<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243</id><updated>2012-01-27T10:54:20.830-06:00</updated><category term='Law of Physics'/><category term='Singing'/><category term='Tulsa'/><category term='personal property taxes'/><category term='outside'/><category term='Not Me Monday'/><category term='photo shoot'/><category term='high chair'/><category term='shopping'/><category term='Emma'/><category term='Pudding'/><category term='Pumpkin patch'/><category term='birds'/><category term='Carey. 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Wood'/><category term='complaining'/><category term='Zune'/><category term='Mommy&apos;s going crazy'/><category term='Walmart'/><category term='Jenna'/><category term='Korean drama'/><category term='laundry detergent'/><category term='crack bars'/><category term='widowhood'/><category term='flowers'/><category term='Movies'/><category term='smell'/><category term='Leaving for China'/><category term='candy'/><category term='pearls'/><category term='cleaning'/><category term='painted nails'/><category term='cougar.'/><category term='dog poop'/><category term='ucks'/><category term='baskets'/><category term='winner'/><category term='prejudice'/><category term='bath'/><category term='Twitter'/><category term='The SITS girls'/><category term='hugs'/><category term='Franklin TN'/><category term='Lost'/><category term='leftie'/><category term='Summer Survival Tips'/><category term='Julia'/><category term='book blurb'/><category term='organizing'/><category term='photos'/><category term='beds'/><category term='earthquake'/><category term='Ben 10'/><category term='Moving'/><category term='scissors'/><category term='bathes'/><category term='tantrum'/><category term='Guy #1'/><category term='bank'/><category term='boxes'/><category term='dancing'/><category term='clothes'/><category term='Craving Savings'/><category term='winners'/><category term='peek'/><category term='family fun'/><category term='Vietnam adoption'/><category term='Shakespeare'/><category term='Turbo Tax'/><category term='Book'/><category term='Sex in the City'/><category term='Drury Inn'/><category term='Ear piercing'/><category term='friends'/><category term='Gauge'/><category term='Chocolate'/><category term='pants'/><category term='Episode 2'/><category term='Book Review'/><category term='pedicures'/><category term='Ross'/><category term='pigtails'/><category term='Money Saving Madness'/><category term='birthday'/><category term='soap'/><category term='stress'/><category term='coupons'/><category term='Mommy Runs Away'/><category term='Target'/><category term='silliness'/><category term='High School Musical'/><category term='Library'/><category term='cheesecake. Emma'/><category term='tattoo'/><category term='BFF Getaway'/><category term='Emma dancing'/><category term='party'/><category term='diapers'/><category term='gift card'/><category term='Kevin'/><category term='baby book'/><category term='nanowrimo'/><category term='lunch'/><category term='Holiday cards'/><category term='DeniseSwank author blog'/><category term='Disney on Ice'/><category term='dreams'/><category term='Bella'/><category term='Darrell. plane crash'/><category term='Dining Room'/><category term='Glamour Shots'/><category term='Movie Tickets'/><category term='Black Friday'/><category term='queen'/><category term='American Girl'/><category term='school lunch'/><category term='chaos'/><category term='article'/><category term='potty training'/><category term='loneliness'/><category term='International adoption'/><category term='Viking Range'/><category term='Giveaway'/><category term='Boys Over Flowers'/><category term='Piano'/><category term='Closet'/><category term='Crazy kids'/><category term='Online dating'/><title type='text'>There's always room for one more</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>401</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-8256453201708575812</id><published>2011-09-01T11:52:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T12:02:16.492-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dreams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='adoption'/><title type='text'>The Monster in Your Dreams</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Mmly5aC1-c/Tl-5Kopm5OI/AAAAAAAADnU/17z7BTKFF_w/s1600/Dreams_of_flying_away_by_OneTaintedAngel.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Mmly5aC1-c/Tl-5Kopm5OI/AAAAAAAADnU/17z7BTKFF_w/s320/Dreams_of_flying_away_by_OneTaintedAngel.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647436050107655394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I’ve always been fascinated with dreams. They are magical doors to exciting worlds, escape from the banality of life. Dreams are the seeds of inspirations and ideas. They are source of nightmares and fear. They are the windows to our souls.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;My little Ryan has always had bad dreams. He was two and a half years old when I adopted him so the situation was traumatic for all involved. For awhile they were every night, an hour to an hour and a half after he went to bed. I would rush to his room and pull him into a hug and tell him Momma was there. Everything was okay. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;When I first brought him home he spoke Chinese and I knew none, but he learned English quickly. Months after he came home I asked him what he remembered about China. He looked at me with a confused expression and said “nothing.” He only had memories of being with me. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Over the years, I’ve tried to jog his memory. Does he remember China at all? What about when he was with us there? Or living with his foster family? He remembers nothing, to my huge regret. But he was only two and most people have no real memories from their past before three. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Ryan is five now. Lately, his dreams have changed. He tells me they are about China when he was little. But when pressed, he said he didn’t remember. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;But this morning was different. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I woke up late and had to get three kids and myself ready. I was in my bathroom and running behind when Ryan came in and stood next to me, very subdued. I looked down at him and he said. “I had a bad dream.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I kept fixing my hair and asked, “What was it about?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“When I was little in China. And Jenna was there.” This was a new piece of information.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I glanced down at his face, uncharactistically expressionless. I sat on the floor and pulled him onto my lap, facing me.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“What happened? Do you remember?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;He stared into my eyes, tears welling up. “I lived in China and you came to get me.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I sucked in my breath as cold terror trickled down my back. His nightmares, finally, after all these years made sense.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I am the monster in my child’s dreams. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I pulled him into a hug and told him how sorry I was that it was so scary for him. He didn’t know what was going on when I adopted him. The orphanage director brought him to me and left. He was alone with a strange looking woman who smelled different and he didn’t understand what she was saying. He was traumatized. He had cried for hours.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I leaned him back and stared into his face. “It’s okay to have those dreams,” I said. “It’s okay to feel mad, or sad or scared of Mommy in your dreams. You’re not bad to feel that way. You didn’t do anything wrong. But I love you &lt;i&gt;very &lt;/i&gt;much and I’ll do anything to make you feel better. I want you tell me when you feel this way and I promise I won’t be mad or hurt or sad.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;A tear fell down his cheek.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Do you understand?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;He nodded. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“You need to tell me so you will feel better. If you talk about it your dreams might not be so scary. And I promise I won’t be mad. It’s okay to feel that way.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;He spent the next ten minutes with me as I got ready, holding my hand when we went to get his sisters up. Within another ten minutes, he was fine, his silly self. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;But I’ve spent the morning reliving every nightmare he’s had, viewing it in a new light. What could I have done differently? How could I have prevented this trauma for him? Because isn’t that what we mothers do? Blame ourselves?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The truth is, there are things I could have done, but I’m not perfect. Maybe I should have pressed him harder sooner but I don’t think so. Honestly, I don’t think he put it all together himself. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So why am I telling the world this painful experience? Because I wish that I’d spent more time repeating his adoption “story” with him. Jenna, the first, had a bedtime story about a little girl who lived far away and her family flew over an ocean to get her. But Ryan is my third adoption and our bedtime routine has changed. I’m often in a hurry to get my kids to bed so I can work. Stories don’t happen as often as they should. Maybe, just maybe, if I talked about it more he wouldn’t need his dreams to sort out his feelings for him.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;And I know that my Ryan isn’t the only one. You—the adoptive mom or dad—might be the monster in your child’s dreams. It doesn’t mean that they don’t love you. In fact, I suspect Ryan’s biggest obstacle this morning was resolving his conflicting feelings about me. &lt;span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;It never occurred to me that he kept that horrifying day locked deep in his psyche, although it should have. It shouldn’t be a surprise it escaped through his dreams. But now I’m aware and I’m prepared. And maybe, just maybe, we can make the monster go way. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-8256453201708575812?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/8256453201708575812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=8256453201708575812&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8256453201708575812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8256453201708575812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/09/monster-in-your-dreams.html' title='The Monster in Your Dreams'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Mmly5aC1-c/Tl-5Kopm5OI/AAAAAAAADnU/17z7BTKFF_w/s72-c/Dreams_of_flying_away_by_OneTaintedAngel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5121742504487604267</id><published>2011-06-27T15:58:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-27T16:54:54.200-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='book tour'/><title type='text'>Hey! Look at Me! I'm a Bag Lady!</title><content type='html'>I've been busy lately getting ready for the release of &lt;i&gt;Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes. &lt;/i&gt; This means I've been preoccupied and my children have had to entertain themselves. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;**GASP**&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;**Insert obligatory mom story about only having three TV channels when I was a kid and having to play outside all day.**&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;**Insert obligatory childrens' eye roll**&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Thankfully, Ryan and Emma entertain themselves pretty well, as long as I  can tolerate the mess.  (And if you've seen my house, you know I can.) Today, I was sitting at my computer trying to organize a blog tour** for my book and I noticed Emma prancing in the entry way. Wearing a bag. A gift bag.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YTGx6BxlST0/TgjysmyvErI/AAAAAAAADjU/x7Gylk-gThw/s1600/IMG_0971.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YTGx6BxlST0/TgjysmyvErI/AAAAAAAADjU/x7Gylk-gThw/s320/IMG_0971.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623010982913577650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This picture doesn't do it justice, but she's ripped out the bottom of the bag and the handles are her shoulder straps. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why &lt;i&gt;yes&lt;/i&gt;, she &lt;i&gt;is &lt;/i&gt;doing a pageant move with her fists under her chin. Why do you ask? *blinks*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: my children are not involved in pageants. Julia, who just turned 14, is obsessed with Toddlers and Tiaras and has taught poor innocent Emma how to walk with cupcake hands and blow kisses in the shape of a heart.  God help me.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But why stop with dresses?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zMmjoo7gFic/Tgj3u90SyGI/AAAAAAAADj0/eeo_V6cr5V8/s1600/DSCN0869.JPG" style="font-style: italic; " onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zMmjoo7gFic/Tgj3u90SyGI/AAAAAAAADj0/eeo_V6cr5V8/s320/DSCN0869.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623016521012004962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt; How about a cape?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HiPk2-fFy-0/TgjytKQP5cI/AAAAAAAADjc/mPjAOhA0oHM/s1600/IMG_0972.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HiPk2-fFy-0/TgjytKQP5cI/AAAAAAAADjc/mPjAOhA0oHM/s320/IMG_0972.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623010992432604610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Or a hat?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ryan couldn't be left out of the fun.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-50bnRlTqz2I/Tgjytv-1-sI/AAAAAAAADjs/D3dH_T9l0OM/s1600/IMG_0974.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-50bnRlTqz2I/Tgjytv-1-sI/AAAAAAAADjs/D3dH_T9l0OM/s320/IMG_0974.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623011002560150210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Meet the future winners of Project Runway.  With their use of sustainable products along with their unique style, they're shoe ins. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;**Book Blog Tour: I am putting together a book blog tour for &lt;i&gt;Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes.&lt;/i&gt; The tour will start on my blog on the release date, July 12 and travel to other blogs for 2-3 weeks. If you'd like to be part of it, send me an email at dms052564@gmail.com. Thanks!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5121742504487604267?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5121742504487604267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5121742504487604267&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5121742504487604267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5121742504487604267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/06/hey-look-at-me-im-bag-lady.html' title='Hey! Look at Me! I&apos;m a Bag Lady!'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YTGx6BxlST0/TgjysmyvErI/AAAAAAAADjU/x7Gylk-gThw/s72-c/IMG_0971.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-1080788364465106032</id><published>2011-06-15T12:33:00.011-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-16T00:33:22.416-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='emoticons'/><title type='text'>Admitting You Have a Problem is the First Step</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Hi. I'm Denise and I'm addicted to emoticons.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;It all started innocently enough. A smiley face here :-) or there. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9zP61AmIrEA/TfmIuRM83PI/AAAAAAAADiU/42zJiijJzv4/s1600/emoticon.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9zP61AmIrEA/TfmIuRM83PI/AAAAAAAADiU/42zJiijJzv4/s200/emoticon.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618672338594487538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Then to convey sarcasm. The wink: ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lU-kmgi53P8/TfmJ5_NaCEI/AAAAAAAADic/WD87lzrXbPE/s1600/emoticon.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lU-kmgi53P8/TfmJ5_NaCEI/AAAAAAAADic/WD87lzrXbPE/s200/emoticon.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618673639434618946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Surprisingly (or not), I use that one a lot. ;) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;(see?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;The I moved onto to the angry face: x-)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fidRmA4d76I/TfmNgXBS1DI/AAAAAAAADjE/bmOxIT_J16o/s1600/istockphoto_56642-smiley-12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fidRmA4d76I/TfmNgXBS1DI/AAAAAAAADjE/bmOxIT_J16o/s320/istockphoto_56642-smiley-12.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618677597196178482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;And surprise: O.O&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AFtgx3B4u7k/TfmMbdQUuVI/AAAAAAAADik/iieFvO6N1IU/s1600/icontexto-emoticons-10-icon.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 256px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AFtgx3B4u7k/TfmMbdQUuVI/AAAAAAAADik/iieFvO6N1IU/s320/icontexto-emoticons-10-icon.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618676413458856274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Then one of my favorites, the spit face: ;-P"""&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lY8lyWRonyQ/TfmMceE76bI/AAAAAAAADi0/B0pAsPNpUXw/s1600/icontexto-emoticons-08-icon%2B%25281%2529.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lY8lyWRonyQ/TfmMceE76bI/AAAAAAAADi0/B0pAsPNpUXw/s320/icontexto-emoticons-08-icon%2B%25281%2529.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618676430859397554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Why, yes, I'm a bad influence on my children. Why do you ask?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;The next thing I knew,  I couldn't send a tweet or write a Facebook status update/comment without one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;I was addicted. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;But it's annoying with all those unclosed parentheses floating all over the place with carelessly attached semi-colons and colons. I need to stop and admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, right?  So I vow to stop using emoticons as much as possible.  Even if it's really hard. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;strike&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;O.O  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strike&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt; Oh wait. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;strike&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;x-(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strike&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt; This might be a little harder than I thought.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Still, some things are sacred.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tv4GdVL8ZmQ/TfmPDL0wiBI/AAAAAAAADjM/OMCujtSToIs/s1600/LOL-300x264.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tv4GdVL8ZmQ/TfmPDL0wiBI/AAAAAAAADjM/OMCujtSToIs/s320/LOL-300x264.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618679294997858322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;They'll have to pull the LOL out of my cold dead fingers. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-1080788364465106032?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/1080788364465106032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=1080788364465106032&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1080788364465106032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1080788364465106032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/06/admitting-you-have-problem-is-first.html' title='Admitting You Have a Problem is the First Step'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9zP61AmIrEA/TfmIuRM83PI/AAAAAAAADiU/42zJiijJzv4/s72-c/emoticon.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3675209778580236346</id><published>2011-06-09T15:22:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-09T15:42:02.889-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='summer fun'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan. Emma'/><title type='text'>Compromise</title><content type='html'>With a mom who's busy trying to get everything ready to publish a book (while attempting to write another) and two small children who don't understand why they can't go to the pool, how is this resolved?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-042Wgj7rsTU/TfEuxJ6GXXI/AAAAAAAADiE/dNrXeplvVek/s1600/DSCN0792.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-042Wgj7rsTU/TfEuxJ6GXXI/AAAAAAAADiE/dNrXeplvVek/s320/DSCN0792.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616321632315792754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Compromise&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3675209778580236346?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3675209778580236346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3675209778580236346&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3675209778580236346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3675209778580236346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/06/compromise.html' title='Compromise'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-042Wgj7rsTU/TfEuxJ6GXXI/AAAAAAAADiE/dNrXeplvVek/s72-c/DSCN0792.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-1431303357493980609</id><published>2011-06-05T14:16:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-05T14:30:59.438-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='headphones'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dogs'/><title type='text'>Why Mommy Wears Headphones</title><content type='html'>Summer vacation is here!  Yay! Unfortunately, I've had a hard time concentrating the last few days. I wonder why. This video was taken just a few moments ago from my desk chair. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ia6tbYk1bgU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Be sure to get to at least 30 seconds to get the "full effect."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*this is a cross post with my writing blog&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-1431303357493980609?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/1431303357493980609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=1431303357493980609&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1431303357493980609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1431303357493980609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/06/why-mommy-wears-headphones.html' title='Why Mommy Wears Headphones'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://img.youtube.com/vi/ia6tbYk1bgU/default.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4808845486114346716</id><published>2011-06-02T07:48:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-02T08:21:50.536-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ross'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='remodeling'/><title type='text'>Nerves and Ways to Deal with Them</title><content type='html'>You can always tell when I'm nervous. My house is usually clean. And decorated.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's kind of backward, I know. I should be too anxious to clean, but I've come to realize it's my way of trying to exert some control over a situation that I might feel out of control. