day every day you hear Diesels name about 500 times. After the kids yell for him for about five minutes Ms. Mary starts yelling for him and then finds him and drags him back instructing him that wondering away from the yard is an NO NO. I am not optimistic that he is getting it.<br />
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So during the day I listen to kids gone wild and the hunt for Diesel and in the evening I get the firework show. <br />
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I can't wait until it gets hot so I can justify turning on the air , closing the windows and tuning out the neighbors.<br />
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<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-17234631903735926952013-04-05T05:52:00.003-07:002013-04-05T05:55:46.413-07:00Massage Tension<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It didn't say anything in the brochure but I am assuming it is frowned upon when you fart during a massage.<br />
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At least that was the assumption I was going on last night as I mastered the technique of clenching the lower portion of my body while trying to get my $60 worth of relaxation out of the upper half of my body.<br />
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I blame those darn people that keep encouraging me to eat healthy. All I hear from my "healthy" friends is that I should eat more salad, fruit and vegetables. If it won't t spoil then it isn't healthy for me. Personally I don't think my Oreos should be persecuted for their longevity but whatever.<br />
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Even the girls at work that could have been counted on a few months ago for a Wendy's run are bringing salads for lunch. The days of a cheeseburger and fries for lunch are over.<br />
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The thing these "healthy" people don't tell you is that when you fill your body with all this good food you begin to produce gases. Those gases are expelled from your body. If you are over forty they apparently don't give you much warning.<br />
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So last night as I begin to undress and prepare for my massage my lunch and dinner salads began to perform their magic and make my life miserable.<br />
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Of course the massage therapist wanted me to start the session face down which meant there would be no line of defense between her and my healthy life style side effects except a thin sheet. As she began to massage my aching shoulders I began the balance of relaxing the upper body muscles and tightening the lower body muscles.<br />
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After 60 minutes of this I was exhausted but no "exhaust" had slipped out. I had made it! I thanked Kelly (who was amazing) and she left while I dressed and relaxed if you know what I mean. Let's just say I am sure LaVida is thankful I was the last appointment of the night.<br />
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I went home and promptly had four Oreos. Apparently preservatives in food help preserve your dignity as well as their shelf life.<br />
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Long live the Oreo!!Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-45934701746125695042013-03-25T13:22:00.000-07:002013-03-25T13:22:11.935-07:00Forty Eight And Fabulous<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQq2iZYYctI/UVCgKg6qS1I/AAAAAAAAALU/uAnJl-9NMF8/s1600/Me,+mom+and+dad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQq2iZYYctI/UVCgKg6qS1I/AAAAAAAAALU/uAnJl-9NMF8/s400/Me,+mom+and+dad.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
I have come a long way since this photo was taken. My thighs are still chubby and my hair is still a hot mess but other than that I have learned a lot.<br />
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On this my 48th birthday I have taken a few moments away from being fabulous to reflect on things I plan to do differently in the next 48.<br />
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I plan on laughing a whole lot more. Sometimes it will be with you and sometimes it will be at you but I am done taking life seriously. <br />
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I will win the chin hair battle. Laser attacks, tweezers, whatever it takes I will not wake up with a beard without a fight.<br />
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I will move more. Please don't be alarmed. I will not be running like all my other forty something friends that seem to have lost their damn mind and are running marathons. But I do want to be able to make my way from Macy's to Lord and Taylor without the assistance of a walker when I am 80. Training for retail retirement is serious business.<br />
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Hugging is going to be more abundant. I grew up in the South where you hug everyone in the house before you go to the store. This move up north has hardened me. I need to get back to my roots (not my gray roots those will still be covered every four weeks). Michael won't be thrilled now but one day he will be glad I was such a pain in the butt about it.<br />
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I am going to spend more money on good bras and comfortable shoes. Please let me clarify, I won't wear ugly shoes, EVER. They will have to be fabulous as well as comfortable.<br />
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The next 48 years will mean more books and bubble baths. I am going to spend more time just enjoying life and not giving a darn about what other people think. Remember as my mother always said "it's not what you're called , it's what you answer to".<br />
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I am going to eat more cupcakes! Have you ever seen anyone eating a cupcake with a frown on their face? Cupcakes are the Prozac of the bakery world.<br />
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My house won't be perfect but it will be a place my kids and their friends will feel at home. Houses are for living in and snuggling up with the ones you love not for showing off how perfect you are. This one was easy to commit to since I still have Christmas decorations in the dining room. I am going to assume that Michael and his friends hang out here because it's so festive.<br />
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I am going to nurture my relationships and be thankful for all the wonderful people I have in my life. When it is all said and done your job isn't what matters. Making a difference in the lives of others is more important than being the first person in the office or the last to leave at night. <br />
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I want to enjoy watching my kids make their mark on the world and being an example of how to enjoy life to its fullest. I am going to let them live their lives free from advice from me. (O.k. that is a big lie but I am sure they cherish all the advice I give them.)<br />
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I am going to embrace the number 48 and not worry about making a million dollars or trying to be a size six. My only goal is to be forty eight and fabulous!!! Bring on the cupcakes!Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-5180180560785375872013-03-20T20:03:00.000-07:002013-03-20T20:03:06.209-07:00If It's Not One Thing, It's Your MotherPlease pass me a Xanax and a glass of wine.<br />
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My mother is visiting and I have one nerve left. Apparently I have just been lounging around thinking I was a productive effective parent and person when that couldn't be further from the truth.<br />
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Before she got here I had no idea that my dog was over weight and my kids were under fed. I didn't know my house was cold or that my whites weren't quite white enough.<br />
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I was also blissfully unaware that with all the "running around" I do that I should be a lot thinner than I am. However with all the running around I do she is still mystified as why I am so tired.<br />
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My refrigerator needed cleaning and the expensive container of grated cheese that I had been rationing on my salads needed to be thrown out because it smelled funny. My guess is it didn't smell like Velveeta so she tossed it.<br />