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last year I had a bad pap smear, only it wasn't a the usual kind. The bad cells were endometrial which made me more than a  little freaked out. My nurse practitioner was fantastic and got me into a gynecologist in her office within days to have a coloposcopy. The doctor removed a large polyp during the procedure that appeared to be attached to my endometrium. He said he was sure it was the cause of the bad pap smear and that the growth was most likely benign, but the pathology report would tell us. I'd have the results in a few days. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;{Side note: If you didn't know this, don't feel slighted. I think I only told two people.}&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Over the next few days I painted and decorated Ryan's room, cleaned out and organized his and both girls' bedroom closets. Busy girl.  I had a paint roller in my hand when the phone rang, the nurse calling me to tell me everything was really okay. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;{Side note #2: The doctor wanted to have me take a pregnancy test before he did the procedure. My insurance sucks so I told him it wasn't necessary. He said sometimes women thought they might not be pregnant so I should do it to be sure. To which I replied: "Trust me Dr. XXX, you're the first man to be down there in years." He turned a lovely shade of crimson and let it drop. Imagine my horror when several months later I discovered he was the husband of Julia's vocal teacher.}&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;My nervousness now is minor in comparison. While it's over a possibly life changing situation, no matter which way the decision goes, my life will continue just fine. Still, it's something out of my control.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;So, my house is getting really clean. And pretty. I woke Ross up yesterday morning and asked him if he wanted to help me paint the kitchen and hearth room.  He's my usual partner in &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2008/04/never-underestimate-luxury-of-running.html"&gt;home repair &lt;/a&gt;so he said yes. We spent the rest of the day painting and later last night, as Ross and I were finishing up, Jenna asks, "Does this mean we have to spend all our time outside?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;I looked at her in confusion. "&lt;/span&gt;What&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;"Since you're making our house so fancy, does this mean we have to spend all our time outside and only come in to go to bed so we don't mess it up?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;My daughter is a genius. Why did I never think of this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4808845486114346716?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4808845486114346716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4808845486114346716&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4808845486114346716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4808845486114346716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/06/nerves-and-ways-to-deal-with-them.html' title='Nerves and Ways to Deal with Them'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4818650882303798891</id><published>2011-05-30T10:41:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-30T13:56:27.959-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><title type='text'>Sisterly Love</title><content type='html'>Last week I was in New York City for BEA, Book Expo America, which is all about publishing and the newest books coming out in the fall. Basically, it's like Disneyland for book lovers.  But leaving for a week always proves a challenge with a house full of kids and no significant other to help out. This trip was a hodge-podge of child care ranging from Ross and Julia tag-teaming during the week, Friday night at my brother's house and a baby sitter Saturday and Sunday.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Whew.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Needless to say, my house was a freaking disaster when I came home. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As I was cleaning the entry way this morning, I found a wadded up napkin. Ewww. Gross. But I noticed the napkin had writing. It was trash from Jenna's lunch on Field Day which Julia had made for her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My oldest girls, Julia 13 and Jenna 8, sometimes get along but more than half the time fight like the two gangs in West Side Story, only thankfully my girls don't use knives. (that I know of) So finding this napkin was reassuring that maybe there is hope for them after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fdQnFPcHix8/TeO603n0tuI/AAAAAAAADh4/e0wEqevDGGQ/s1600/DSCN0760.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fdQnFPcHix8/TeO603n0tuI/AAAAAAAADh4/e0wEqevDGGQ/s320/DSCN0760.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612534978080716514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Jenna,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Even though Mom couldn't be here she loves you! Have a FANTASTIC day! I hope your day is filled with sparkles!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Love you!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Your sister, Julia&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Excuse me while I go find a tissue to wipe my eyes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4818650882303798891?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4818650882303798891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4818650882303798891&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4818650882303798891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4818650882303798891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/05/sisterly-love.html' title='Sisterly Love'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fdQnFPcHix8/TeO603n0tuI/AAAAAAAADh4/e0wEqevDGGQ/s72-c/DSCN0760.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-2309319507919278955</id><published>2011-05-23T00:43:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-23T02:18:35.336-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='self-publishing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='book blurb'/><title type='text'>My Big News</title><content type='html'>After a year and a half of writing non-stop (I'm currently working on my SIXTH manuscript) I am THRILLED to announce that one of my books will be available to the masses! I'm self-publishing my quirky southern mystery, TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my release date is July 12. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*yikes!*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES will be available as a soft cover book and as an eBook at Amazon (Kindle), Barnes and Noble (Nook) and Smashwords (Sony, and other formats.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This wasn't an easy decision. Many people in the writing world look down on self-publishing (or indie printing) and with justifiable reasons. There's a lot of junk out there. Lots of people think they can just write a book, slap on an image for a "cover", and put it up for sale.  The truth is a lot of people don't spend much time on their book editing and revising after writing a first draft and it shows. There's a reason why those people couldn't get published in the traditional publishing world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But sometimes, a book comes along that agents or editors aren't sure what to do with. Or they might like it but don't think it will sell. Traditional publishing likes neat genre packages and TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES doesn't fit that mold. Its part mystery, part paranormal, part romance, with a touch of woman's fiction.  I sent out over fifty query letters to agents (rewriting my letter three times) and got only a handful of requests. And the ones who read part of it said it had a great "voice" but it wasn't for them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So now you're saying "Isn't that a polite way of saying it sucks?" and I'd be inclined to think so if I hadn't won &lt;a href="http://www.firstcoastromancewriters.com/?page_id=8"&gt;The Beacon 2010 Unpublished Division, Mainstream category&lt;/a&gt;.  Obviously, the writing is good, the voice is good and I have about 30 beta readers and critique partners who tell me that the story is good. Some, who've read everything I've written, say it's their favorite of my manuscripts. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had two choices. I could let TWENTY linger on my external hard drive for eternity or I could send it out into the world on my own, without the help of a traditional publisher.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what finally pushed me over the edge: the world of publishing is changing since the birth of eBooks. I learned with financial investing that it's best to diversify. You spread your money out in several different investment areas. With the changing landscape of publishing, why not apply that same principle? I still want to be published with a traditional publisher. I still want an agent. But my writing career is just like financial investing. I'm investing in my career.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But all that aside, I believe in this story. I LOVE this story. It won't be for everyone and that's okay. NO book is for everyone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So how is my book going to be better than a lot of the other self-published books out there?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1) I didn't write this book, immediately fit it into the proper eBook formatting and upload it all over the place. I've spent hours on this book. No, wait. That's an understatement. I spent hours, and hours and HOURS on this book. I spent more time editing and revising than I did writing it. A conservative estimate is approximately 700-800 hours. And yes, some of those hours were in VERY long days. During first draft, one day I started writing at 9 am and finished the next morning at 4 am. (Yes, that did include breaks for kids, eating, etc. but for those who are writers, it was a 10K day)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2) My book is being professionally edited. I don't want people to be distracted by typos or misplaced commas. It's my hope that readers won't be able to tell it didn't come from a legacy publisher.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3) My cover will be made by professionals. The saying people judge a book by its cover is true. Even my 13 year old daughter notices book covers and has on more than one occasion NOT bought a book based on its cover.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4) My characters are very well developed and real. I love Rose, the main character. She's sweet, innocent, funny and once she decides to live her life, she embraces it to the fullest. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We have an exciting two months ahead of us! I'll have some giveaways. TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES will be part of a book blog tour. I'll be revealing the cover in about a month. Those of you who were readers and followers of my blog before I abandoned you all will get a chance to see what I ran off to write. And hopefully you'll love it too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what's this book about? How about I show you the blurb on the back of the book?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;“It all started when I saw myself dead.”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;For Rose Gardner, working at the DMV on a Friday afternoon is bad even before she sees a vision of herself dead. She’s had plenty of visions, usually boring ones like someone’s toilet’s overflowed, but she’s never seen one of herself before. When her overbearing momma winds up murdered on her sofa instead, two things are certain: There isn't enough hydrogen peroxide in the state of Arkansas to get that stain out, and Rose is the prime suspect.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Rose realizes she’s wasted twenty-four years of living and makes a list on the back of a Wal-Mart receipt: twenty-eight things she wants to accomplish before her vision comes true. She’s  well on her way with the help of her next door neighbor Joe, who has no trouble teaching Rose the rules of drinking, but won’t help with number fifteen-- do more with a man. Joe’s new to town, but it doesn't take a vision for Rose to realize he’s got plenty secrets of his own. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Somebody thinks Rose has something they want and they’ll do anything to get it. Her house is broken into, someone else she knows is murdered, and suddenly, dying a virgin in the Fenton County jail isn’t her biggest worry after all.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-2309319507919278955?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/2309319507919278955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=2309319507919278955&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/2309319507919278955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/2309319507919278955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/05/my-big-news.html' title='My Big News'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5474815147928554947</id><published>2011-05-21T14:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-21T14:47:50.488-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Book'/><title type='text'>Just Because I'm Mean...</title><content type='html'>I wanted to tell you that I have an exciting announcement! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which I will make on Monday!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Told you that I was mean!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5474815147928554947?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5474815147928554947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5474815147928554947&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5474815147928554947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5474815147928554947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/05/just-because-im-mean.html' title='Just Because I&apos;m Mean...'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-7229068043997276325</id><published>2011-05-18T13:57:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-18T14:46:10.854-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flowers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preschool'/><title type='text'>Miscommunication</title><content type='html'>I've gone a little flower crazy.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qS8HCsIV9BQ/TdQY7DcIbAI/AAAAAAAADhw/R9YK4zeEgYs/s1600/DSCN0556.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qS8HCsIV9BQ/TdQY7DcIbAI/AAAAAAAADhw/R9YK4zeEgYs/s320/DSCN0556.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608134838797757442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I love flowers and I used to love to garden. In an attempt to put a little more balance in my life, I decided to create a giant flower bed. It previously ended right in front of those bushes to the right. I took it to the tree. (I foresee a water feature of some kind in that bare spot.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zMLfZZFcytw/TdQXtDRBAGI/AAAAAAAADhg/1GU926Nbd38/s1600/DSCN0549.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zMLfZZFcytw/TdQXtDRBAGI/AAAAAAAADhg/1GU926Nbd38/s320/DSCN0549.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608133498721337442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I also built this landscape wall, which if you're friends with me on Facebook, you saw me &lt;strike&gt;brag about&lt;/strike&gt; share my pride. Lots of flowers here too, and a pink dogwood tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3TeO8lNRdWo/TdQY6_mq-XI/AAAAAAAADho/NxmqSaNZctI/s1600/DSCN0555.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3TeO8lNRdWo/TdQY6_mq-XI/AAAAAAAADho/NxmqSaNZctI/s320/DSCN0555.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608134837768223090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And my front porch, several pots of flowers, surely to be joined by more after my trip next week.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So now my house looks like a greenhouse nursery, which makes me really happy. I can look out my office window and see all those blooms between the bushes and the trees. But with this change in the landscape, we've learned something new about Emma. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emma loves flowers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess I knew this already. I always have to plan an extra five minutes into our walk to pick up Jenna from school so Emma can stop and pick clover flowers and dandelions. Who knew all that innocent flower picking could cause widespread devastation?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;gt;cue ominous music&amp;lt;&amp;lt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;cue ominous="" music=""&gt;&lt;/cue&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PAphzr6YSz8/TdQXspHiHrI/AAAAAAAADhY/yxL7yNDWR4w/s1600/DSCN0550.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PAphzr6YSz8/TdQXspHiHrI/AAAAAAAADhY/yxL7yNDWR4w/s320/DSCN0550.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608133491702242994" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Where have all the flowers gone?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5cA25ooZt00/TdQXsZkn24I/AAAAAAAADhQ/Z4g7DTC-S28/s1600/DSCN0551.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5cA25ooZt00/TdQXsZkn24I/AAAAAAAADhQ/Z4g7DTC-S28/s320/DSCN0551.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608133487529286530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;What did this poor plant do to loose all it's MULTIPLE blooms?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;To be fair, how was Emma to know? I didn't specifically tell her not to pick the flowers and how is it any different than our &lt;strike&gt;daily&lt;/strike&gt;, &lt;strike&gt;every other day&lt;/strike&gt;, a couple of times a week walks? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;After a minor freak out (one of my finer moments, to be sure) I explained to her that these flowers were supposed to be looked at and not picked. If we picked them, we wouldn't have lots of pretty flowers in our yard.  It took a couple of times outside for the rule to sink in, a rule that she now helps enforce with neighbor kids. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Next Tuesday is Ryan and Emma's last day of preschool. This is actually on the radar of my attention because I'm going to New York City next week and I won't be here for it. Big brother Ross is in charge of the kids part of the week, a babysitter over the weekend. In any case, I'm trying to figure out who needs to be where and when while I'm gone so I can make a detailed list. Ross already feels a bit overwhelmed by his responsibilities, I figured I'd save him an item and send the teacher's gifts on Thursday. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Which meant I had to get their presents before 2:00 Thursday afternoon when I picked Emma and Ryan up. (You think I jest. Trust me, I've been known to be that late to the game.) You can only imagine the immense pride and satisfaction I felt realizing the need for gifts on &lt;i&gt;Wednesday morning&lt;/i&gt;.  (Go me!) But what to get? Gift cards would have been easy but less personal and I wanted their teachers to know how much we'll miss them. I mean, obviously you only have to look at my &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/05/mugshots.html"&gt;children's mugshots&lt;/a&gt; to see how happy they've been this year.*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;*Not an accurate representation.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since Ryan and Emma loved helping me plant flowers and we needed a morning activity, I decided we'd make pots of flowers for their teachers. I'd let the kids pick out which flowers they wanted then we'd come home and plant. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We got Jenna off to school and I was checking email when I told Emma that we were going to go pick out some flowers for her teachers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No, Mommy. You said I couldn't get my teachers flowers."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No, it's okay. We're going to go get some after Ryan gets dressed."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Five minutes later, Ross who'd just emerged from his cave (also know as his room in the basement) said, "Uh oh."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any parent knows those two nonsense syllables will instantly stop your heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I looked up and there was Emma holding these.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NJPvwqVnQ54/TdQXsERgraI/AAAAAAAADhI/Fws8sC0lnh0/s1600/DSCN0523.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NJPvwqVnQ54/TdQXsERgraI/AAAAAAAADhI/Fws8sC0lnh0/s320/DSCN0523.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608133481811979682" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It could have been worse. She could have cut down the dogwood tree.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-7229068043997276325?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/7229068043997276325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=7229068043997276325&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7229068043997276325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7229068043997276325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/05/miscommunication.html' title='Miscommunication'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qS8HCsIV9BQ/TdQY7DcIbAI/AAAAAAAADhw/R9YK4zeEgYs/s72-c/DSCN0556.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4211889439306976480</id><published>2011-05-16T12:05:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-16T15:38:19.437-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan. Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pictures'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preschool'/><title type='text'>Mugshots</title><content type='html'>Little Ryan is five now. He's come a long way in the almost three short years he's been in our family. He's gone from a very quiet, shy, fearful child to a vivacious, talkative, friendly boy. But still, there's situations he'll get a little quieter, a little shyer until he's comfortable.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ryan has been in three preschools. His first was a small church run preschool he went to until we learned he qualified for the school district preschool for speech and language therapy. But this year, he graduated from speech therapy and his school district preschool schedule was a killer. (Monday-Thursday 12:20-4:50, including bus pick up and drop off) After a lot of soul searching and prayer, I decided to move Ryan to Emma's preschool at the start of the new year. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I worried. Was this too much change for a little guy who likes structure? But he was very excited to go to Emma's school and I breathed a sigh of relief at getting two days with four straight hours to myself.  The first day he was eager to start his new class, until he got there. Then he clammed up and plastered on the stoic expression he wears when he's scared. I sent him into his classroom, more than slightly worried but when I picked him up he was all smiles and mad he had to wait two days to go back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The school year is ending and the remaining preschool days are pretty much field days and picnics so the teachers are cleaning out cubbies and file boxes. It was like a blast to the past when Ryan brought home a folder with this picture on the front:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KU6LhaihnQ8/TdFZinNFpNI/AAAAAAAADgA/d71F7cc_yUs/s1600/DSCN0468.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KU6LhaihnQ8/TdFZinNFpNI/AAAAAAAADgA/d71F7cc_yUs/s320/DSCN0468.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607361462227281106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Is it just me, or does this look like a police mug shot you'd see on TMZ? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This photo was taken the morning he walked in and while it tugs at my heart that my baby was scared and shy, I have to laugh a little at this photo. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Yeah, mother of the year. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Since I've already incriminated myself,  why stop there? Because, let's be honest. Isn't that part of what you've missed about my blog posts, my lack of self-filtering?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Emma and Ryan's preschool takes school pictures in the fall just like the big kids.  Ryan was still at his other school, so on picture day, I sent Emma to school in a cute little outfit and a hair bow (gah, she hates those and outright refuses to wear them now.) A week or so later I got back her proofs.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xP2X8BmbgyI/TdFf-siYk7I/AAAAAAAADgI/dKSnSWOgiDI/s1600/011.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xP2X8BmbgyI/TdFf-siYk7I/AAAAAAAADgI/dKSnSWOgiDI/s320/011.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607368541764883378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Her hair bow is missing and Emma isn't all that excited to be there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GiGufv7Pyrc/TdFf_HWSidI/AAAAAAAADgQ/iaEPwYPO4lU/s1600/012.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GiGufv7Pyrc/TdFf_HWSidI/AAAAAAAADgQ/iaEPwYPO4lU/s320/012.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607368548961913298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I'm not sure what goes on at preschool, but it looks like it couldn't be much worse than waterboarding. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Most mother's would probably see these proofs and say "oh, my poor baby was traumatized." What did I do?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I burst out into hysterical laughter, right there in the preschool hallway. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Priceless.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The question was which pose to order? I couldn't limit it to just one. If money were no object (and when someone discovers that magical land, you be sure to come back and let me know where it is, okay?) I would have gotten all four. Instead, I settled on two. Poses 2 and 4, 'cause you just never know when these photos might come in handy. Emma's still my wild child. I'm smart enough to know I might be able to use these some day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4211889439306976480?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4211889439306976480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4211889439306976480&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4211889439306976480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4211889439306976480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/05/mugshots.html' title='Mugshots'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KU6LhaihnQ8/TdFZinNFpNI/AAAAAAAADgA/d71F7cc_yUs/s72-c/DSCN0468.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4889191504755448916</id><published>2011-05-13T16:06:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-13T16:45:39.460-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='writing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mess'/><title type='text'>One of the Many Reasons I Have Trouble Finding Time to Blog</title><content type='html'>Once again, I dropped off the face of the earth. But no worries, I've been writing, just not blog posts. My most recent project completed is a young adult science fiction novel titled TORN, which I'm currently querying.*&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;If interested, you can read about TORN &lt;/i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.denisegroverswank.com/books/"&gt;&lt;i&gt;here&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;You can see photos of what I envision the characters to look like &lt;/i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.denisegroverswank.com/2011/04/characters-for-torn/"&gt;&lt;i&gt;here&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But surely, you say, surely you aren't writing novels &lt;i&gt;all&lt;/i&gt; the time. You're right. I not. I'm dealing with things like this:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c-MRswNlcJg/Tc2fQJliOVI/AAAAAAAADfw/Fmy4jjAmels/s1600/DSCN0407.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c-MRswNlcJg/Tc2fQJliOVI/AAAAAAAADfw/Fmy4jjAmels/s320/DSCN0407.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606312210946210130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Today was a busy, fun filled day that required everyone be up, ready and out of the house earlier than usual** so I could go on a field trip with Jenna. I found this nice little surprise when I &lt;strike&gt;stumbled&lt;/strike&gt; came down the stairs to make a cup of coffee.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I rounded the corner of the stairs and did a double take. "Oh no," I said to myself, "please tell me I didn't see &lt;i&gt;something&lt;/i&gt; on the floor."  As you can see above, I did. &lt;i&gt;What&lt;/i&gt; it was happened to be was the first question. The second question was what was behind the hall closet door, because obviously, that was the true source.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WHM15zPW9pU/Tc2fQTukZcI/AAAAAAAADf4/fanMOfovtWE/s1600/DSCN0408.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WHM15zPW9pU/Tc2fQTukZcI/AAAAAAAADf4/fanMOfovtWE/s320/DSCN0408.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606312213668455874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Pencil shavings&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Why&lt;/i&gt; are there pencil shavings in my hall closet? And where is the pencil sharpener that produced the mess? I'm sure it will turn up in a week or so. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Oh, and for the record, those pencil shavings are still there. I didn't have time to clean them this morning before I left and I told myself (and Facebook) I was going to make a blog post. I lived up to my end of the bargain, who's going to volunteer to clean up that mess?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;*A query letter is how an author tries to get an agent interested. They send a short letter telling the agent what the book is about. If the agent is interested, then they'll request the author to send them them manuscript.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;**You notice I don't mention the time we had to be out the door. Many of you would laugh at me and say you were up and out ten hours earlier, but everyone knows, ten minutes or ten hours, earlier than usual in a morning schedule is a killer.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4889191504755448916?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4889191504755448916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4889191504755448916&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4889191504755448916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4889191504755448916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2011/05/one-of-many-reasons-i-have-trouble.html' title='One of the Many Reasons I Have Trouble Finding Time to Blog'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c-MRswNlcJg/Tc2fQJliOVI/AAAAAAAADfw/Fmy4jjAmels/s72-c/DSCN0407.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-7899289910730106398</id><published>2010-12-18T14:18:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2010-12-18T14:49:46.844-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Reading'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Shannon K. Butcher'/><title type='text'>The Reading Room</title><content type='html'>As any parent knows, once a first grader can string letters together to recognize a word, they become well acquainted with the Reading Log.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The powerful Reading Log holds control over life and death. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, but close. Failure to maintain the required number of pages or minutes results in loss of attendance to the Ice Cream Party. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you're in second grade, death is the preferred alternative to not attending the Ice Cream Party.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But when you're in November the oh-so-distant ice cream party holds little allure in the harsh reality of twenty minutes of lost playing/TV time.  Jenna, my second grader, goes through spurts of loving to read and hating it. Perhaps it's the reading material, more likely the call of her friends outside, but whatever the reason, Jenna and her Reading Log have become reluctant acquaintances.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ryan and Emma see me &lt;s&gt;nagging&lt;/s&gt; coaxing Jenna to read, see me set the twenty minute timer on my phone, see her camp out in a comfy chair to dive into another world. Apparently (and thankfully,) they have missed the reluctance.  Imagine my surprise when the preschoolers approached me with thick paperback books this afternoon and asked me to set the timer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They were doing their reading minutes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDV1YKAI/AAAAAAAADfM/yqr2J1j0a-w/s1600/055.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDV1YKAI/AAAAAAAADfM/yqr2J1j0a-w/s320/055.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552124759343900674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Aww, isn't that sweet? Ryan's reading.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDjx-llI/AAAAAAAADfU/KFD14lOwNXg/s1600/056.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDjx-llI/AAAAAAAADfU/KFD14lOwNXg/s320/056.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552124763087738450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Umm, are you sure that's appropriate?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDI-RPiI/AAAAAAAADfE/YUn2F_IFGpc/s1600/053.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDI-RPiI/AAAAAAAADfE/YUn2F_IFGpc/s320/053.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552124755891535394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Emma's snuggled in with her book.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDDiz-2I/AAAAAAAADe8/O_Dx8BUex5A/s1600/054.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDDiz-2I/AAAAAAAADe8/O_Dx8BUex5A/s320/054.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552124754434194274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;What? Did they start a &lt;a href="http://www.shannonkbutcher.com/"&gt;Shannon K. Butcher&lt;/a&gt; book club and not tell me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;BTW, I'm friends with Shannon and this series is awesome so at least they have good reading taste.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-7899289910730106398?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/7899289910730106398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=7899289910730106398&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7899289910730106398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7899289910730106398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/12/reading-room.html' title='The Reading Room'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TQ0cDV1YKAI/AAAAAAAADfM/yqr2J1j0a-w/s72-c/055.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-1150531907931173279</id><published>2010-10-13T15:51:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-13T17:30:54.958-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Singing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleep'/><title type='text'>I am NOT a Morning Person</title><content type='html'>I am not a morning person. I am a night owl and often stay up until the wee hours of morning. Good thing too, because that's the only time I can get in uninterrupted writing time. Unfortunately, my children do no understand that Mommy needs her beauty sleep. Or any kind of sleep. Especially uninterrupted sleep.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ryan is a morning person. He wakes up at the crack of dawn, wide eyed and bushy tailed. (For the love of God! The cliche's!) Ryan has always been a quiet child, except for when he's bossing people around. Nothing like rule breakers to crack a kid out of his shell. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the last month or so, Ryan has blossomed. He's still shy with people he doesn't know, but lately he's become chatty with the law abiding inhabitants, too.  Ryan has also discovered singing. Maybe he's seen too much Glee , or maybe &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2008/12/price-chopper-dance-party.html"&gt;Mommy's impromptu singing and dance numbers&lt;/a&gt; have finally had an effect, but the boy loves to sing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This morning, I was Tired. (Yes, with a capital T.) Who comes bouncing down the stairs at 7:10? (I was up at 6:45 after staying up until 1:30 watching miners jump out of capsules.)  Ryan. Shouting. And singing.  What could be better that shouting and singing at 8:00 a.m.? Bossing your little sister around.  That's right You Get the Best of Both Worlds.*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* I have sunk to new lows, invoking a Hannah Montana song title when she's not even part of the blog. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;object style="height: 390px; width: 640px" width="640" height="390"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xQmPmpExa1E?version=3"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xQmPmpExa1E?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="390"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;There's not enough coffee to handle this in the morning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-1150531907931173279?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/1150531907931173279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=1150531907931173279&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1150531907931173279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1150531907931173279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/10/i-am-not-morning-person.html' title='I am NOT a Morning Person'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-2585647607197676597</id><published>2010-09-14T23:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-14T23:20:20.459-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fifi'/><title type='text'>Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen or in This Case an Emma</title><content type='html'>I'm taking a week break from writing. My house is a disaster and I'm feeling domestic. This afternoon I decided to bake.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I used to bake.  I used to bake a lot, but my kids don't eat baked goods and I end up eating them all. But baking makes me feel good-- homey, comforted, useful. So today I baked.  Two apple pies, two loaves of sandwich bread and a loaf of cinnamon bread. From scratch.  My&lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/09/welcome-to-my-little-house-on-prairie.html"&gt; Little House on the Prairie roots&lt;/a&gt; were showing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Emma had a great day at preschool and came home to "help" me.  While I mixed the flour, sugar, yeast, and milk, Emma made her own concoction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBEBAC-OPI/AAAAAAAADes/lpHHdXtsKCo/s1600/023.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBEBAC-OPI/AAAAAAAADes/lpHHdXtsKCo/s320/023.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516984327511881970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Her ingredients?  Flour, water, sugar and a stolen half can of Diet Coke. Yum.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;But that got old, so when Mommy wasn't looking she moved to Mommy's side.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBEAonj2eI/AAAAAAAADek/yvmlVXnRym8/s1600/022.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBEAonj2eI/AAAAAAAADek/yvmlVXnRym8/s320/022.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516984321222892002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Oops.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBDukqxcsI/AAAAAAAADec/vLH_SQNjbTg/s1600/024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBDukqxcsI/AAAAAAAADec/vLH_SQNjbTg/s320/024.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516984010924978882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Uh oh. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;(Why, yes. That &lt;/i&gt;is&lt;i&gt; half of an apple on the floor.)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBDuCdxyEI/AAAAAAAADeU/98we0ZReCUg/s1600/025.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBDuCdxyEI/AAAAAAAADeU/98we0ZReCUg/s320/025.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516984001743669314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;What's this, you ask?  Emma has moved the bar stool to access the water dispenser.  Never underestimate the power of water added to a floury &lt;s&gt;paste&lt;/s&gt; mess.  What the camera fails to capture is the standing water spread across the floor. The puddle I slipped and fell in.  Sorry, no cameras around to capture the special moment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fifi is doing better today. She is falling less so the steroids must be working, but she's not all there either. The only thing we can do is wait. Thank you for all your kinds words and prayers!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-2585647607197676597?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/2585647607197676597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=2585647607197676597&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/2585647607197676597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/2585647607197676597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/too-many-cooks-in-kitchen-or-in-this.html' title='Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen or in This Case an Emma'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TJBEBAC-OPI/AAAAAAAADes/lpHHdXtsKCo/s72-c/023.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3394790478203828937</id><published>2010-09-13T22:07:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-13T23:05:18.913-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grief'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fifi'/><title type='text'>Priorities</title><content type='html'>She's just a dog. A stupid dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she was young, around one or two, she liked to bolt out the front door and we'd have to chase her down until we finally gave up.  I'd tell her if she didn't like living with us she didn't have to come back. But she always did. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After she got older, sometimes she'd run off into the woods behind my house and be gone for hours, coming back covered in mud and cockleburs. I'd curse and yell, and wash the chunks of mud down the drain, cut out the thorn branches stuck in her hair. I told her if she wasn't careful some wild animal would eat her. I fenced in my yard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She stands at the back door wanting in and out, in and out,  worse than a kid and annoying the hell out of me. Or she barks at nothing at all, even in the middle of the night, until I tell her to be quiet. Once, she knew there was mouse under our house and shredded the carpet and the baseboard trying to get to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five years ago she was attacked by a German shepherd. She was in bad shape.  She almost didn't make it. But I insisted we fix her, spending more money than we had, more money than a person should on a dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But she's my dog. That's what I told Darrell that Sunday morning in the Emergency Clinic.&lt;i&gt; She's my dog.  We have to fix her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend, while I was gone, something happened. She started walking into things. Sunday night she fell down the stairs. Twice.  She continued falling down, her legs on her right side giving out. I thought it was her back, which was injured when she was attacked. Why didn't I know better? Yet, I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The vet sent me home this afternoon with a pharmacopoeia of medicines.  Predisone, muscle relaxers, pain pills. The vet said it could be a pinched nerve until I mentioned she went to the neighbors house, thinking it was ours.  Then she leaned heavily to a neurological cause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brain tumor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left, shockingly numb. It wasn't definite. It could still be a nerve, but it a nerve didn't fit. I spent the afternoon in denial.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've watched her get worse and worse all afternoon and evening. She can hardly walk. When she tries to stand, she falls until she finally gets her sea legs and stumbles around. I just took her outside and watched the wind knock her over and over, until I was sure she was done and carried her in. I set her in front of her food and water and waited, the shield I erected around my heart crumbling every time she slipped and fell on her side, smacking her face on the hardwood floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All too familiar feelings wash through me. Foreboding hovers over my head. A cloak of grief I know to well. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have lived this before. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I asked myself, when I allowed myself to release the tears-- how many times will I lose the ones I love? Will I always feel so helpless?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's lying at my feet now, waiting for me to finish this post. She's always near, waiting. I call her my shadow, but I can feel the darkness slipping in, the fingers of death creeping close to do what it does best. Steal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's a dog. A stupid dog.  But she's mine and I love her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3394790478203828937?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3394790478203828937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3394790478203828937&amp;isPopup=true' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3394790478203828937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3394790478203828937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/priorities.html' title='Priorities'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5106982326180261490</id><published>2010-09-11T08:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-11T08:00:01.610-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='OCD'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Germ-x'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><title type='text'>The Latest Accessory</title><content type='html'>I've made no secret of the fact that Ryan has some OCD tendencies.  He likes things neat and organized. He likes to arrange things&lt;i&gt; just so&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIfHpP_w7lI/AAAAAAAADc8/a7lTjQp2B7s/s1600/001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIfHpP_w7lI/AAAAAAAADc8/a7lTjQp2B7s/s320/001.