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I have too many stairs, too much room and I don't keep it clean enough. She is also not sure what my cleaning lady does even though she was here for three and a half hours cleaning while mother watched her like she was auditioning for the role of one of mean girls on The Help. If we had good silver she would be counting it.<br />
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She told me my coat didn't look like something I would wear and that it looked like a boys coat.<br />
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When asked what I did different to my hair today I foolishly took it as a compliment until she followed it with "because it really looked good yesterday!"<br />
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Today I took her shopping and while I waited in the check out line at Kohl's and I told her to go over and have a seat by the door to rest her back. Apparently someone that was as fat and poorly dressed as me walked out and she started yelling "Hey, Hey are you going to leave me here". As she tried to get up out of the chair and chase that poor woman out to the parking lot I found myself flailing my arms and yelling "Mother, have I ever left you at a store?" She finally saw me and sat back down and said "Not yet." like it was just a matter of time.<br />
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I could just see the people behind me searching for the number for Adult Protective Services. I just don't know which one of us that are coming to help.<br />
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<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-10059079976963096922013-03-08T08:16:00.003-08:002013-03-08T08:16:17.092-08:00T.S.A. Help Me Understand<br />
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<img border="0" height="248" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5aVP3IZNorM/UToOi2-8NNI/AAAAAAAAALE/0KXx8Nl-0y4/s320/airplane+knife.jpg" width="320" /></div>
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Can someone please explain to me why it is now o.k. to carry a knife on to an airplane but you practically get arrested when you try to bring four ounces of conditioner in your carry on ? What do they think I am going to do over condition the pilot's hair until it falls in his eyes and then I take over the plane? </div>
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I am beyond perplexed. The T.S.A. came out with new guidelines (right before I am ready to travel I might add) that say you can carry large baseball bats, hockey sticks and knives with a 2.36 inch blade on airplanes. But don't get hysterical with fear people, the hand lotion and Dove body wash is still off limits.</div>
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Why does anyone need to carry a pocket knife on an airplane? Are they planning on whittling during the flight? Have they been misled into thinking they will need to cut their own limes for their in flight cocktail? I really need their reasons to be clarified.</div>
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In an article I read today it stated that "acts of aberrant, abusive and abnormal passenger behavior know as air rage remain the most persistent threat to aviation security". So let me get this straight, the main problem with security is crazy passengers and now the crazy passengers will have knives. </div>
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The last time I flew I had a tad bit of "air rage" myself. I had forgotten to take a four ounce bottle of lotion out of my carry-on bag. It was 6 a.m. in the morning, not the best time of the day for me, and I tried to be nice and explain that since the bottle was half empty that it was really only two ounces of lotion. Little Miss "don't make me taser you" was not buying it. I hadn't had enough diet coke to be rational so I decided to argue with her. Luckily, Brad had the good sense to lead me away before I received one the the T.S.A.'s "special searches". </div>
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I would just like to say in my defense that the entire reason people have to pack their cosmetics in their carry on is because the airlines are so great about losing our luggage. If you think air rage is bad, you have never seen a woman on vacation without her make-up. </div>
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Re<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">ad more:</span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"> </span><a href="http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/03/08/new-tsa-policy-allowing-small-knives-and-bats-on-airliners-fuels-growing/#ixzz2MxlSy0Vn" style="color: #003399; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; outline: none 0px; text-decoration: none;">http://www.foxnews.com/us/2013/03/08/new-tsa-policy-allowing-small-knives-and-bats-on-airliners-fuels-growing/#ixzz2MxlSy0Vn</a></div>
Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com60tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-90117883830397616392013-03-02T08:49:00.001-08:002013-03-02T08:49:25.266-08:00Southern Charm <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Recently my friend Jennifer took a car trip to Disney with her three children under the age of ten. In my defense I tried to warn her against it, medicate her and prepare her for the worst. I bought her a new cooler that I suggested be stocked with wine cleverly disguised as fruit juice. It wouldn't matter if she drank it or served it to her children, either way the car trip would be more tolerable.<br />
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When it was apparent she wasn't going to drink or make her kids a Benadryl cocktail I did the only other thing I could. I assured her that if in the event she should find herself needing to make a premature exit from the minivan I would pick her up off the side of the road. <br />
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She survived the trip without prescription medication or alcohol. When she was telling me about her trip the thing that stuck out in her mind the most was her experience at Chick- Fil- A in Georgia.<br />
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Being a Northerner she wanted to get her food in an expedient manner and get out of there. You get in line, you order, you pay and at no point do you exchange personal information with the cashier.<br />
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Unfortunately she got in line behind what I can only assume had to be one of my relatives. We Southerners have a knack for turning a two second interaction into a full blown "How is your mama" reunion.<br />
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Through gritted teeth she described a conversation that went something like this.<br />
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"Welcome to Chick-Fil-A! My name is Suzy. How can I help you?'<br />
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"Oh my goodness Suzy Palmer? Do you remember me? I am Carol Ann's mother, Deidre! You remember Carol Ann , y'all sat beside each other in third grade! Remember she had the chicken pox that week and y'all made her a card and sent it home? Why we still have it sitting in the china cabinet."<br />
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"Ms.Deidre, of course I remember you! Didn't you have a son? What was his name? Billy Wade?<br />
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"Why yes! Billy Wade is on his way in. He always was our "spirited" child. But we aren't worried we got the Baptist Church praying for him and if the Baptists can't turn it around well then my goodness who can?<br />
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"How is your mamma? I heard she had been sick."<br />
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"Oh, mamma is fine. You know mamma nothing is going to stop her from getting to Bingo so as long as they are calling numbers I'm not worried." (Gesturing over my friend Jennifer) Carol Ann get over her and say hey to Suzy! Do you remember when they made you that card in third grade? Tell her how we still have it in the china cabinet."<br />
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<i>Jennifer has now passed the point of agitation and her left eye has started to twitch. She is wondering if she strangles Ms. Deidre if they will hold the service at the Baptist Church"</i><br />
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"Well Ms. Deidre what can I get for y'all today?<br />
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"Lord honey I have no idea. Carol Ann, go get Billy Wade and tell him to come on we are fixin' to order. Lord, that boy is going to be the death of me. Carol Ann tell him to hurry! This pretty lady behind me is going to starve to death waiting on her gosh darn chicken sandwich!! "<br />