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514595780221005394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So it should come as no surprise that his latest accessory, that one item you just can't leave home without would be--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIfHpi9A0HI/AAAAAAAADdE/WZngKH3CxZk/s1600/002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIfHpi9A0HI/AAAAAAAADdE/WZngKH3CxZk/s320/002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514595785309737074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Go figure. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He carries that bottle EVERYWHERE (except school, I'm not sure they would allow it at Pre-K).  He even uses it. Sparingly.    Guess what he's getting for Christmas!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One kid down, five to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5106982326180261490?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5106982326180261490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5106982326180261490&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5106982326180261490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5106982326180261490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/latest-accessory.html' title='The Latest Accessory'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIfHpP_w7lI/AAAAAAAADc8/a7lTjQp2B7s/s72-c/001.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3539100201481830262</id><published>2010-09-10T00:01:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-10T06:41:26.251-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Trace'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ge'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cody'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ross'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gauge'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><title type='text'>Part Two: Who ARE Those Kids?</title><content type='html'>I am the single mother of six children. Some people are amazed by that fact.  To me, it's just who and what I am. My oldest moved out last spring, so I only have five children living at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I can SEE you shaking your head at my use of the word &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;only&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My three oldest children are biological. My three youngest are adopted.  Three are boys and three are girls.  Yes, I have my own Brady Bunch. *snort* Hardly.  Otherwise I KNOW I would have an Alice. And a Mike. For the record, at this point I'd prefer an Alice. I hate housework.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you want to know the story about HOW I became a single mother read &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/02/our-story.html"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Some of you know my kids from when I wrote before. Others are getting introduced. After this post, you'll all be up to speed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;Trace&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgJLJxznmI/AAAAAAAADd8/WrG_aHUCOho/s1600/trace.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgJLJxznmI/AAAAAAAADd8/WrG_aHUCOho/s320/trace.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514667830923206242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My oldest, Trace, is twenty-three now.  He moved out last spring and into a condo with his girlfriend Cody and her four-year-old son Gauge.  Trace works full-time at a pizza  restaurant and is finishing his last semester of collage.  He is eager to get out of the food service industry and begin a career.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgWgEQBtNI/AAAAAAAADeE/4ef_875Ihr4/s1600/gauge+and+cody.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgWgEQBtNI/AAAAAAAADeE/4ef_875Ihr4/s320/gauge+and+cody.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514682483867759826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His girlfriend Cody is the owner/creator of &lt;a href="http://luanded.storenvy.com/"&gt;LuandEd&lt;/a&gt;  She makes the cutest monster bags and tutus.  Be sure to check her store out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;Ross&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgDhI-6aFI/AAAAAAAADd0/NEXE7kwM9HM/s1600/013.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgDhI-6aFI/AAAAAAAADd0/NEXE7kwM9HM/s320/013.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514661611597097042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ross just turned twenty.  He lives at home and splits his time between working as an assistant manager at a convenience store and going to our local community college. His major is still undivided.  He currently has a girlfriend. Ross lives in a man-cave, otherwise known as our basement, where he happily resides with the 50" plasma screen TV he bought last spring.  Needless to say, I don't see a lot of Ross, but he often bring me Starbucks mochas.  I think I'll keep him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;Julia &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIhFhSi46jI/AAAAAAAADeM/rah7edNtg3A/s1600/julia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIhFhSi46jI/AAAAAAAADeM/rah7edNtg3A/s320/julia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514734181931346482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Julia is thirteen and now an eighth grader.  Julia is into everything drama, whether it be in real life or on a stage.  She just found out she got the lead role as Millie in her school musical, Thoroughly Modern Millie. She is in Show Choir (think Glee) and Honor Choir.  Julia has a heart of gold and loves children. She is a much coveted babysitter. If only she liked watching her siblings as much as she enjoys watching other people's kids. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;Jenna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgB-lGmfcI/AAAAAAAADdU/KeJGWLt6wt0/s1600/185.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgB-lGmfcI/AAAAAAAADdU/KeJGWLt6wt0/s320/185.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514659918338489794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Seven-year-old Jenna is a second grader. A product of the Disney Channel, Jenna is hip and sassy, but is actually more sensitive than I expected.  She's a girly-girl through and through and would rather play with her American Girl doll than kick around a ball.  Jenna is very social and love her friends. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgB_Asc2cI/AAAAAAAADdc/gm21c1BuwK4/s1600/029.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgB_Asc2cI/AAAAAAAADdc/gm21c1BuwK4/s320/029.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514659925744998850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ryan is now four and in Pre-K where he gets speech therapy.  Ryan was born with a cleft lip and cleft palate, but they were repaired in China before we adopted him at two and a half. Ryan likes things neat and tidy. He loves nothing more than to boss people around and tattle on them when they don't follow the rules, which explains his nickname: Officer Ryan.  When Ross isn't around (most of the time,) he is the only boy in a sea of estrogen. God bless him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgDfsRGAPI/AAAAAAAADds/YXaT1e1TY-k/s1600/003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgDfsRGAPI/AAAAAAAADds/YXaT1e1TY-k/s320/003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514661586708857074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Three-year-old Emma is the baby. Since the day I met Emma at three months, she has always had a strong will. A character trait to be admired, most of the time, but not when you are battling over the appropriate place to poop-- the toilet versus  your panties.  It's her very stubborness that helped her survive malnutrition in a Vietnamese orphanage and a case of RSV when she was four months old that left her on a ventilator for six days.  While her tenacity can be annoying at times, I wouldn't change it for anything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3539100201481830262?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3539100201481830262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3539100201481830262&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3539100201481830262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3539100201481830262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/part-two-who-are-those-kids.html' title='Part Two: Who ARE Those Kids?'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIgJLJxznmI/AAAAAAAADd8/WrG_aHUCOho/s72-c/trace.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-9032620473083596153</id><published>2010-09-09T00:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-09T15:06:00.845-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='writing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chosen'/><title type='text'>Part One: Where'd You Go?</title><content type='html'>It's no surprise I fell of the face of the earth last winter although it might be a surprise I came back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last November, I wrote a novel. It was okay. It had some good parts but it had a lot of bad parts. A LOT. It is unedited and sits on my external hard drive where it will spend eternity. Some might consider it a huge waste of time but I call it an incredible learning experience. I learned that I write pretty decent characters that have great chemistry, but I needed to work on realistic plots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I wrote a paranormal thriller next. Wait. Wasn't I supposed to be writing a more realistic plot? Here's the amazing part. I did. I love &lt;span&gt;Chosen&lt;/span&gt;. The first half was written in a near panic-attack, sure there was no way I could pull it off. But I kept going and before I knew it, I had a completed and edited novel. It only took me five-and-a-half months. I began the query process, the part when you start sending a &lt;a href="http://www.deniseswank.com/2010/06/chosen-query.html"&gt;query letter &lt;/a&gt;about your book to agents.  I'm ashamed to say I only sent it to seventeen agents. (Ashamed because its an embarrassingly low number) One agent requested to read the full book. Another requested to read the first fifty pages. The partial turned it down, but the agent who requested the full LOVED it. HOWEVER. She didn't think she could sell it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a very sad, soul-searching day the Saturday in June I received that email.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The problem was I didn't know WHY she didn't think she could sell it.  The only explanation I could come up with was it's a paranormal book with a romance.  There's a glut of them in Young Adult right now, even though Chosen isn't YA.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So two days later I started another book.  &lt;a href="http://www.deniseswank.com/2010/08/query-for-twenty-eight-and-half-wishes.html"&gt;Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes&lt;/a&gt;. A mystery.  I call it a cross between the humor of Janet Evanovich and the sweet-southern of Sarah Addison Allen.  I love this book too and I think it's more marketable. I am finishing up a round of revisions on it and plan to pitch it to an agent at a writing conference in Denver this weekend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All of this to say, I stopped writing my blog because I put so much time and energy into my novels I felt like I didn't have anything left to write a decent blog post. Along the way, even though I would think "This would make a good blog post," I was smart enough to know I couldn't tease my readers. Either I committed to writing this blog or I didn't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the end, I committed. I STILL had readers email and tell me they missed it.  My kids missed it. But the bottom line was *I* missed it.  I missed telling funny stories about my kids, our crazy life, and pontificating my crazy views on things.  If I write this blog, I want to do it right and not half-ass. If you take the time to read it, the least I can do is make sure I post a half-decent quality blog post. Hopefully better.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to thank those of you who still love me and my kids, even if we "abandoned" you. You have no idea how much I love hearing you missed us, because let's be honest, everyone wants to feel loved. Next week, I plan on doing giveaways to show you all how much I love YOU.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks for being patient with me.  I hope I was worth the wait.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tomorrow I'll give you an update on the kids.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's the book trailer I made for Chosen.  I STILL love this thing. ;-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/q87iopmDWTY?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/q87iopmDWTY?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;(Little known secret-- that's Ross' arm with a Sharpie marker tattoo.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-9032620473083596153?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/9032620473083596153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=9032620473083596153&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/9032620473083596153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/9032620473083596153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/part-one-whered-you-go.html' title='Part One: Where&apos;d You Go?'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4805512077118094016</id><published>2010-09-07T22:07:00.010-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-08T00:29:20.952-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Trace'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preschool'/><title type='text'>Cutting the Strings</title><content type='html'>Today, Emma started preschool. For a couple of weeks she had told everyone she encountered that she was going soon.  Her enthusiasm for school put her older siblings to shame. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last week, was Meet the Teacher Day. As we pulled up to the school, she practically squealed with excitement, something that Ryan couldn't relate to. (Ryan started his Pre-K year a couple of weeks ago with the school district early childhood center.) Emma marched right into the school and her classroom. She eagerly sat at the table with her folder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAzrNmddI/AAAAAAAADc0/qGH8X3b0btE/s1600/023.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAzrNmddI/AAAAAAAADc0/qGH8X3b0btE/s320/023.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514377156511561170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Because, hello! Who doesn't like candy?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAzDbFWXI/AAAAAAAADcs/eBc2qLKR5Oc/s1600/026.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAzDbFWXI/AAAAAAAADcs/eBc2qLKR5Oc/s320/026.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514377145830693234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Emma's class is The Stable Room. Amazingly enough, she wasn't tested before her class assignment to insure the proper room placement. Talk about serendipity. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAyuvNmqI/AAAAAAAADck/hbTrCPjuXgE/s1600/027.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAyuvNmqI/AAAAAAAADck/hbTrCPjuXgE/s320/027.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514377140277975714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Emma and Ryan explored her new room. Ryan was very hesitant at first and Emma led the way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAyHLQt2I/AAAAAAAADcU/bMYifC1QwDk/s1600/029.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAyHLQt2I/AAAAAAAADcU/bMYifC1QwDk/s320/029.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514377129658201954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Her favorite area was the Home Living Center.  Notice the folder in her hand.  She wasn't about to let that go!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fast forward to today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_q1c5xII/AAAAAAAADcM/BCr0c5x3F6c/s1600/003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_q1c5xII/AAAAAAAADcM/BCr0c5x3F6c/s320/003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514375905129645186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Not so happy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I think Emma figured she did her 20 minute stint of preschool, it was fun while it lasted, and it was a done deal.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Uh, no. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The only thing she got excited about was her lunch box.  Actually excited might be the wrong word.  Let's try POSSESSIVE.  All of my children have their first day of school pictures with their backpacks.  Emma's is lying on the ground. She's got her lunch box looped over her shoulder.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_qZXnqaI/AAAAAAAADcE/1rx3u7Ytthc/s1600/006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_qZXnqaI/AAAAAAAADcE/1rx3u7Ytthc/s320/006.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514375897591294370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Toudee and Foofa came along to make sure she got to school without incident. She still has her lunch box.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_qO4nFGI/AAAAAAAADb8/1t4iu1gwhhk/s1600/010.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_qO4nFGI/AAAAAAAADb8/1t4iu1gwhhk/s320/010.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514375894776878178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;On her way to class. The fact she is walking on her own two feet was progress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_pdK1KRI/AAAAAAAADb0/kG4bXDC8PGQ/s1600/011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_pdK1KRI/AAAAAAAADb0/kG4bXDC8PGQ/s320/011.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514375881431525650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Toudee and Foofa had to rest in Emma's backpack while she went to class.  Convincing her of this was fairly easy.  Giving up the lunch box? Not so much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then it was time for me to go and my baby cried as though I was never coming back. After six kids, I'm supposed to be immune to such displays of hysterics.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Someone forgot to tell my tear ducts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I walked away in tears, wishing I'd had time to give her another kiss. That I had reminded her to tell her teacher if she had to potty. But I didn't. There wasn't time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It occurred to me that this is really life in a nutshell. I sent Trace to college and drove away wishing I had warned him to not wash his darks with his whites. To eat less Ramen and more veggies.  Then Trace moved out into a condo with Cody last April, and I wanted to tell him to change his furnace filter every three months and try not to park on the street.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The truth is when you are in the moment of separating from your child there isn't enough time to tell them everything you think they need to know. Honestly, they're not listening anyway. As a parent, we're still clinging to them and they are ready to be set free. As it should be.  Sure they might cry, or scream as in Emma's case.  But they need to be set free. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It hurts like hell, but that's our job. It's not to cram the information we think they need to know at the last minute. It's to teach them along the way. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I picked Emma up from preschool, she was exactly how I expected her to be. Happy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_o_aYhYI/AAAAAAAADbs/FZhzMZI7jqQ/s1600/014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIb_o_aYhYI/AAAAAAAADbs/FZhzMZI7jqQ/s320/014.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514375873443693954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;But her teacher told me when she asked the class who wanted to come back on Thursday, Emma was the only one who said she didn't want to go.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Guess I still have some time to teach her about those air filters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4805512077118094016?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4805512077118094016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4805512077118094016&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4805512077118094016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4805512077118094016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/cutting-strings.html' title='Cutting the Strings'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIcAzrNmddI/AAAAAAAADc0/qGH8X3b0btE/s72-c/023.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5659504247729016877</id><published>2010-09-06T20:30:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-06T20:37:48.319-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hair Julia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sainthood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='American Girl'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna. Emma'/><title type='text'>Descending into the Circles of Hell</title><content type='html'>As parents, we do things for our kids that we would &lt;i&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; do if left to our own devices. I can promise you I wouldn't spend mindless hours watching kids swing at the park or willingly sacrifice my brain cells, one by one, to spend quality time with an over-sized rodent known as Chucky Cheese.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes my children will request an activity and my answer requires little thought.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Mom, can I have half the 7th grade come over for a party?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No brainer. "No." Although I confess, sometimes depending on the request, the no &lt;s&gt;might&lt;/s&gt; usually has a bit more drama attached. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"You want to do &lt;i&gt;what&lt;/i&gt;? Have you lost your &lt;i&gt;mind&lt;/i&gt;?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, so I need to work on my responses.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lately, I've been in full edit mode on my novel, preparing for a conference I will attend in Denver next weekend. I feel guilty.  I've spent more time on my book and less time on my kids. Everyone knows it's a temporary thing. Nevertheless, I feel guilty. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's a motherhood truth no one warns you about, along with too many others to mention here: the moment your child is placed into your arms, your life is ruled by guilt. The only way to escape it is to... I got nothin'. There's no escape.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When Julia and Jenna begged and pleaded to go to the American Girl Store GRAND OPENING on Saturday, the reasonable, sane part of me would have said: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I would sooner cut off my right hand and feed it to the lions at the zoo."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But guilt-ridden Mom said:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Okay."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And so began my slow descent into hell.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now to be fair and before the canonization process for my certain sainthood gets underway, let me confess, I was not little Miss Molly Sunshine the entire way through. Even the night before I had a bit of an attitude. Julia wanted to leave at 8 am to arrive for the 10am opening of the doors. (I think they actually opened at 9.) I might have been &lt;s&gt;suckered&lt;/s&gt; willing to wait in line for hours but I sure wasn't going lose precious sleep for it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We left at 10, with a Starbucks detour on the way. Of course.  We arrived at 10:45 and encountered the crowds gathered to visit the mecca of young girls everywhere.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIBSKntwI/AAAAAAAADbc/CutRqV25rBc/s1600/003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIBSKntwI/AAAAAAAADbc/CutRqV25rBc/s320/003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962874422671106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Trust me this line was nothing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;They divided the pilgrims into groups. The group entering the store was 5. We were given tickets for group 11.  Then we were free to wander, meander and shop in the mall , checking a digital display that announced what number of group they were lining up like cattle on the way to the slaughter house. (note: photo above.). I was with FIVE children (Julia brought a friend), in a crowded mall. On a Saturday. Did I mention that I had FIVE children?  And one was Emma. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I descended into another circle of hell.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWLDLJ1uyI/AAAAAAAADbk/8qeKjkL9vGE/s1600/005.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWLDLJ1uyI/AAAAAAAADbk/8qeKjkL9vGE/s320/005.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513966205434968866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Shopping with teenage girls.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While Dante's circles of hell were Seven Deadly Sins, my own personal circles of hell were Aeropostale.  The Disney Store.  Claire's.  Navigating a maze of ramps with a Sit-N-Stand stroller is my idea of torture. I tried really hard to remember being thirteen and wanting to shop for hours on end.  I must have killed those brain cells at Chucky Cheese. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I confess, I did do some shopping.  I bought the kids more school clothes. I bought an outfit for my pitching session with a literary agent next weekend. If I had to be there, I might as well get something out of it, too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Around 1:00, we tried to eat lunch at the food court, but that was impossible.  The eating area was overrun by eighteen-inch dolls and their dressed alike chaperones.  Instead we went across the street, ate a quick fast food lunch and went back to the mall.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Amazingly enough, it was time for us to enter the cattle guards. Equally amazing, Emma had had enough. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Talk about bad timing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIA4jXFII/AAAAAAAADbM/jPTQyCLOg6w/s1600/017.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIA4jXFII/AAAAAAAADbM/jPTQyCLOg6w/s320/017.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962867547116674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Emma did NOT want to wait in line anymore.  She was done.  But little things distracted her. Like these paper cone cups.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIAdRU9CI/AAAAAAAADbE/lHK36xsCp7Q/s1600/018.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIAdRU9CI/AAAAAAAADbE/lHK36xsCp7Q/s320/018.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962860223722530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;That came from these. You would have thought Emma was a camel replenishing after a two-week trek in the desert.  After about five cups of water, I had to drag her away.  As you can imagine, that went over well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIBD7SpnI/AAAAAAAADbU/PWxYxKGJDIg/s1600/016.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIBD7SpnI/AAAAAAAADbU/PWxYxKGJDIg/s320/016.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962870600279666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Which explains why she's not in this picture outside the entrance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHascD0-I/AAAAAAAADa8/jVi6Nh2YPFE/s1600/019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHascD0-I/AAAAAAAADa8/jVi6Nh2YPFE/s320/019.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962211460240354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;FINALLY, FOUR HOURS AFTER WE FIRST ARRIVED. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Promised Land*&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;*enter at your own peril&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHaEMdOcI/AAAAAAAADa0/vjAognEMpR4/s1600/020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHaEMdOcI/AAAAAAAADa0/vjAognEMpR4/s320/020.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962200657377730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;There's a happy face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHZ2dnfjI/AAAAAAAADas/OGkRBHfxXcw/s1600/021.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHZ2dnfjI/AAAAAAAADas/OGkRBHfxXcw/s320/021.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962196971257394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Emma was happy too.  When the girl is upset, all you have to do is give her a stroller. I see a great future as a dog walker ahead of her. Or nanny. Or rickshaw driver.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHZUebgrI/AAAAAAAADak/0247RW5x5Uo/s1600/022.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHZUebgrI/AAAAAAAADak/0247RW5x5Uo/s320/022.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962187847860914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;THIS is when I decided I would descend to the lowest circle of hell, wallow around like a rutting pig and not shower for three days.  Ryan wanted a "boy doll" and I decided "why not?" So I got Bitty Twins -- a boy and a girl.  When I opened the box and handed the boy to Ryan, his face lit up and said with great excitement, "He looks like me!"*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*Not exactly.  While we requested the ASIAN Bitty Twins, we actually received the Hispanic Bitty Twins.  But hey, Ryan doesn't care so why should I?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And what did Ryan name his new friend?  Little Ryan. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We came home, SIX HOURS after we left and the girls dressed their dolls up in the new outfits. I sat down at the computer and frantically tried to catch up on the work I missed and I wondered:  Will my kids remember the time that Mom took them to the American Girl Store Opening and bought their dolls' outfits? Or will they remember tired and crabby Mom, whose back was killing her from a poorly designed mall?  Only time will tell. Until then, the only thing I can do is to keep on trying. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even saints are human.**&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHY2XbB0I/AAAAAAAADac/1xlYqgxlynM/s1600/029.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWHY2XbB0I/AAAAAAAADac/1xlYqgxlynM/s320/029.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513962179765405506" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Hey, those dolls look just like my kids. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;** Some might suggest that I am not actually eligible for sainthood after my trip to the AG Store. Some who know the actual criteria for sainthood would scoff and say that MIRACLES have to attributed to the person suggested for sainthood.  They would propose that no miracle had occurred. And they would be wrong. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You tell me that one over-caffeinated, stressed-out Mom can take five kids to a crowded mall for five hours and not kill ANYONE doesn't qualify as a miracle. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Saint Denise.  I like the sound of it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5659504247729016877?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5659504247729016877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5659504247729016877&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5659504247729016877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5659504247729016877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/descending-into-circles-of-hell.html' title='Descending into the Circles of Hell'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIWIBSKntwI/AAAAAAAADbc/CutRqV25rBc/s72-c/003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3759586184562159068</id><published>2010-09-03T08:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-03T08:34:33.440-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='neighbors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nudist'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flying my freak flag'/><title type='text'>Free to be Me</title><content type='html'>Anyone who read my blog back when I actually wrote it, knows that Emma is a free spirit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;{Note: I intend to a do a post next week reintroducing everyone and let you know what they are currently up to.}&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of Emma's newest accomplishments is that she is now capable of opening doors.  This is a big deal.  Huge. Because this means that Emma can now &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;escape&lt;/span&gt;. And does.  Hence the fence I put in my backyard last winter. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Emma also loves to go pantless. She doesn't mind wearing a shirt, but bottoms?  Pleaaase. Too confining.  Is there a term for half a nudist?  Because that's Emma. (and if there is could you please let me know?) I often put her in dresses for this very reason, although she has been known to lift up her dress and give peep shows.  Multiple peep shows. Then again, I've already had to start worrying about her and &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/they-grow-up-too-fast.html"&gt;boys in her pants&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So honestly, it should have come as no surprise when I found her yesterday afternoon. Outside. Pantless.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIAFPvJtdEI/AAAAAAAADZc/gIWD3p-Br1Y/s1600/039.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 552px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIAFPvJtdEI/AAAAAAAADZc/gIWD3p-Br1Y/s320/039.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512411711814857794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Yes, my daughter is only wearing a shirt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;What will the neighbors think now?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3759586184562159068?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3759586184562159068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3759586184562159068&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3759586184562159068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3759586184562159068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/free-to-be-me.html' title='Free to be Me'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TIAFPvJtdEI/AAAAAAAADZc/gIWD3p-Br1Y/s72-c/039.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5183449343704927369</id><published>2010-09-02T00:01:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-02T00:01:01.208-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='OCD'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mommy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mommy&apos;s going crazy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='writing'/><title type='text'>Conversations with a Forensics Team Captain in Training</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Meet Ryan. Ryan is the future caption of his high school debate team.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TH5maeD4OQI/AAAAAAAADW0/gphkQvYjFW0/s1600/187.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 552px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TH5maeD4OQI/AAAAAAAADW0/gphkQvYjFW0/s320/187.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511955598880028930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan is different than the rest of us. While the girls and I have more creative, free spirited personalities, Ryan's tends to run into OCD tendencies.  I did a blog post back-in-the-day about a then three-year-old &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/ocd-at-work.html"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan packing his own lunch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt; because I didn't do it right. One of the happiest days in his life was the day I taught him to make his bed. He ran around making everyone else's too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Let me take a moment to wipe away a tear of joy. Okay, better now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;In a house full of creative souls (aka slobs) Ryan is like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. But just like everything, there are some negative aspects to Ryan's rigidness. Ryan believes he is always right. Always.  While some might call this a birth defect attributed to all humans with a Y chromosome, I will refrain from making that "leap." HOWEVER, if that is your own personal philosophy, I'm not gonna argue with you. Whatever Ryan's reason, I confess some days he drives me batty. This is the kid that argued with me for ten minutes this summer that he &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;couldn't&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt; to bed at 9:00 because it was still light outside.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma proves to be frustrating to Ryan.  She loves to argue back out of pure stubbornness. As you can imagine, the provides HOURS of entertainment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Conversations Yesterday Morning:*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Time: 9:30 am Scene: Mommy's office aka the dining room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {jumping up and down} I'm a monkey!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: No, monkeys don't jump!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {jumping} I'm a monkey!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {growling} I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;said&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt; monkeys don't jump!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Mommy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {sitting at laptop, accidentally typing the word "jump" into scene in book} Ryan, monkeys can jump.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: No, they can't.  I never saw them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Mommy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {drinking coffee like a tequila shot} Yes, they can. I have seen them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: No, they can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Mommy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: Yes, they can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {sobbing} Monkeys can't jump.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Mommy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;  "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {Pours Kahlua** into coffee and guzzles.}&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {jumping gleefully} I'm a monkey.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Later:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan hides in pantry broom closet.  Emma tries to enter.  Jostling ensues.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: Emma! There's no room for you!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: ARG!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Mommy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {tuning out children}&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {Pushing Emma out and shutting door} There's no room!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {crying}&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Mommy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: What's going on?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: Emma wants in and there's no room!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Mommy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: Emma, come sit in a minion chair*** and color.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {Opens cabinet door} I'm Diego. {shuts door}&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {sitting in minion chair, coloring} You're a spaceman!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {opens door} No! I'm Diego!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {sweetly} Spaceman!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: Diego!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: Spaceman!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Ryan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {sobbing} I'm Diego!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Mommy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;: {draining the Kahlua bottle} Jesus, take me now.****&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Just a day in the life people.*****&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;* I am now rethinking my career as a novelist and considering expanding upon my obvious screen writing skills.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;** While Mommy has been known to ask Starbucks employees at the drive thru window if they would add a shot of Kahlua or Bailey's, she has never actually tried it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;***Minion chairs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:16.2037px;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TH5qFoy308I/AAAAAAAADW8/IStRuM2JY_M/s200/001.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511959639030748098" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 345px; height: 259px; " /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Yes, I have chairs at my "desk" that are known as minion chairs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;****  I am neutral on the post/pre Tribulation theories.  However, if I'm gonna be raptured, that would have been a good time to go. Just sayin'.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;*****Mommy's reactions may have been slightly exaggerated for entertainment purposes.  But only slightly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:16.2037px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5183449343704927369?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5183449343704927369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5183449343704927369&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5183449343704927369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5183449343704927369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/conversations-with-forensics-team.html' title='Conversations with a Forensics Team Captain in Training'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TH5maeD4OQI/AAAAAAAADW0/gphkQvYjFW0/s72-c/187.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-8797332402784177458</id><published>2010-09-01T08:56:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-01T09:14:33.390-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='notes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school lunch'/><title type='text'>Love Notes</title><content type='html'>My kids take their lunch to school three to four days a week and they love it when I send them notes.  But when you're writing that many notes, sometimes it's hard to come up something original.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TH5dIsXRQvI/AAAAAAAADWs/lIIVqpU7VVM/s1600/004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 414px; height: 552px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TH5dIsXRQvI/AAAAAAAADWs/lIIVqpU7VVM/s320/004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511945397877162738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was an original day.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, my notes tend to be illustrated. Haters, don't be so jealous of my artistic abilities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-8797332402784177458?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/8797332402784177458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=8797332402784177458&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8797332402784177458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8797332402784177458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/09/love-notes.html' title='Love Notes'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/TH5dIsXRQvI/AAAAAAAADWs/lIIVqpU7VVM/s72-c/004.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5105869001253169628</id><published>2010-08-24T10:52:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T14:39:29.177-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='China adoption'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='prejudice'/><title type='text'>The Beautiful Forest Amongst the Trees</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Meet my beautiful daughter, Jenna Meilin.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/THPr4T0DHAI/AAAAAAAADVk/xtgyN4wQbFs/s1600/004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 480px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/THPr4T0DHAI/AAAAAAAADVk/xtgyN4wQbFs/s400/004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509006121828031490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jenna is seven years old.  Six years and one month ago, the People's Republic of China blessed my life by entrusting this precious child into our hands and I will be eternally grateful.  The thought of my life without her is inconceivable. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thirteen years ago, I was married to my second husband and had given birth to Julia, my third child, the daughter I long awaited after the births of my two sons.  I also had two step-daughters.  Five kids.  When Julia was six months old, I had a false pregnancy alarm, but to my surprise, I found myself disappointed. I actually &lt;i&gt;wanted&lt;/i&gt; another baby.  The seeds were planted and would follow me for years. There were problems with this desire.  We had five kids already. We were so poor we should have filed bankruptcy. Basically, a baby was the worst idea &lt;i&gt;ever&lt;/i&gt;. And I told myself this for years, smothering myself with guilt.  I was selfish to even wish such a thing. I prayed to God to please, &lt;i&gt;please&lt;/i&gt; take this desire away.  Yet it clung to me like a choking vine and grew stronger with every year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then, when Julia was four years old, I met a woman who adopted two daughters from China. I went home to tell Darrell.  We investigated the possibility and found the expense astronomical.  There was no way we could afford it, but Darrell said he would pray about it.  Bless his heart, he did. He didn't have much choice; God kept throwing families who had adopted in his path.  Finally, after two and a half years, Darrell said he wanted to adopt from China.  Eighteen months later we flew to China to adopt seventeen month Lu Chu, renamed Jenna Meilin.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Two and a half years after that, Darrell died.  My world crumpled.  The boys and Julia were old enough to fend for themselves, but three year old Jenna needed me.  She was the reason I got out of bed those first few months.  