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She looks back at Jennifer who is now contemplating restarting the Civil War just so she can take our Ms.Deidre and politely says "Oh honey y'all go on ahead there's no telling where Billy Wade is. Well aren't these about the most precious little children I have ever seen! Where y'all from?"<br />
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And just like that good ole Ms. Deidre turned on her Southern charm and Jennifer's homicidal thoughts just faded away. How could you contemplate murdering someone that had told you that you were pretty and your kids were precious?<br />
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That's why there are so many old Southern ladies. They know you can diffuse just about any situation with two word, precious and pretty. Long live Ms. Deidre!<br />
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<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-73021032080820541022013-02-25T19:29:00.000-08:002013-02-25T19:29:07.041-08:00Poise Pads and Puffs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There comes a time in every woman's life when the unexpected sneeze can lead to "bladder leak". Last week a friend sent me a text that read: <b>"Sorry I can't make it to lunch. I sneezed and peed my pants. " </b>There were no capitol letters or exclamation points. It was just a simple statement conveyed from one middle aged woman to another. No shock and awe on my end either. Just a moment of compassion and I went about my day. <br />
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Middle age arrives with excess facial hair, sleepless nights and memory loss as the triple threat. You would think that those three things coupled with teenagers and aging parents would be enough. But no! Add to the mix the fact that your bladder has become about as reliable as Charlie Sheen and you have got a full blown case of body betrayal.<br />
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The first time it happens you are shocked and assume that it is a one time occurrence. With a quick clench of the bladder you avoid disaster and enter a phase of denial. You start to bargain with God that you will pluck chin hairs until the end of time if tinkling without warning doesn't become a trend.<br />
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The second time it happens you resign yourself to being a permanent member of the pantyliner party and vow to do 1,000 Kegel exercises every day. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember making fun of June Allyson and those Depends commercials when you were young and had a kick ass bladder. Who would think that something that could hold 10 beers in college would collapse in the face of a little sneeze? Oh, how the mighty have fallen from keg parties to Kegels and leg crossing.<br />
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The dreaded head cold puts an end to your denial. Sneezes and coughs are rampant and without warning and you have to face the fact that a sudden sneeze can cause an "incontinent episode". This is the grown up term for peeing your pants. Doesn't make it any better but it sounds classier than I peed down both legs, doesn't it?<br />
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I propose that they sell Poise pads and Puff tissue in the same package. If you are middle aged and sneezing then you will need both so why not just market them together? It would also be helpful to put the chocolate and the Tampons together. Make it easy on us, would you? While you are at it put the display right beside the bathroom. We need all the help we can get.<br />
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<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-24028012371421516972013-02-17T18:33:00.001-08:002013-02-17T18:33:32.865-08:00Good Moms Are Good Maters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every time I think I have it all together and I am rocking this mom stuff I get reminded by my teenager of how off the mark I am.<br />
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Apparently my ability to incorrectly mate socks is a sign that I am not getting this whole mom thing down.<br />
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I made the grievous error of mating two Nike Elite socks as a large and an extra large. You can stop reading for a moment if you need to say a silent prayer for me. How could I have been so blind? That must be at least a ten on the neglect meter. There is probably a direct hotline to Child Protective Services just for Nike Elite mishaps like these. I mean really after I paid 16.00 a pair for them the least I could do is show them the respect of getting them mated correctly.<br />
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I know it was a huge mistake. (I am hanging my head in shame as I type) I must confess that there are times after working all day healing the sick my eyes are tired and I just can reach the level of perfection that being a mom of a young prince requires. <br />
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It was a very tragic scene on Friday. There was a chance that he would have to wear burgundy and white socks instead of white and burgundy socks. Can you imagine how upsetting it was to find out my child was going to have to endure such a horrific choice? Not since Sophie had to choose a child to get on the train has there been such drama and angst. <br />
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I have decided my punishment for this crime should be that I am no longer given the sock mating privilege. I know what you are thinking. "Isn't that harsh? shouldn't I be given a second chance?"<br />
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No. I am prepared to face the music. From this date forward I will place all the socks in a basket and Michael can mate them correctly.<br />
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I will sacrifice so that he never has to face the hardship of not having the right color and size of sock. Maybe I am not such a bad mother after all.<br />
<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-56839734852154703422013-02-10T11:08:00.000-08:002013-02-10T11:08:40.158-08:00Sledding Isn't For Sisses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For my entire life I thought of sledding as one of those magical things that happens on snow days. Snugly snow suits, friends giggling and hot cocoa waiting at the bottom of the hill. Thursday night just like a big brother telling you there is no Santa, Nick the trainer ruined this image for me. <br />
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It was about ten minutes into our training session (or what I like to call "you have got to be frickin' kidding me!") when he introduced me to the fun sled's evil twin.....the push me until you want to puke sled.<br />
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Didn't know your cute little red sled had an evil twin? Well it does and it doesn't come with warm cocoa .<br />
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The exercise sled is the tool used by a trainer to make you think there is a chance you will die. My theory is it was invented by a savvy estate planner as a tool to drum up business.<br />
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The girl in the picture on the left is pushing an exercise sled. Now mine didn't have extra weight , I didn't have on short shorts and I have no thigh muscles but otherwise you get the idea. Nick's idea was to have me push and pull it back and forth a couple of times and then run back and forth a few times.. He comes up with some great ideas, doesn't he? It is probably easier to think when you are just standing there with your heart pumping at a normal rate and you aren't thinking about your children as orphans. I can't say that for sure I am just guessing.<br />
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I was particularly concerned because my friend Pam had agreed to join me and I didn't want her having to tell my children how I died in a pool of my own sweat. First of all they would never believe her and second I was pretty sure the incident would scar her for life.<br />
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Being in my forties this is not the first time death has crossed my mind. I had always imagined I would choke on a Hershey kiss while reclining on my couch watching a Lifetime movie. Sweating under my breasts in an ugly outfit on scratchy green turf didn't sound like near as much fun and it certainly didn't make for a good story told around the casket. I had no choice but to survive until I could freshen up and apply lipstick.<br />