Little Jenna had lost so much in her short life: her foster family, her father.  She needed her mother to be there for her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It took me a couple of years to figure out that I needed her as much as she needed me. With that realization came the knowledge that God had planned this for me, years in advance. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that, my friends, is a humbling realization.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am protective of this little girl. She has faced more pain and loss than a seven year old should, yet she is not a victim.  She is a survivor.  I cannot follow her through out the rest of her life in a vain attempt to protect her from the ugly things that are sure to come her way.  I can only arm her with knowledge, support and my love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We are fortunate that Jenna hasn't faced outright prejudice yet. However, I know it will come someday, at some point. I can only prepare her, so that when it happens she isn't caught off guard. We have discussed that some people dislike others because of the color of their skin or the shape of their eyes.  In our house, where we are a equal distribution of ethnicity-- 50% Caucasian to 50% Asian -- the idea sounds preposterous.  But events like Martin Luther King Day help shed light on the subject.  Prejudice still exists. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But prejudice, not in that sense, isn't Jenna's biggest challenge. The immediate problem is far more subtle, yet almost more dangerous. It is the misconceptions of her circumstances and the thoughtless comments people make in her presence.  As a parent, it's easy to dismiss ignorant comments in front of a baby, but as Jenna gets older, my patience shortens.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What is a seven year old supposed to say when an adult looks at her, with pity in their eyes, and says &lt;i&gt;"You're so lucky your mom adopted you."&lt;/i&gt;   I immediately respond, "No, I am the lucky one.  I cannot imagine my life without her."  It's an innocent statement but the implications are significant.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;"You know,  they just throw baby girls away in China."&lt;/i&gt; What would possess a person to say such a thing to a child? Yet, I have heard it.  Many times.  Even if it were true, you do not tell a child they were thrown away like a piece of garbage. No matter how secure the child feels, hearing this will cause some harm to their psyche.  My daughter was NOT thrown away. Her birth parents must have loved her very much to bundle her up on a cold February morning and place her in a spot where she was sure to be found.  I have no idea what forced them to give up their one day old daughter, but I have no doubt of their love for her.  I tell Jenna this often.  I will not tolerate strangers undermining her belief in their love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;"You are such a wonderful person to save her life."&lt;/i&gt; Even if this were true, which it is not, on so many levels, why would you ever say this in front of the child? I did not save her life. &lt;i&gt;At all.&lt;/i&gt;  Jenna was placed in a loving foster family the day she entered the orphanage.  The orphanage director tried to find a local family to adopt her.  On her first birthday, after no local family was found, Jenna was placed in the international adoption system.  Seven months later, we adopted her.  Jenna was loved and well cared for.  If we had not adopted her, a long line of families stood behind us waiting to adopt.  Her life was never in any danger.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is an innocent sounding statement, yet it's repercussions extend LONG past the adoption itself. When a child hears any hint that the adoptive parents &lt;i&gt;saved their life&lt;/i&gt; it makes the child feel obligated to the parents.  Of all the reasons to adopt a child, saving their life should be last on the list. Trust me, you need more than the belief you saved the child's life to get you through the attachment issues you will face. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The adopted child should never, ever, &lt;i&gt;for any reason&lt;/i&gt;, feel GRATEFUL to the adoptive parents for adopting them.  Should the child feel grateful for what his or her parents do for them? Of course, but when was the last time you ever heard someone tell a biological child they should feel grateful that their parents gave birth to them? There is a difference.  Which brings me to the first part of that statement:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;"You must be a wonderful person to..." &lt;/i&gt; No, I'm not. Trust me. I am selfish. I fulfilled a selfish desire. I wanted a child. My sole purpose was to have a child to love.  I am not wonderful, special, or any other attribute you wish to bestow on me. You can try and I will throw it off every time.  The simple fact is-- I wanted a child.  There were babies in China.  I adopted from China.  That does not make me wonderful. That makes me a parent.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Chinese take great pride in names. They have significance and meaning. Jenna's middle name is Meilin, which means beautiful forest. Hubei, the province she is from, is known for a beautiful primeval forest. Jenna means white, or fair.  She knows this and takes pride in it. Jenna loves to tell people she is a fair, beautiful forest. And she is. God help the person who suggests otherwise.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BACKGROUND: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5105869001253169628?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5105869001253169628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5105869001253169628&amp;isPopup=true' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5105869001253169628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5105869001253169628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/08/beautiful-forest-amongst-trees.html' title='The Beautiful Forest Amongst the Trees'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/THPr4T0DHAI/AAAAAAAADVk/xtgyN4wQbFs/s72-c/004.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-1745420381945157606</id><published>2010-01-16T15:06:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-16T15:23:32.520-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='peek'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chosen'/><title type='text'>Preview of Chosen</title><content type='html'>As you all know, I've abandoned you for far too long lengths of time working on my "babies." And for weeks I've teased you all with peeks yet failed to deliver. So, against my better judgment, I'm giving you a chance to read the first chapter of my new book Chosen.  It's kind of long so I've broken it up into 2 parts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part One can be seen &lt;a href="http://www.deniseswank.com/2010/01/chosen-chapter-1.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part Two can be seen &lt;a href="http://www.deniseswank.com/2010/01/chosen-chapter-1-part-2.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or view them both together, you can just go &lt;a href="http://www.deniseswank.com/"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; and scroll down, Part One is above Part Two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But before you go running over there (at least I hope you want to go running over) just be warned that this book has a PG-13 rating.  Curse words are used.  Liberally.  But my characters are damaged and flawed.  To not have them use them would be unauthentic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure how long I'll leave them posted so read them while you can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-1745420381945157606?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/1745420381945157606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=1745420381945157606&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1745420381945157606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1745420381945157606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/01/preview-of-chosen.html' title='Preview of Chosen'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-2338352710455818450</id><published>2010-01-15T08:24:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-15T08:26:00.554-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='video'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DeniseSwank author blog'/><title type='text'>So Maybe I Am A Little Crazy...</title><content type='html'>Interested in seeing what my kids are really like? I have a vlog posted on my &lt;a href="http://www.deniseswank.com/2010/01/my-very-first-vlog.html"&gt;writing blog&lt;/a&gt;-- go check it out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-2338352710455818450?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/2338352710455818450/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=2338352710455818450&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/2338352710455818450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/2338352710455818450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/01/so-maybe-i-am-little-crazy.html' title='So Maybe I Am A Little Crazy...'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-6550846370694494092</id><published>2010-01-10T08:50:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-10T08:56:07.370-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Giveaway'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='winner'/><title type='text'>Winner of Misfit McCabe Giveaway</title><content type='html'>The winner of the Misfit McCabe book giveaway is:  Lorie from &lt;a href="http://theprincessandtheladybug.blogspot.com/"&gt;The Princess and The Ladybug&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here are your random numbers:&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;pre class="data"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;Timestamp: 2010-01-10 14:53:56 UTC&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;Congrats Lorie!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-6550846370694494092?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/6550846370694494092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=6550846370694494092&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6550846370694494092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6550846370694494092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/01/winner-of-misfit-mccabe-giveaway.html' title='Winner of Misfit McCabe Giveaway'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-6366272366913197065</id><published>2010-01-08T00:01:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-08T11:03:28.686-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Giveaway'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Book Review'/><title type='text'>Friday Giveaway:  Misfit McCabe</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0c887eRhzI/AAAAAAAADT8/w2xPkDI-Dr0/s1600-h/51UmWUKJ0GL._SL500_AA246_PIkin2,BottomRight,-13,34_AA280_SH20_OU01_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0c887eRhzI/AAAAAAAADT8/w2xPkDI-Dr0/s320/51UmWUKJ0GL._SL500_AA246_PIkin2,BottomRight,-13,34_AA280_SH20_OU01_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424371293645539122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It's been a long, long time since I did a giveaway and honestly, I really miss them.  I love giveaways. So I've decided to combine two things that I love: giveaways and reading.  I'm going to  giveaway books that I love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For my first book giveaway, I'm sharing a book that Julia and I fell in love with:  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Misfit-McCabe-Novel/dp/0984238301/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=books&amp;amp;qid=1262919649&amp;amp;sr=8-1"&gt;Misfit McCabe&lt;/a&gt; by LK Gardner-Griffie.  &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Misfit-McCabe-Novel/dp/0984238301/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=books&amp;amp;qid=1262919649&amp;amp;sr=8-1"&gt;Misfit McCabe&lt;/a&gt; is the first book in a Middle Grade/ younger Young Adult series.  Fourteen year old Katie McCabe is sent to live with her uncle and his family.  Katie's mother died when she was a baby and her father is seriously ill and is hospitalized for tests.  Upset that her father sent her to Uncle Charlie's, Katie struggles with her resentment over the situation and her desire to be accepted.  She soon meets her new nemesis, Harvey Jr. and it doesn't take long to for Katie to get into trouble, something she's all too familiar with.  Poor Katie finds out that her entire world is about to be turned upside down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a sucker for YA books and I loved this one.  It was a fast read and drew me in on page one.  I'm also sentimental and cried multiple times over this book.  But as my kids are quick to point out and (tease me mercilessly about), I cry over Hallmark commercials.  (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;So, sue me.&lt;/span&gt;)  The real test was that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Julia&lt;/span&gt; cried.  Several times. And Julia never cries.  Julia loved this book.  I would find her reading it anywhere and everywhere.  I've heard her tell her friends about how much she loves this book.  And that just doesn't happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must also confess that I know LK.  Not personally, we've never met nor talked on the phone, but we share a friendship on Twitter. I'm the first to admit that I never thought this possible. How do you develop a friendship in 140 character snippets? Believe me, it's possible.  I met LK the first of December using the hashtags #amwritingparty and #WIPfire.   She has shared her wisdom, her support, her soapbox and her friendship. I'm honored to say I know her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I can't wait to share LK and her book with one of you!  I'm giving away a copy of &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Misfit-McCabe-Novel/dp/0984238301/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=books&amp;amp;qid=1262919649&amp;amp;sr=8-1"&gt;Misfit McCabe&lt;/a&gt; to a lucky reader.  All you have to do is leave a comment. No other rules, just leave a comment.  If you want to have two chances to win, go over to my author blog &lt;a href="http://www.deniseswank.com/"&gt;Denise Swank&lt;/a&gt; and leave a comment there.  You could potentially win two copies. (in the chance that that should happen, I could send you LK's second book &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nowhere-Feels-Like-Home-Misfit/dp/098423831X/ref=tag_dpp_lp_edpp_ttl_in"&gt;Nowhere Feels Like Home&lt;/a&gt; instead.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can leave comments from now until Saturday, January 9 9:00 pm CST.  Good luck!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-6366272366913197065?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/6366272366913197065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=6366272366913197065&amp;isPopup=true' title='23 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6366272366913197065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6366272366913197065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/01/friday-giveaway-misfit-mccabe.html' title='Friday Giveaway:  Misfit McCabe'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0c887eRhzI/AAAAAAAADT8/w2xPkDI-Dr0/s72-c/51UmWUKJ0GL._SL500_AA246_PIkin2,BottomRight,-13,34_AA280_SH20_OU01_.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>23</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3628833256320094709</id><published>2010-01-06T18:40:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T19:01:24.594-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cleaning'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='slave labor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mess'/><title type='text'>Now Hiring Out: Child Slave Labor (Only I Don't Think You Want to Hire Them)</title><content type='html'>With all this free time from Christmas break and endless snow days, it's time to put them to work. Last week, I taught Julia how to do laundry and she and Jenna washed all their clothes. (They put them away too) But cleaning up after dinner... long time readers know this has been a &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2008/10/cinderella.html"&gt;continual battle&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, Trace decided that Julia and Jenna should clean up the kitchen after dinner. I wasn't sure this would work, but when I tried to help I was yelled at and told to leave.  Hey, no arguments from me!  Imagine my surprise when I went into the kitchen after they were done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0Uv5fcr4qI/AAAAAAAADTQ/151tqopj6ng/s1600-h/006.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0Uv5fcr4qI/AAAAAAAADTQ/151tqopj6ng/s400/006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423793990978495138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The kitchen counter.  What? We're supposed to wipe that off? We might want to eat those mini marshmallows later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0Uv561C6LI/AAAAAAAADTY/Z6NFnUKXknk/s1600-h/007.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0Uv561C6LI/AAAAAAAADTY/Z6NFnUKXknk/s400/007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423793998328424626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mess?  What mess?  No one said we had to wipe off the stove.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0Uv6AjdV9I/AAAAAAAADTg/gXsLCz0-Uo0/s1600-h/008.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0Uv6AjdV9I/AAAAAAAADTg/gXsLCz0-Uo0/s400/008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423793999865272274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;What? &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;These&lt;/span&gt; dishes?  I can't believe you noticed them, Mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I'm now hiring my children out as indentured servants. Only serious applicants need apply&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3628833256320094709?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3628833256320094709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3628833256320094709&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3628833256320094709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3628833256320094709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/01/now-hiring-out-child-slave-labor-only-i.html' title='Now Hiring Out: Child Slave Labor (Only I Don&apos;t Think You Want to Hire Them)'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0Uv5fcr4qI/AAAAAAAADTQ/151tqopj6ng/s72-c/006.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-7330398766507597593</id><published>2010-01-06T15:07:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T16:23:44.040-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='New year resolutions'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nanowrimo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='novel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><title type='text'>And a Happy New Year to You Too</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;When we last heard from our neglectful blogger, she was &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&gt;&gt;this close&lt;&lt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; to finishing her first novel.  What gives?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I did complete my first novel, So Much To Lose, coming in at a whopping 95,000 words and 375 double spaced pages.  What does that look like?  Why, I'm glad you asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0T__drB1tI/AAAAAAAADTA/Gr2PpNrwN1s/s1600-h/007.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0T__drB1tI/AAAAAAAADTA/Gr2PpNrwN1s/s400/007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423741317022865106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Yes, a tree sacrificed its life to print my novel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The last week I was writing 10-12 hours per day trying to get it done and when I typed the words THE END, I cried.  I couldn't believe I had done it.  I couldn't believe it was actually done.  I couldn't believe that I didn't have writing to absorb every spare moment of my time.  I knew I had to wait 2-6 weeks until I could begin to edit and revise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I promptly fell into Post Novel Depression.  I wandered aimlessly trying to figure out what to do with my time.  All my writing friends told me to start a new book.  I thought they had lost their minds.  But I brainstormed and before I knew it, I had a new plot.  The week before Christmas, I started my second novel, which amazingly enough already had a title, a theme, subthemes and a bare bones plot.  While So Much To Lose (my novel) took 6 weeks to write 26 chapters, the first chapter of Chosen took one week in itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The week after Christmas, I pulled So Much to Lose down from it's shelf, excited to begin editing.  I started to read it and wanted to cry. It sucked.  I knew that was okay.  First drafts often suck.  The problem was the first chapter of Chosen &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; suck, in fact, several people told me it was good.  I was torn between putting a lot of work into a bad first draft or continuing on with a pretty good first draft. Which would you choose?  Yeah, me too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've put So Much To Lose to the side and I'm working on Chosen writing a chapter a week.  A much slower pace but I'm getting quality words.  I've started an author blog in a few days I'm going to post part of chapter 1 of Chosen so you can decide for yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Christmas.  What about Christmas?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas was quiet for us, just the nine of us.  It started snowing on Christmas Eve so Cody and Gauge had their first white Christmas, much to Cody's excitement.  I don't have any pictures because I can't find the charger to my camera battery.  Ugh. I refuse to buy a new one because as sure as I do, the old one will turn up.  The kids were supposed to return to school on Tuesday but got a snow day and then one today.  It's snowing again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0ULERE3QYI/AAAAAAAADTI/1iv9ImYJo6c/s1600-h/005.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0ULERE3QYI/AAAAAAAADTI/1iv9ImYJo6c/s400/005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423753494168813954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As I was uploading this picture, I got the call from school saying there is no school tomorrow or Friday. Three weeks of Christmas break and Mom is going nuts.  I love my children but it's easier to love them when they go to school, especially when they're cooped up in the house 24/7.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pray for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Are you giving up your blog?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I'm really sad that I've neglected my blog so much.  Ryan said something cute a couple of weeks ago and someone asked me if I journaled the cute things my kids did.  I told her that I put them on my blog and then realized I hadn't been doing that for some time.  I hope to make the time to put those funny stories on here.  One of the main reasons I started my blog was to have a chronicle of my kids and the funny things they do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Any resolutions for 2010?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope.  Other than to be a better blogger, finish my second novel, try to get an agent, drop 2 dress sizes  and run a 5K this spring, I don't have &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;any&lt;/span&gt; resolutions this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-7330398766507597593?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/7330398766507597593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=7330398766507597593&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7330398766507597593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7330398766507597593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2010/01/and-happy-new-year-to-you-too.html' title='And a Happy New Year to You Too'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/S0T__drB1tI/AAAAAAAADTA/Gr2PpNrwN1s/s72-c/007.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5459441371962519328</id><published>2009-12-10T09:35:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T09:46:23.365-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bathes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='novel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mess'/><title type='text'>While Mom's Tucked Away...</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was a snow day.  Yay.  (Note the sarcasm.) I knew I was days away from finishing my novel and I planned a week long sprint to the finish.  A snow day threw a serious wrench in the process. But I was a good mommy--  I bundled children up to go out into arctic temperatures to play in the inch of snow we were covered with.  I made pancakes and hot chocolate for breakfast and turkey paninis for lunch.  And promptly at 1:00 I checked out of the mommy shift and went to work at my author job while Julia and Jenna were cleaning their room and the two little ones took naps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But somewhere in the day, my powder room was invaded by squirrels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SyEW3irEHbI/AAAAAAAADS0/n9lnD1TmUsE/s1600-h/004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SyEW3irEHbI/AAAAAAAADS0/n9lnD1TmUsE/s400/004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413633370532093362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or small children.  I discovered this "nest" when I used the powder room this morning.  These kids are making me work for it but the joke's on them.  If all goes well (meaning hours of writing) I will finish my book TODAY.  Oh, yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5459441371962519328?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5459441371962519328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5459441371962519328&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5459441371962519328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5459441371962519328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/12/while-moms-tucked-away.html' title='While Mom&apos;s Tucked Away...'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SyEW3irEHbI/AAAAAAAADS0/n9lnD1TmUsE/s72-c/004.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-7806216464026105763</id><published>2009-12-08T20:08:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-08T20:48:03.431-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dancing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><title type='text'>Dance Party</title><content type='html'>Hello, I'm Denise and I'm pretty much musically illiterate.  I've spent the last 20 years listening to music sung by rodents, puppets and dancing vegetables.  I can sing every Yo Gabba Gabba song ever written.  But &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;real&lt;/span&gt; music? Not so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between writing and working out at the gym, I've found that music is indispensable but honestly, who wants to challenge themselves on an elliptical machine to There's A  Party In My Tummy?  Seriously.  That's when I became acquainted with the iPod portion of my iPhone, the very same phone that I got with the world's &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/07/yes-virginia-there-is-life-without.html"&gt;most expensive cup of coffee&lt;/a&gt;.  I used to have an iPod but Ross broke his and "borrowed" mine: aka he never returned it.  But truthfully, I didn't miss it.  I hardly had any music on it. So when I started writing and working out I needed music and who better to turn to?  My boys.  They hooked me up and before I knew it, I was listening to music on my head phones all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But sometimes you want to share your music, especially when you find yourself listening to the same CD &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;all day long&lt;/span&gt;, you just gotta share the love, you know?  So I bought myself an iPod/iPhone docking station with a speaker for Christmas and now we listen to music all the time.  Okay, so my kids are positively sick of listening to &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hW1NGc7RpjY"&gt;Watchout! There's Ghosts&lt;/a&gt; ***, I'm the mom.  Go somewhere else.  Or stay and dance.  Yes, with all this music floating in the air spontaneous dance parties are bursting out at all times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dancing is great for many reasons.  It makes the kids get their energy out.  I get to burn some energy off after sitting in a chair all day and we have fun dancing together.  Oh, and I also usually look like a fool, but what's new?  Tonight we made a video one of our dance parties.  Yes, there is a video with me dancing to Black Eyed Peas Boom Boom Pow. No, it will not be posted to this blog.  But here are the girls dancing minus Ryan, who decided he just wanted to watch. Oh, and this is pretty tame stuff.  We're usually wilder than this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-af07575fb06eb5" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v2.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D00af07575fb06eb5%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329952224%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4CB0F12D3853550D87BA9251898AB188C95EAE8.5D645F7E85E63AEEEA121492F3E99BFC9B66F002%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Daf07575fb06eb5%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DD-UNnXR5He-Xmts_cDkpGiRa3Go&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v2.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D00af07575fb06eb5%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329952224%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4CB0F12D3853550D87BA9251898AB188C95EAE8.5D645F7E85E63AEEEA121492F3E99BFC9B66F002%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Daf07575fb06eb5%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DD-UNnXR5He-Xmts_cDkpGiRa3Go&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Yeah, I taught them all their moves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*** If you decide to click the link on Watchout! There's Ghosts  bear throught the first 20 seconds or so of "screaming" it gets so much better!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-7806216464026105763?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/7806216464026105763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=7806216464026105763&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7806216464026105763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7806216464026105763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/12/dance-party.html' title='Dance Party'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5691310715143476263</id><published>2009-12-06T10:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-06T10:08:41.113-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='complaining'/><title type='text'>The Garden Hose</title><content type='html'>I'm sitting at my desk looking at a black garden hose laying in my back yard.  It's been there for over a week.  It was against the house until the kids went out there one day and decided to drag it around the yard. And there it sits, where they deserted it, waiting to be moved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My car needs an oil change and when the weather gets cold the tires always need air. When our cold snap hit yesterday, the tire light came on my dashboard, along with the low fuel light.  I thought of trying to see how many check engine lights I could get lit up but decided against it. So yesterday morning, I stopped at the gas station and filled up my tank and drove my car over to the air and filled my tires.  Because no one else is going to do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Darrell died, I became a single mother to four children.  I did not choose that.  But when I adopted 2 more children and became a single mother to six, I did choose that.  I chose this life, this crazy, chaotic mess of a life.  You'll not hear me complain. Freely choosing this life strips me of all complaining rights.  Most of the time I just accept it, revel in it even, 95% of the time I love my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But sometimes being a single mother sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dogs have been out of food since Friday. Not to worry, they've dined like little queens.  They've had deli turkey and scrambled eggs I cooked specifically for them.  I should have gone to the grocery store but between hauling kids to parties and putting up Christmas trees, and God forbid even trying to write, the thought of loading the small children in their puffy coats into and out of the car seats put me in overwhelm.  So I didn't go. Until this morning, because too many eggs for a dog is bad news and Julia has a choir concert and her new pair of show choir shoes hurt her feet.  Three days ago I promised I'd get her inserts for her shoes and I hadn't gotten them yet.  At 8:30 this morning, I left my small children who had been up since before 6:00 in Julia's care and went to the store to get food, inserts, Christmas ornament hooks and a Starbucks Mocha, because some days I just deserve one.  (Some days I don't but I get it anyway.)  I came home with everything except the ornament hooks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes when the little kids are up before the sun, I wish I could roll over and tell someone else. "It's your turn."  Or if I don't feel like making dinner, I wish I had someone else to make it instead of resorting to chicken nuggets or fast food.  I wish I had someone to take my car to get its oil changed and the brakes fixed.  I wish when I try to hide in my room to write a post I swore I'd never write, that my children wouldn't stream in one by one with their complaints and their cries. I wish someone else would break up their fights, play referee, deal with their crankiness.  But I won't complain; I have no right to complain.  I chose this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still sitting at my desk looking out into the yard  as I write this and that damn garden hose is still there.  I should just get up from this chair and go down and drag in around to the front of the house into the garage.  But I think I'll leave it for now.  That's something I can complain about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5691310715143476263?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5691310715143476263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5691310715143476263&amp;isPopup=true' title='22 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5691310715143476263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5691310715143476263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/12/garden-hose.html' title='The Garden Hose'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>22</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-6500426808914801540</id><published>2009-12-03T14:52:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-03T14:56:09.009-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hair'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laughter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>Laughter Really Is the Best Medicine</title><content type='html'>When I was on my 4 day, child free, woman only getaway last month, we went to a very popular restaurant for a late breakfast.  Imagine 13 boisterous women at a very long table in a small room.  To say it was loud is an understatement. We laughed and talked and had such a great time that we ran off an older couple sitting at a table nearby.  They literally asked to be moved because we were so loud. When we were finished eating, I went to the bathroom and passed a table with seven women in the main dining room.  They were prim and proper and very sedate and as I walked by I thought to myself "Thank God I'm not at &lt;i&gt;that&lt;/i&gt; table."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I went and got my hair done, part of the continuation of "It's all about me" phase. (More accurately it should be "more about me"&amp;nbsp; but I like the sound of "all about me" so I'm sticking to it.) It had been awhile since I'd been and I had some wicked roots going on.&amp;nbsp; The salon I go to is the one that did my &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2008/08/introducing-new-me.html"&gt;makeover&lt;/a&gt; last year, so they know me there and know my "&lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/02/our-story.html"&gt;past&lt;/a&gt;," which is always a bonus.&amp;nbsp; It was a last minute appointment so I ended up with my cut first and highlights second, not the usual order of things.&amp;nbsp; The owner of the salon cuts my hair and he's an awesome guy, but I have so much more fun with the stylist who colors my hair, Allen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Allen is a hot mess. He's gay and not afraid to let the world know it, so consequently, he's entertaining.&amp;nbsp; I sat in his chair and as he played with my hair, he asked what color we were going with that day for the highlights.&amp;nbsp; I told him the same, unless he had other ideas, which I was open to.&amp;nbsp; We agreed to go with the same but then Allen suggested I go with his color, which is completely dark and unhighlighted.&amp;nbsp; Without missing a beat, I told him I thought that was a great idea because then I could be come his stalker.&amp;nbsp; It all went down hill from there.&amp;nbsp; By the time he was done putting foil in my hair, we were laughing so much that the entire salon was trying to figure out what was going on with us and the stylist and her client next to us.&amp;nbsp; Our conversation covered many topics from my book and my second project which we determined will be a book about Allen.&amp;nbsp; The first sentence will be: "Once upon a time there was a diva stylist and he was a hot mess."&amp;nbsp; It went onto how I could stalk him at the karaoke clubs he goes to on Wednesday and Sunday nights. and his love for Lady Gaga and how he's learning the dance to Bad Romance, which I offered to learn and dance with him at my next appointment.&amp;nbsp; When I left I had some really great hair but also half my makeup smeared off from laughing so much I cried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I went to Starbucks to write.&amp;nbsp; Ryan changed preschools so its more difficult to hook up with my SIL Janne' but we determined that I would go write and she would drop in and see me.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Soon after she arrived my friend Heather, who calls herself my stalker, showed up because she was driving by and recognized our vans. (See, she really is a stalker.) We spent the hour or more talking (which included a litany of the many ways multiple pets have met their tragic end in our household) and laughing so much people were straining to look at us tucked in my little writers nook. (I usually sit in a corner behind the counter where no one can see me- explanation below.)&amp;nbsp; When they&amp;nbsp; left, they apologized for staying so long and interrupting my writing and I realized how truly lucky I am.&amp;nbsp; How many people have so many friends that make them laugh on such a consistent basis?&amp;nbsp; And how is it that it took me so many years to find them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I hide when I write because when I first started going away to write last year, my boys would make fun of me. They told me that people only went to Starbucks with their laptops so they could look cool.&amp;nbsp; They then proceeded to show me which included them banging their fingers on a table top, turning their heads right and left, occasionaly picking up an imaginary coffee cup with one hand while "typing" with the other and saying "Look at me!&amp;nbsp; I'm working!&amp;nbsp; I'm writing!&amp;nbsp; Look at me!"&amp;nbsp; Consequently, I was forever scarred and became a hideaway writer.&amp;nbsp; Look for me in the corner of your nearest Starbucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-6500426808914801540?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/6500426808914801540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=6500426808914801540&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6500426808914801540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6500426808914801540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/12/laughter-really-is-best-medicine.html' title='Laughter Really Is the Best Medicine'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-8435508958184295651</id><published>2009-11-19T13:30:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T13:35:07.033-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guilt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='moms'/><title type='text'>What About Me?</title><content type='html'>Recently, I realized that I was no longer me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere along the way, we mothers lose ourselves.  We are no longer the women we once were but instead become Trace/Ross/Julia/Jenna/Ryan/Emma’s (fill in your own blank) mother.  Our lives revolve around the early milestones of our babies and evolve into taxi services transporting our older children from activity to activity.   Before we know it, we spend most of our waking hours taking care of our children’s needs and neglecting our own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve pondered this lately.  I love being a mom, obviously.  If I didn’t I would have stopped with kid #1 or 2 instead of having 6.  But lately, I feel that my children’s needs have over shadowed my own, almost to the point of my own resentment.  When is it my turn? When do my own needs count?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had the most wonderful opportunity to go away for 4 glorious kid free days.  I met an amazing group of women, fellow bloggers, some of whom I already knew via the internet, and some I had never even visited their blogs.  Thirteen of us shared a 5 bedroom, 3 ½ bath house in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.  We laughed until we cried.  We talked and bonded and created terms that will forever have new significance whenever we hear them  (Hot Dish-Both Ways and That’s What She Said, to name a few.)  I didn’t change a single diaper, serve a single child, wipe anyone’s nose, break up any fights.  I fixed my hair EVERY DAY. I wore it down instead of my usual pony tail. I wore makeup and clothes without snot or food smeared across my shoulders and pant legs.  I focused on me and I asked another mom the second day “Am I a bad mother because I’m not missing my kids &lt;i&gt;even a tiny bit&lt;/i&gt;?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came home refreshed, relaxed and was greeted by a house full of children happy to see me and instead of being ready to jump back into my life, I came back reluctantly, unwillingly, and wanting for more.  And like any “good” mother, I beat myself up one side and down the other for feeling that way.  What kind of mother am I???  Don’t get me wrong, I was very happy to see my children but I continued to ask “What about me?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where along the line did we mother’s think that we had to give ourselves completely to our children and our spouses, leaving nothing for ourselves? And worse yet, when we do take time for ourselves, why do we find ourselves consumed with guilt?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve tried to understand coming home from my trip only wanting more and I think I finally know.  I’ve been running on empty for awhile and one trip didn’t fill up the “me” tank.  Maybe giving myself permission to write a book and take a trip without my kids only made the need for me more apparent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our children are selfish creatures.  I don’t mean that in a bad way, it's human nature.  So the fact is that we will never give our children enough.  They will always want more.  It occurred to me this week that maybe we’re actually doing our children a disservice by focusing all our attention on them.  They grow up selfish and egocentric.  Maybe we’re actually doing them a favor if we show them that we’re real people, with real needs that sometimes have absolutely nothing to do with them.  Maybe we’re teaching our daughters that it’s okay for mothers to have interests outside of their children.  Maybe we’re teaching our sons that their future wives need time to themselves.  Maybe, just maybe, we’re teaching our children that life isn’t all about them and to think of someone else’s feelings, even if the person just so happens to be their mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November has turned out to be the month of “me.”  I’ve focused on writing my book so many nights dinner consists of chicken nuggets, frozen pizza and macaroni and cheese.  I took my trip.  This week I have activities 3 nights in a row (Wicked last night, New Moon tonight, a girl’s night out tomorrow night) and part of me feels guilty.  But the fact remains that I’m there for my kids most of the time. I’m still taxi mom.  I still kiss the booboos away, whether physical or emotional.  My children still know that they are my favorite preteen/little girl/little boy/baby girl in the whole world.  I read them books, tuck them at night and they know, hopefully without a shadow of a doubt, that I love them no matter what, with a love that knows no depth nor limit.  And maybe, just maybe, if I love myself a little more, I’ll have even a little more love for them.   The key, I think, is finding the balance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-8435508958184295651?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/8435508958184295651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=8435508958184295651&amp;isPopup=true' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8435508958184295651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8435508958184295651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/11/what-about-me.html' title='What About Me?'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3632982666844330343</id><published>2009-11-11T15:14:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T15:18:59.731-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tattoo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><title type='text'>Kansas City Ink - Family Style</title><content type='html'>A few months ago I posted about &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/kansas-city-ink.html"&gt;Kansas City Ink's newest artist&lt;/a&gt;, Emma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvsmxJewZmI/AAAAAAAADSE/gH55kDf_eiQ/s1600-h/IMG_2911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvsmxJewZmI/AAAAAAAADSE/gH55kDf_eiQ/s400/IMG_2911.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;She had just made a big splash onto the Kansas tat scene with her wide range of talents.&amp;nbsp; In true LA Ink style, Emma made KC Ink a family shop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvslswvVPXI/AAAAAAAADRk/synx4N6BpVw/s1600-h/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvslswvVPXI/AAAAAAAADRk/synx4N6BpVw/s400/012.