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The good news was that when my turn on the sled was over I would get a one minute water break and then it was on to lunges. Side lunges, forward lunges and backward lunges. lunge for the trainer's throat...oh wait that wasn't one of the ones we were supposed to do. See what happens when you are oxygen deprived? You start thinking crazy thoughts. Exercise is indeed dangerous for everyone involved.<br />
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Both Pam and I survived the hour and even though Pam said "she sweated in places she didn't remember existed" we are both going back on Tuesday. There comes a point where you realize that you aren't getting any younger. That body you so eagerly abused in the 80's has to last you for next 50 or so years. I don't regret the beer, the Ho-Hos or how I snubbed my nose at Jazzercise but now it is time to pay the piper. If working out means I will be able to play with my grandchildren then I will push the dreaded exercise sled.<br />
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But let me tell you one thing. If I make it to 95 I am going to lay down with a bad of Hershey kisses and turn on Lifetime.Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-25773680470267782352013-02-03T17:59:00.001-08:002013-02-03T17:59:16.889-08:00Rite Aid Gone Terribly Wrong<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every once in a while you have a moment that freezes in time and you know you will remember forever. I had one of those on Saturday night in a Rite Aid in Flint.<div>
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The evening began with me in a wonderful restaurant with the love of my life having a romantic dinner to celebrate his birthday. No kids, no pizza or chicken nuggets. Just the two of us alone and acting all grown up.</div>
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We ordered drinks and I ordered Salmon Oscar. It was crab cakes, topped with salmon, lobster and a rich creamy sauce. It melted in my mouth and I washed it down with a sweet riesling wine. It was a wonderful romantic much needed dinner. To top off the evening we ordered a slice of turtle cheesecake and two spoons. Perfection!</div>
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On our way to see the musical Shrek I began to feel a rumbling in my stomach that told me my system wasn't used to such fine dining. McDonald's hamburger, no problem. Real food, full system rejection.</div>
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No every area in Flint is a desirable place to stop but we found a Rite Aid and I went in to get Imodium to try to stage a counter attack on my full system rejection of real food.</div>
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I had just grabbed the items I needed when I realized it was too late to intervene. I stood cross legged in aisle 5 and told Brad to go find out where their restrooms were located. At this point I needed the most direct route to the facilities to avoid disaster. I knew I could only run so far with my legs crossed so I had to be smart about this. As my sweet fiance stood patiently waiting to ask the question my situation went to DEFCON 5. I raced to the front of the store and blurted out "WHERE IS YOUR BATHROOM?".</div>
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The sweet cashier replied "We don't have a public restroom". At that moment our eyes meet and I said through gritted teeth "You have to have something" and she knew that it was either break the rules or get the mop. The last thing I heard was "all the way back and to the left. BE CAREFUL!!". I raced through the stock room past the mop bucket and into the men's restroom. At this point whether the stick figure on the door had on a dress was the least of my worries. How do you spell relief? Stock room bathroom.</div>
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After my walk of shame to the front of the store, I thanked the cashier. As soon as we got in the car I grabbed the box of Imodium and couldn't decide if I should take two tablets or just leave two tablets in the box and take the other 34. The decision was made for me by the degree of difficulty in getting the self respect saving pill out of the package. Why would you make a pill that you need to take to avoid pooping your pants in public in such a sophisticated terrorist proof package? In my opinion they should be readily accessible and dissolve under your tongue like a Nitroglycerin tablet. When you need them there is seldom time to waste.</div>
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So while there are many things I will remember about the weekend Brad turned 44 I will never forget that the celebration was almost trumped by the number two.</div>
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Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-91533191936908477272013-02-02T07:52:00.000-08:002013-02-02T07:52:26.575-08:00Winner Winner Chicken Dinner<div>
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I had the honor of being nominated by someone for the<b> Circle of Moms Funniest Mom Blog </b>contest. (Thank you for thinking of me). The top 25 blogs will be posted on their website for the next YEAR! Did I mention that they reach over six <b>MILLION </b>moms on their site. </div>
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This is where I need your help. Please click on the link below<b> every 24 hours</b> on your phones , your iPads, your Kindles, steal your kids phones and vote on theirs. It's easy, either every morning while you drink your coffee or every night while you have a cocktail click on the link and vote for <i><b><span style="color: magenta;">Kim's Crazy Life</span></b></i>. Think how accomplished you will feel getting such important work done before you have had your cup of coffee!</div>
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<a href="http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/Top-25-Family-Blogs-By-Moms-2012#_">http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/Top-25-Family-Blogs-By-Moms-2012#_</a>Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-84370449358819700932013-02-01T11:45:00.000-08:002013-02-01T11:45:38.666-08:00Husky Hitchhikers <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last night I picked up two hitchhikers at the corner of Union Lake and Commerce Road. I know you are thinking "How does she get into these messes on a Thursday night" but it happened.<br />
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I was driving home from Brad's birthday dinner with every intention of crawling into bed when I spotted two large fluffy balls of fur frolicking back and forth in the middle of the road. Cars were slowing down and stopping and something in me knew I had to stop and help, especially since it appeared no one else was going to. <br />
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These dogs were large but did not appear menacing. I thought it might be prudent to test my theory so I rolled down the window in an attempt to establish a rapport just in case they were Cujo in disguise. I figured that worst case scenario I would take a dog bite to the left arm and I would be able to get out of training for a few weeks.<br />
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As they ran up to the car at the sound of the word "treat" I knew I would be keeping my limbs but I was in this for the long haul.<br />
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I lured them into the van with Special K cereal that I stash in there to keep me out of the McDonalds drive-thru. In they hopped, ignored my cereal dumped in the van and got comfortable.<br />
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I took off their collars to find out who they belonged to and called the number. A very happy voice came on the machine but no one was home. Great. Just what I needed It's midnight and I have two large dogs in my van. I tried several more times with no answer so I did what anyone does when they need help. I called 911. I would call them and they would send someone to get these dogs home and I would be in bed very soon.<br />
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Turns out they don't send someone. They told me to take them 45 minutes away and place them in an outdoor cage at the Animal Rescue or I could take them home with me. I could just imagine how happy Hoosier would be when I returned home with two large dogs. I tried to mentally picture the four of us in my queen size bed..<br />
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I decided since 911 hadn't helped much I would call 411. The operator who turned out to be more helpful than the police listened to my whole dog story and was very sympathetic . She did a reverse search for the phone number and gave me the address. It was just a mile away so me and my new canine companions headed out. When I arrived the garage was open but there was no answer to my repeated knocks and door bell rings. Of course I had on my new Nine West boots and not snow boots because snow boots are ugly. As I began to lose feeling in my toes I was rethinking my position on fashion over function.<br />
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Back in the van the dog showed no signs that they were home. They didn't try to get out of the van they just sat and waited. Now I was really in a conundrum. I could place the dogs inside but what if this wasn't their house. I had discovered in the Christmas card debacle of 2012 that the yellow pages don't always have the most up to date addresses. I lost $2.70 in postage in that gamble.<br />
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Back at the front door to ring again and hopefully rouse the owners I was greeted by a cat. Crap! Now I really couldn't leave these dogs in this house. I could imagine the owners coming home to find their house ransacked and their cat missing. Morning would find the police tracking my worn tire tracks and charging me with burglary with a canine. All I could see was me sitting in the courthouse with Kwame. Not a good outcome. There is no air conditioning and they don't let you color your hair in prison. That knowledge has saved many lives I am sure.<br />
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So here I sat in my van with these two dogs and it was closing in on midnight. As the feeling came back in my toes I decided I would give it one more try at the door. If no one answered my only course of action would be me and three dogs snuggled in my bed for what was left of the night.<br />
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As I rang the door bell for the last time I peered in the window. Luckily there was a photo of some kids and one of the dogs on the table. They did belong here after all!!!<br />
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I herded them quickly into the house and they turned to look at me like "aren't you coming in?" because by now we had bonded.<br />
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As I was getting ready to back out and finally head home their owner showed up. He was so happy to have his dogs back that it made my frozen feet and fear of prosecution all worth while. I know how much I love my dog and his family loved these dogs as well. The night ended with big hugs and relief on both our parts that his dogs were in his home and not mine.<br />
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This was my Thursday night. Can't wait to see what the weekend brings.<br />
<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-63060407966696148812013-01-28T16:40:00.002-08:002013-01-28T16:40:57.900-08:00UPS Package Stalker<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am a stalker. There I have admitted it. I am not proud of it but I felt as my readers you should know that I have gone ape shit crazy when it comes to knowing where my packages are at any given moment.<br />
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It began innocently enough. The past few holiday seasons I did a huge portion of my shopping online. Whenever a certain package would ship Amazon would send me an email with a tracking number to track my packages. At first I thought "Wow this is really cool" and I would keep track of the packages so I would know when they were being delivered.<br />
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Then came the release of the iPhone 5. Of course Michael just had to have it and the best way was to pre-order and have it shipped to be delivered on the release day. That is when I went from being a concerned customer to an all out UPS stalker. I would wake up in the middle of the night and hit the tracking number on my phone and find out where the phone was. I could tell you where the package was at any given moment. I knew when it was loaded on the truck, taken to the airport and which sorting station it was in. I don't have that many details as to where Michael is at any given moment.<br />
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Since then whenever I purchase something online (like the super cute Nine West black boots that arrived today) I become obsessed with tracking it. If I had my way I would be able to call the UPS facility or the truck itself and talk to the driver. I am sure he would just love "stalker lady" asking him exactly how long he was going to be at lunch or if he could possibly stop by my house early so I could wear my boots that night. <br />
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I have lost all control over my ability to wait patiently until the door bell rings and I hear the package thump on the porch. I need to keep track of all my goodies. Where are they? Are they being thrown around? Did they get delivered to the wrong house? These are the questions that haunt me.<br />
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If only I could track Michael as easily as I can my packagesI could take my stalker level to DEFCON 5.Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-63993824056725782812013-01-25T07:18:00.000-08:002013-01-25T07:18:39.559-08:00Fifty Shades of Fitness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I always thought that if I found myself breathing heavy, flushed and there were ropes involved I would be in some sort of Fifty Shades of Grey scenario. Turns out that was not the case. Instead I was in my Fitness Revolution class slinging two very long and very heavy ropes while doing a squat. Not exactly the thing dreams are made of I can assure you.<br />
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Even though I wasn't living out some wild fantasy this fitness thing is really starting to grow on me. I thought I would hate it. I thought I would dread going but instead I find myself looking forward to it. We had a new member on Thursday. He's twenty five and his name is Scooter. Nick worked him so much harder than us that it makes us feel badly for him. Not so badly that we want to do what he does but we do sympathize. He's lost twenty two pounds in just two and a half months and he looks amazing. <br />
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For a wimp like me to be able to complete an hour of exercise is nothing short of a miracle which I suppose would make Nick a miracle worker. He works you so hard and so fast that just when you are doing sit ups and think "This sucks!! I don't want to do this anymore!" he switches you to a different torture technique to distract you. Smart move on his part because a couple more crunches and I would be plotting his demise.<br />
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He uses what you are passionate about to motivate you. Like when I asked if we could all go out for margaritas after class he suggested that I pretend the weight I was lifting was a large glass of wine. Not quite what I was looking for but distracting none the less.<br />
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Remember it's not too late to join us for our non alcoholic fifty shades of fitness. Call Total Sports of Wixom at 248*669*9817 and ask for Nick.<br />
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Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-33488900537975571072013-01-22T19:25:00.000-08:002013-01-22T19:25:40.952-08:00Fitness Revolution<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"I hope when I am gone, people will read my old blogs." That was the thought running through my head as I laid on the scratchy turf trying to "plank" for thirty seconds. Nick, my trainer at Total Sports in Wixom yelled encouragement and something like "back up" when I would fall to the floor. It was the longest thirty seconds of my life but just a small fraction of Nick's Fitness Revolution class.<div>
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<i>The difference between the girl in this photo and me is that she can actually do it. I couldn't even get up on my elbows for more than ten seconds. </i></div>
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Early on in my first session I realized that I had some serious problems. First and foremost I needed a real sports bra. The one I have is just one of those flimsy bras I wear around the house on the days I don't want to wear a real bra. Great for lounging not so great for running. </div>
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My next realization (along with the fact that I needed at least two liters of oxygen) was that silk undies and yoga pants don't mix. I spent a great deal of time hiking up my pants. This extra effort was using energy that I really needed to survive the hour.</div>
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I started out strong and was very proud of myself until I figured out we were only doing the warm-ups. If there was just a warm up class I could totally rock it. I'm just saying.</div>
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By the thirty minute mark I was wheezing, sweating in places I can't speak of and Nick's cute trainer smile was beginning to scare me. Wasn't he worried about me? Didn't he want to take my pulse? I was a newcomer and I thought I should at least get a worried glance. The only thing that kept me going was that I was absolutely not going to die with my bangs pulled back in a clip. Even near death I have my standards.</div>
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There was no clock and I wasn't sure I could trust Nick to stop at one hour. He really looked like he was having fun and loved his job. Please Lord , don't let him decide to put in a little overtime.</div>
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More running, squats, more running, lunges, more running. Are you getting the idea? He was alternating pain and torture and doing it quite effectively. The hour ended and I was still alive. Barely but I still had a pulse and my pants hadn't fallen down. Not bad for me for my first time.</div>
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So I survived session one of twenty. It was not pretty and as I type I can feel my muscles locking up. By Thursday I will probably need one of those mouth sticks to type my blog. </div>
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But I will be back again on Thursday to whip this body into shape. Join me, it's worth it just to watch me run. Call Nick the smiling revolution leader at 248-669-9817.</div>
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Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-25920292333282299302013-01-21T13:27:00.000-08:002013-01-21T13:28:18.993-08:00Only Gains Since Last Loss ( Grief and Girdles)It has been twenty pounds since anyone in our family has passed away.<br />
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I know this for sure because recently I lost my dear Aunt Mary. She was my grandmother's sister and one of the people I admired most in the world. I knew when I heard that I had to make the trip down for her funeral and began to prepare for my trip.<br />
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As any woman knows the first emotion following grief in this situation is fear. "Well bless their heart" is barely out of your mouth when you think "Crap when is the last time I wore my black dress?"<br />
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Having just been on a cruise last year I thought I was in the clear. As I squeezed my black shape wear slip over my head I begin to have some doubts about the success of this process. I was having a little difficulty getting it over the shoulder and I still had the hips to go. Sweat was beginning to form on my upper lip as I shimmied and squirmed my way into this fashion necessity. With lots of pulling and prayer it was finally pulled down over my hips and I estimated I had sucked in at least five pounds and a few inches. Taking a deep breath or sobbing would be out of the question but I would just have to suck it in and hold myself together.<br />
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As my legs became one under the slip I found it difficult to walk toward the closet. No need to panic. This thigh friction could be solved with control top hose and some lotion. I pulled out a burgundy wrap dress and slid it over the Lyrca. To say it fit would be an exaggeration. I looked like a cheap hooker. Everywhere there wasn't shape wear there was extra "shape" sticking out. Praying that it wasn't as bad as I thought I called my daughter Ashley in to give me a second opinion. She walked in my room , looked me up and down and stated "Oh good Lord NO!!" I knew it was a stretch (pun intended) but didn't think it looked that bad.<br />
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After several more dresses I looked down to find my legs were a blue color. I had either cut off all circulation or that tag that said to wash my dark jeans before I wore them wasn't a joke. Either way I knew that if I was going to make it I had to unleash this over forty body of mine out of this Lycra prison. <br />
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I made it fine until I hit the shoulder area. All the material had combined to form a Boa Constrictor like hold on my upper body. I called out for help and Ashley came running. We managed to free me and all the blood and fat cells rushed back to their home. <br />
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The look on Ashley's face was "Dear Lord, please don't tell me that's what my body will look like when I am forty seven." I decided that I might need to put her on a suicide watch for the next twenty four hours. After that kind of trauma you never know what someone will do.<br />
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A few days later as I dressed for the funeral I thought how silly I had been. These people were my family and needing to get all dressed up wasn't what this was about. After all I am sure my Grandmother would just be happy I was there.<br />
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When I came out of the bedroom to leave for the funeral my grandmother turned to me and said "I don't know what you did to your hair today but it looked really good yesterday". Apparently my outfit was the least of my worries. You have to love Grandmother for keeping it real.Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-49296567011577224342013-01-16T07:37:00.001-08:002013-01-16T07:37:26.449-08:00Fitness Training for the Exercise Impaired<br />
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Somewhere at the Total Sports Complex there is a personal trainer named Nick. I know this because he and I are supposed to meet tomorrow to begin my 10 week quest toward a new fit and fabulous Kim.<br />
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The sad thing is that he is just running along living his life in his workout gear with no idea of the challenge that lies ahead for him.<br />
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Tomorrow morning he will wake up and have some kind of muscle building shake and feel all energized and enthusiastic. He will spend his day training like minded people who actually enjoy exercise. Together they will squat and lunge and he will feel he is making a real difference in their lives.Then when he gets to me at five o'clock he will begin to doubt his career choice.<br />
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I am not a fan of exercise. I don't know if it is the sweating or monotony but it just isn't as much fun as shopping. Why people run just to end up back at home has always puzzled me. Don't get me wrong I will run toward a clearance rake or away from a mouse but beyond that I am kind of a stationary person. I am a fan of reading a magazine or watching reality t.v.. The only exercise I get is lifting a large McDonald's diet coke from the cup holder to my mouth a couple of hundred times a day. Sometimes that even feels exhausting.<br />
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Fitness requires a Lycra wardrobe and time management skills neither of which I have. I am not a morning person so working out before work is not a realistic goal for me. After work I don't want to go home and change just to get back out. I could pack to go to the gym but now we are back to my lack of time management skills again. <br />
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Up until I hit my mid forties I could eat whatever I wanted and not get too fat. Those days are over. It's like all of a sudden my body has said "Okay lady that's enough Doritos! Get off your a** and move." I have found that after 40 your body is more of a adversary than a friend.<br />
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So I am going to spend the next 10 weeks seeing how the other half lives. You know those people that think Target heart rate is something other than how excited you get when the Target ad comes out. I am going to see what the runners high is all about. Is it true those those people that exercise have more energy? If so where did they get the energy to start exercising in the first place? Should I buy a water bottle, energy bars and a selection of neon colored sports bras? What jewelry should I wear? I will state for the record that I refuse to participate in any activity that doesn't involve at least earrings and a bracelet.<br />
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So y'all pray for Nick. He is going to need all his muscle milkshake skills to transform this coach potato into an exerciser. If I can lift my arms I will update you Friday. If you don't hear from me please drop a bottle of ibuprofen on my porch and say a quick rosary.<br />
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Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-91315522316433112472013-01-15T13:26:00.000-08:002013-01-15T13:26:50.288-08:00Parallel Parking Is Stupid<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When do you ever HAVE to do this?</td></tr>
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I am so furious! Looks like I am going to have to use my emergency Xanax to teach Michael how to parallel park. Now you have been along for this crazy existence that I call my life and you know darn good and well that there are many other times when this emergency pill is going to be needed. But because this antiquated maneuver is still required before you can even begin the road test I am going to have to go to some deserted parking lot and try to remain calm while trying to teach my son to do something that I don't even do well. We would have a better chance of him teaching me how to shoot a three point shot.<br />
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There are very very few places that even offer parallel parking so it is difficult to find a place to practice. This past weekend Brad and I found ourselves standing out in the freezing drizzle pretending to be the cars in the front and back of a space. The next time Michael utters "You just don't trust me" I am going to punch him in the throat! Nothing says trust like a large vehicle coming out you with a teenager behind the wheel.<br />
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I am not sure why we are still being tested on this. Why don't we test them on something they really need to know like how to drive with your leg while you eat fries and drink a coke. I would say it is a much more likely scenario than having to parallel park.<br />
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The whole thing just makes me want to scream. We spend hundreds of dollars for driver's ed and fifty dollars to take a road test so they can get a license and torment us further by raising our insurance rates and making laws that our teens can't answer their phones while they are driving. How will we ever know where they are? One thing is for sure I know that Michael won't be somewhere trying to parallel park.<br />
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I am starting a grass roots movement right now to abolish the parallel parking requirement. It's too late for my child but I will feel my life has served a purpose if no other mom has to waste her emergency Xanax in such a senseless fashion. Game on Governor Snyder!!!!!Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-63883304762599840862013-01-11T09:21:00.000-08:002013-01-11T09:21:56.049-08:00New Cellphone Law Has Me Laughing<b style="height: 1px; left: -999px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: absolute; top: -999px; width: 1px;">http://</b><br />
<a href="http://bit.ly/10m2SKD">bit.ly/10m2SKD</a> Read about the new bill here!<br />
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Governor Snyder recently signed a law making it illegal for teens to talk on their cellphones while driving. While I'm all about teens paying attention to the road and not their phones I thought the "talking" part was funny. <br />
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I haven't seen a teenager actually put a phone to their ear since the phones had cords and they were attached to the wall. Teens don't talk on the phone. They text, tweet, Instagram, snapchat and Facebook but the one thing they don't do is talk. <br />
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Example: Homecoming with all their friends and they are on their phones.</div>
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There was a time when cell phone minutes shared among a family would be the cause of a end of the month shouting match about who used all the minutes. Now as long as they have unlimited text and a large data package they could call less if their phones have the capability to make calls.<br />
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If by chance I do call my son, first I get silence as if he isn't sure if he is supposed to say hello first or if I am. Then I get the worlds shortest conversation. He seems annoyed that his "mini computer" is ringing. If I really want to communicate with him I text. We can text all night but talking to me on the phone is out of the question.<br />
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He is turning sixteen next week which means he will be living in his car. I would never text him while he is driving and now apparently I can't call him while he is driving. I am really going to miss him.<br />
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<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-72631708013274547932013-01-09T18:44:00.000-08:002013-01-09T18:44:41.956-08:00Laundry Jenga<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every week we have the same laundry ritual at my house. Michael dumps his dirty laundry in the living room floor. Usually it is around 9 p.m when I have no chance of getting it done before bedtime. <br />
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I survey the pile and begin the task of meticulously sorting. Socks that were tucked inside each other are separated, clothes that are inside out are reversed and the dog usually spends a few minutes rolling around in Michael's basketball "scented" items.<br />
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After each load is washed and dried I sort them in to piles according to the item. All t-shirts are Gap folded (you know how they fold them at the Gap so you can see the logo), socks mated, jeans folded and his hoodies are hung up to dry so they won't shrink.<br />
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Now comes the fun part. Instead of taking them down to his room he comes up every morning , drops his towel and retrieves his daily ensemble from the couch of clothes. This goes on for several day until I throw a hissy fit and make him take them down stairs. Until the hissy fit actually occurs he begins his day with a fun game I like to call laundry Jenga. <br />
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Laundry Jenga is when he tries to pull the item he needs out of the folded stack of clothes. If he is very careful he can get the middle shirt without disrupting the entire pile. If he isn't successful then the pile falls over and all my work is for nothing. <br />
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The problem with this game is that he is the one playing and I am the one that is losing. Laundry Jenga is the reason my right eye twitches and I have to have my hair colored every four weeks. For the life of me I can not understand why he can't just take them downstairs. In the privacy of his man cave he could play laundry Jenga all he wanted. <br />
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So each week we play this game. Each week my hair turns a little whiter and he looks at me during my hissy fit like I have lost my mind. So if one day you arrive at my home and I am sitting in the corner clutching a box of Gain and staring off into the distance you will know I finally cracked. One too many rounds of laundry Jenga will do that to a person.Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-26870651412124746742013-01-02T07:59:00.000-08:002013-01-02T07:59:12.191-08:00Teens and Toilet Paper Rolls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am searching for a scientific mind to perform a clinical study. I would like to know how much energy is required to change a toilet paper roll.<br />
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This information is urgently needed so that I can decide what type of vitamins or food supplements my children need. As a mother I need to address the fact that they seem to be lacking that extra bit of energy required to change the toilet paper roll.<br />
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They are close, so close. They can lean over and get a new roll out of the cabinet but that is where they apparently run out of energy and are forced to take a break. In their apparent exhaustion they are forced to sit the toilet paper on top of the old roll and lie down. <br />
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I am assuming this is what is happening because these two smart kids can't just be so lazy that they can't change the roll. As their mother, I am going with the lack of energy/exhaustion theory. Call it denial but there has to be a logical scientific explanation for TPRS "toilet paper roll syndrome".<br />
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Speaking with other parents I have found TPRS is running rampant in our country. How can it be that this is not being investigated or studied? As mothers we need and demand answers. How many gummi vitamins does it take to capture enough energy to conquer TPRS?<br />
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The time to fight is now. Join me in finding a cure and "wiping" out TPRS!<br />
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<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-91009744684652063372012-12-09T20:35:00.000-08:002012-12-09T20:37:44.423-08:00Sunday Night , Crisis Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sunday night at 10:30 is my least favorite time of the week. As any mother knows that is crisis time and no amount of planning or prayer will save you.<br />
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Late Sunday night is always when your kids have a paper due and the printer is out of ink. Laundry that absolutely has to be done and ready for school tomorrow gets presented to you along with a snarky remark about "last weeks turn around time. Forms that require you to locate your reading glasses and insurance card must be filled out and cash money (something I never have) is needed for a field trip.<br />
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I haven't googled the statistics but I would venture to guess that more children become ill and feverish at bedtime on Sunday nights than any other time of the week. Children that are perfectly healthy and able to play video games after dinner are at deaths door hours later. I have never known a child to ever be sick on a Friday. The throwing up and fever couldn't possibly begin at a reasonable hour because that would mean you had time to contact a sitter or make arrangements for the next day.<br />
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As a added bonus apparently it is some kind of rule among the children that they must throw up on as many things as possible. The comforter, the sheets, the pillows and the rug are all fair game. A child can hit fifty free throws in a row but can't hit the trash can when they are sick.<br />
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Sunday nights are when you realize you are out of bread, milk or both. There is nothing in the fridge that your child could possibly pack in their lunch that they will eat which leads to the writing of the 3.00 dollar check for lunch money because again you have no cash. <br />
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Poster board sales go through the roof on Sunday nights. Not the cheap kind from Walmart but the expensive ones from CVS that cost more than your wedding album. Since the need for this poster assignment was not revealed to you until the 10 p.m. Fox news was on you are forced to pay the high price in the name of the poster emergency. Poster emergencies account for the majority of mental breakdowns of women between the ages of 40 and 48. Not menopause, not infidelity,but poster emergencies.<br />
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All of these Sunday night escapades will find you with your hair in a clip and mismatched pajamas. As you enter CVS in this stylish ensemble you will inevitably run into the super mom in your child's class. Dressed to the nines she will cheerfully inform you she just stopped by to pick up her Christmas cards because she always has hers done by Halloween to avoid the last minute rush. When she sees the poster board she will inform you that her angel did hers last week and try to make you feel sorry for her for having such a Type A personality child.<br />
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You will contemplate murdering her but come to your senses just in time to realize that this outfit will be in your mug shot and your arrest will mean your little angel will not have their poster board. While going to jail would as the kids say "suck" nothing is worse than hearing your child say "and it was all your fault!!" Better to be known at the next PTA meeting as a convicted felon than the mom who didn't have an extra poster board.<br />
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So you head home with bread, milk and a poster board and you realize that Sunday is the beginning of the week. You have six days to relax until they will take ill, try to print a paper or tackle a poster project. <br />
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<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4292043573875335881.post-46851067618188037512012-11-26T07:25:00.000-08:002012-11-26T07:25:54.460-08:00The Art Of Doing Nothing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are certain talents that each of us are blessed with. Some take lots of practice to perfect and some just come naturally.<br />
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My friend Tara and I discovered one of our natural talents twelve years ago while on a girls weekend. We have been diligent about perfecting it.<br />
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Our children were young and we needed to get away and have an adult conversation. We booked a hotel room, kissed our kids good bye and wished our husbands good luck. We hopped in the minivan and didn't look back.<br />
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As we began our adventure we were like two women who had been told they only had two days to live. We couldn't decide if we should eat, shop, sleep or just take turns peeing behind a locked door without interruption. All were things we had not been able to do in a very long time.<br />
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After a night of shopping at Target and purchasing new pajamas we checked into the hotel and got in bed. We didn't get out until Sunday.<br />
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It was so glorious to just be able to talk and sleep and watch movies that we couldn't bring ourselves to leave. There were no children to feed, bathe or entertain. It was quiet and comfortable with no chaos. We looked at each other and couldn't believe we had been given such a wonderful gift.<br />
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It took a while but we started having fluid conversations. Without the need to break up fights or explain for the twentieth time that "mommy is on the phone" we were actually starting to sound like articulate educated adults.<br />
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We relied on the vending machines for food until we figured out we could order a pizza and have it delivered to the lobby. After a quick game of rock, paper,scissors to determine which of us had to "bra up' and retrieve our dinner, we munched on pizza in bed.<br />
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It has been twelve years of these respite weekends now and we have mastered the art of doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! We now stay in hotels with luxurious bedding and room service. The first night of the weekend always involves a Target run to purchase Gilligan O'Malley pajamas and snacks. Diet coke is on ice along with some wine and now that our kids are older we tell them not to call unless they are at death's door with their hand on the knob and don't anticipate they can hold on until Sunday night.<br />
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Some people don't understand our just doing nothing philosophy. They look at us funny when we explain it and seem puzzled. <br />
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"What do you mean you do nothing for 48 hours?" they ask.<br />
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I guess this type of weekend is not for the motivated got to get things done kind of person. It takes commitment to not venture from the 600 thread count sheets to shop or do something productive. It takes a creative mind to be able to talk about absolutely everyone and everything for 48 hours. <br />
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Luckily for me I have found someone that shares my talent for lounging in luxury and we promise our talent will not be wasted. <br />
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I will see you Friday Tara!!! Let the weekend of lethargy begin.!!!!<br />
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<br />Kimberly Ellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12136570442106636113noreply@blogger.com0