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Meet Kansas City Ink's newest tattoo artist, her brother Ryan.&amp;nbsp; I had no idea that Ryan had any type of tattooing skills until this morning when I discovered him tatting his sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvslxNszN6I/AAAAAAAADRs/kMh4treEkeQ/s1600-h/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvslxNszN6I/AAAAAAAADRs/kMh4treEkeQ/s400/010.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Emma was a very patient client and willingly stayed still while Ryan worked on his master piece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Svsn0wU0IOI/AAAAAAAADSM/mOa3dQYccGc/s1600-h/IMG_2915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Svsn0wU0IOI/AAAAAAAADSM/mOa3dQYccGc/s400/IMG_2915.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;While Emma's designs lean towards more free form with flowing lines...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvsmLL-uoGI/AAAAAAAADR8/yftkQ6DduYc/s1600-h/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvsmLL-uoGI/AAAAAAAADR8/yftkQ6DduYc/s320/013.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Ryan's designs are much more linear.&amp;nbsp; (I suppose taking my children to church is paying off.&amp;nbsp; It looks like Ryan is giving Emma a cross.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Svsl1JOdawI/AAAAAAAADR0/z1_pZSr7pkQ/s1600-h/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Svsl1JOdawI/AAAAAAAADR0/z1_pZSr7pkQ/s400/016.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;This was a joint effort.&amp;nbsp; Emma had already inked herself when Ryan decided to add is own touches.&amp;nbsp; If you look closely, you can see who contributed what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Apparently, Ryan is now taking new clients.&amp;nbsp; Reserve you space today!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3632982666844330343?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3632982666844330343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3632982666844330343&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3632982666844330343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3632982666844330343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/11/kansas-city-ink-family-style.html' title='Kansas City Ink - Family Style'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvsmxJewZmI/AAAAAAAADSE/gH55kDf_eiQ/s72-c/IMG_2911.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4535306988227365699</id><published>2009-11-08T22:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T22:25:55.313-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='novel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='writing'/><title type='text'>Chasing Rainbows</title><content type='html'>Almost 4 years ago I learned that life is short.&amp;nbsp; You can plan to do things "some day" but some day may never come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was a little girl I loved to read.&amp;nbsp; I also loved to write.&amp;nbsp; In the 4th grade I had a dream that I loved so much I decided to write it down.&amp;nbsp; I got a spiral notebook and hand wrote 40 pages, front and back, before I stopped.&amp;nbsp; I don't really remember what the dream was about but I still remember the burning desire to take the dreams in my head and put them on paper. I still have that burning desire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My blog has reincarnated a part of me that was long lost, the writer.&amp;nbsp; I love putting our crazy stories into words (and photos.)&amp;nbsp; I love being able to use my imagination to come up with some of the off the wall ideas that make it on my blog.&amp;nbsp; But there's a part of me that wants more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was writing the story of Darrell's accident and death.&amp;nbsp; I know there's a story to tell but it's a painful one.&amp;nbsp; The farther I get from it sometimes the harder it is to revisit it.&amp;nbsp; So, for now, that project is on hold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past summer the seed of an idea was planted in my head.&amp;nbsp; The idea of a story.&amp;nbsp; The story grew, and changed and by September I had a plot of a novel.&amp;nbsp; I researched.&amp;nbsp; I organized my plot in a flow chart on a dry erase board.&amp;nbsp; I wrote part of my first chapter, the seed that grew into the plot on my board.&amp;nbsp; And then I stopped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Writing a book is a daunting task.&amp;nbsp; There's a lot of words.&amp;nbsp; There's a lot of planning.&amp;nbsp; Characters, plots, subplots, motivation.&amp;nbsp; But there's also fear.&amp;nbsp; What if I can't do it?&amp;nbsp; What if it's bad?&amp;nbsp; The entire month of October, two people lived in my head begging to come to life but yet I couldn't do it.&amp;nbsp; What if I failed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November is National Novel Writing Month.&amp;nbsp; Over a decade ago some people got together and challenged themselves to write a novel* in a month, 30 days-- the month of November.&amp;nbsp; They named it NaNoWriMo. (* A full length novel is actually 80,000-100,000 words which is my ultimate goal.)&amp;nbsp; I decided NaNoWriMo was exactly what I needed.&amp;nbsp; I also needed to realize that a first draft can suck, in fact usually does suck. Once I realized that it gave me the freedom to write without fear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now on November 8th, I have written 14,071 words, 17, 569 words total when I include what I wrote before.&amp;nbsp; My story is flying onto the keyboard and the amazing part is that I love it.&amp;nbsp; It's a first draft, so it's far from perfect, but I love it nevertheless.&amp;nbsp; But even better is support that I have gotten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I expected people to call me crazy.&amp;nbsp; I expected looks of "oh isn't that cute, she thinks she can write a book."&amp;nbsp; I never expected the full on support that I have received. I never expected people to be &lt;i&gt;excited&lt;/i&gt; about my book.&amp;nbsp; I have been blessed beyond belief to have people ask how it's coming, cheering me on.&amp;nbsp; This morning at church, my 10 year old nephew Zach asked me what my current word count was. My friend Kathleen, a doctor, answers my every medical research question, even the most mundane,&amp;nbsp; and is happy to do it.&amp;nbsp; My friend Kristi, a medical transcriptionist, answers every question I have about the job of a transcriptionist.&amp;nbsp; I've had 3 people offer to edit my book when it's done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ask myself, if all these people believe in me without hesitation, how can I not?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so I write and my heart fills with joy with every word that goes onto my screen and I think maybe, just maybe, I've finally found myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4535306988227365699?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4535306988227365699/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4535306988227365699&amp;isPopup=true' title='18 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4535306988227365699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4535306988227365699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/11/chasing-rainbows.html' title='Chasing Rainbows'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>18</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-7635770860695352125</id><published>2009-11-06T09:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T09:44:10.543-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Giveaway'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Holiday cards'/><title type='text'>Holiday Card Giveaway</title><content type='html'>A couple of weeks ago I told you about my friend Tommi who made a beautiful digital scrap book for Emma's adoption. In the process, she created her own website and desided to start offering her services to other people.&amp;nbsp; To promote her Christmas card designs she's offering a Holiday card giveaway and since I've been such a tightwad lately and haven't had one in ages, I decided to pass on the information on hers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;------------------------------------------------------------------ &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Ready to send out your holiday cards? Thinking of the hassle and stress that comes with along with it? Worried about the extra expense this year?  Let us help!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvRCJ4wABEI/AAAAAAAADRE/D3R3FCgc6vM/s1600-h/bows+and+buttons+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvRCJ4wABEI/AAAAAAAADRE/D3R3FCgc6vM/s320/bows+and+buttons+card.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A holiday card should come from the heart, but should not have to cost a fortune. It is a simple way to send a warm smile and share the season with your friends and family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvRCSPrYpMI/AAAAAAAADRY/lRfOg_eZWGU/s1600-h/sparkle+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvRCSPrYpMI/AAAAAAAADRY/lRfOg_eZWGU/s320/sparkle+card.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvRCM2lbefI/AAAAAAAADRQ/rHrymgaS4wY/s1600-h/red+and+black+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;By purchasing your Holiday Photo Cards at Ladybugs and Red Thread Scrap Shoppe.com, you are also sending a smile to a child across the world. 5% of each order directly benefits the children of Vietnam through our charity Moms for Vietnam.  Our current efforts are focused on Typhoon Ketsana relief packages, which include emergency food and blankets.  This terrible storm left hundreds dead and thousands without shelter.  With your purchase, you can help make a difference this Holiday Season!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvRCM2lbefI/AAAAAAAADRQ/rHrymgaS4wY/s1600-h/red+and+black+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvRCM2lbefI/AAAAAAAADRQ/rHrymgaS4wY/s320/red+and+black+card.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enter to win a complete set of (25) Holiday Photo Cards with the design of your choice! The GIVEAWAY begins Friday, November 6th at 10:00am EST. The GIVEAWAY ends on Tuesday, November 10th at 10:00am EST when the winner will be announced!&amp;nbsp; Visit Ladybugs and Red Thread Scrap Shoppe to&lt;br /&gt;Enter the Holiday Photo Card GIVEAWAY!&lt;br /&gt;www.ladybugsandredthreadscrapshoppecards.blogspot.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-7635770860695352125?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/7635770860695352125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=7635770860695352125&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7635770860695352125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7635770860695352125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/11/holiday-card-giveaway.html' title='Holiday Card Giveaway'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvRCJ4wABEI/AAAAAAAADRE/D3R3FCgc6vM/s72-c/bows+and+buttons+card.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-5656281662201243681</id><published>2009-11-05T11:18:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T11:19:26.166-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='writing'/><title type='text'>Some Things Are Better Shown Off  At Home and Not School</title><content type='html'>Ryan has made remarkable progress since he started preschool.  Since August he now knows all his colors and can even count.  I wrote his name and Julia, Jenna and Emma's names on index cards and he can point to each card and tell me who's name it is.  But when he sees the letter "R" he doesn't call it an R, he points excitedly and says "That's my name!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning he was writing on a dry erase board as I was preparing to take him to preschool and I wrote an "R" on the board. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's my name!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, it's the first letter in your name.  It's an R." I drew another one and told him to try to write one.  He wrote a P so I told him that the R was missing his "leg."  I added one and finished loading the dishwasher.  When I checked back on him I found that he had written several R's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvMGlbfBRkI/AAAAAAAADQ0/kBS_xJOIM24/s1600-h/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvMGlbfBRkI/AAAAAAAADQ0/kBS_xJOIM24/s320/006.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;On the 3rd R, Ryan decided to personify it.&amp;nbsp; The Mr. R has a face, hair, arms and hands.&amp;nbsp; And something else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvMGoKEW8dI/AAAAAAAADQ8/03bs1ljJepI/s1600-h/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvMGoKEW8dI/AAAAAAAADQ8/03bs1ljJepI/s400/007.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do I know it's Mr. R?  Ryan excitedly showed me that the R had a peepee. Anatomically correct letters, yeah.&amp;nbsp; Hopefully Ryan won't show off his new found writing skills at preschool today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-5656281662201243681?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/5656281662201243681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=5656281662201243681&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5656281662201243681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/5656281662201243681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/11/some-things-are-better-left-at-home-and.html' title='Some Things Are Better Shown Off  At Home and Not School'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SvMGlbfBRkI/AAAAAAAADQ0/kBS_xJOIM24/s72-c/006.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4708401029146498249</id><published>2009-10-28T21:59:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T22:12:11.714-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bible'/><title type='text'>More Bible History With Jenna</title><content type='html'>We went to church tonight (they had brisket, thank you very much), which meant that Jenna, my first grader, went to her bible class.&amp;nbsp; Jenna came running to me after class was over to show me her treasure:&amp;nbsp; a Nigerian coin given to her and the other children by a man who spoke to their class.&amp;nbsp; On the way home, I asked Jenna some questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Was the man a missionary?"&amp;nbsp; I asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Huh?"&amp;nbsp; This obviously stumped her.&amp;nbsp; "He was somewhere where they have houses made from mud and straw."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since her coin was Nigerian I suggested perhaps it was Africa. She agreed that it might have been.&amp;nbsp; "What did he say?"&amp;nbsp; I asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know when Jesus sailed around on a boat with 11 guys and tested them?&amp;nbsp; Yeah, he was with them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The man was on a boat with Jesus?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, he was on a boat with Jesus and they sailed around for about a year and then Jesus told them to go heal people."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Jenna, Jesus lived about 2000 years ago.&amp;nbsp; Did this guy look really old?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, he looked kind of young."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But he sailed around with Jesus?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, for a year with those 11 guys."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What 11 guys?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jenna was becoming very frustrated with 20 questions.&amp;nbsp; "You know, &lt;i&gt;the&lt;/i&gt; 11 guys."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The apostles?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And they were tested?&amp;nbsp; How were they tested?&amp;nbsp; Did they do math tests?&amp;nbsp; Spelling tests?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;Mom&lt;/i&gt;!"&amp;nbsp; I had gone too far with that one.&amp;nbsp; "Don't you know this story?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was wracking my brain trying to figure out a story with Jesus testing 11 guys on a boat for a year.&amp;nbsp; Nothing came to mind.&amp;nbsp; I decided it might be better to let this one go and covertly call my sister-in-law Janne' in the morning to find out what my nephews told her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So this guy was with Jesus?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, but he's retired now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Who? Jesus?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;No!&lt;/i&gt; The guy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wow,"&amp;nbsp; I said. "I'd really like to meet somebody who sailed with Jesus for a year.&amp;nbsp; I'd like to shake his hand but I probably better not."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why not?"&amp;nbsp; Jenna asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, if I shook his hand it might fall off considering he's over 2000 years old.&amp;nbsp; He's probably not in very good shape."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;Oh, Mom&lt;/i&gt;!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be lucky if she ever shares another bible lesson with me again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4708401029146498249?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4708401029146498249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4708401029146498249&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4708401029146498249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4708401029146498249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/more-bible-history-with-jenna.html' title='More Bible History With Jenna'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-7007009957550918558</id><published>2009-10-27T13:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T13:14:11.473-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='OCD'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lunch'/><title type='text'>OCD at Work</title><content type='html'>All of my children have been &lt;strike&gt;messy slobs&lt;/strike&gt; free spirited children who couldn't be bothered to clean up the &lt;strike&gt;messes&lt;/strike&gt; creations they have made upon the path of life.&amp;nbsp; The consequence of this, of course, is that their rooms and the rest of the house are often in a state of chaos.&amp;nbsp; But then there came Ryan, little Ryan with his OCD tendencies.&amp;nbsp; After 5 children, I finally got a child with organizational skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not complaining about Ryan's OCD traits.&amp;nbsp; If anything, I'm fascinated.&amp;nbsp; It's like looking into the mind of a savant.&amp;nbsp; Ryan doesn't like his food to touch on his plate and will direct where his food should be place.&amp;nbsp; Ryan needs extra time to get into his car seat in the car.&amp;nbsp; He likes to buckle himself, but there's an order and a process to it.&amp;nbsp; If there should happen to be any extra distractions, like his stuffed dog or his backpack, he thinks they need to be buckled too.&amp;nbsp; But lately, he's begun packing his own lunch.&amp;nbsp; Other mothers might be offended that their 3 year old taking over this job, because the way I pack it isn't the way he wants it.&amp;nbsp; But I just say go for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvM84yyxI/AAAAAAAADPU/7ZRPyamMiXA/s1600-h/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvM84yyxI/AAAAAAAADPU/7ZRPyamMiXA/s400/010.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;He usually packs it on the kitchen counter but this morning he decided to do it on the kitchen floor.&amp;nbsp; That's okay, I mopped it last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvQXVRWpI/AAAAAAAADPc/OZ1gwZLGmIk/s1600-h/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvQXVRWpI/AAAAAAAADPc/OZ1gwZLGmIk/s400/011.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;Notice how neatly he has everything placed.&amp;nbsp; His napkin is laying behind all his food and he's placed his cheese slice in the pocket on the lid.&amp;nbsp; His clear plastic spoon is laying against the side of the container.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvahrEWsI/AAAAAAAADP0/r2jfvBwGL3M/s1600-h/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvahrEWsI/AAAAAAAADP0/r2jfvBwGL3M/s400/014.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;This morning I only gave him half a sandwich so I put it in a plastic bag.&amp;nbsp; He knew this wasn't right and found his sandwich container. No problem, we'll just put the bag in the container. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvW9OgRbI/AAAAAAAADPs/Fb58KgGYuX4/s1600-h/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvW9OgRbI/AAAAAAAADPs/Fb58KgGYuX4/s400/013.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;Notice how carefully he pats his food to make sure it's in the correct position.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sucvi8LpTiI/AAAAAAAADQE/t5-LQ8VUKM0/s1600-h/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sucvi8LpTiI/AAAAAAAADQE/t5-LQ8VUKM0/s400/016.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;Proud of his work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sucvmg5U5HI/AAAAAAAADQM/7ENJ_jopa54/s1600-h/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sucvmg5U5HI/AAAAAAAADQM/7ENJ_jopa54/s400/017.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;Then he found box of dehydrated apple chips and wanted those too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvqtjewtI/AAAAAAAADQU/qPLC4wXBAEc/s1600-h/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvqtjewtI/AAAAAAAADQU/qPLC4wXBAEc/s400/019.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;The lunch box opens up and he found its correct placement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucxF2CF8dI/AAAAAAAADQs/7JyTnlxqDpo/s1600-h/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucxF2CF8dI/AAAAAAAADQs/7JyTnlxqDpo/s400/021.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;All in a mornings work.&amp;nbsp; Now if I can just harness those organizational skills to tackle my house.&amp;nbsp; Just think what this house could look like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-7007009957550918558?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/7007009957550918558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=7007009957550918558&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7007009957550918558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7007009957550918558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/ocd-at-work.html' title='OCD at Work'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SucvM84yyxI/AAAAAAAADPU/7ZRPyamMiXA/s72-c/010.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-1344724598193557006</id><published>2009-10-26T13:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T13:43:43.732-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pants'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ben 10'/><title type='text'>They Grow Up Too Fast</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuXrTaa9o7I/AAAAAAAADO8/pJPw4LqcekE/s1600-h/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuXrTaa9o7I/AAAAAAAADO8/pJPw4LqcekE/s400/003.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Meet Ben 10&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuXrXcrJ6qI/AAAAAAAADPE/WFEj8M3FHmQ/s1600-h/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuXrXcrJ6qI/AAAAAAAADPE/WFEj8M3FHmQ/s400/002.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Meet Emma&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuXruAwbPkI/AAAAAAAADPM/8zaWPVFFYM4/s1600-h/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuXruAwbPkI/AAAAAAAADPM/8zaWPVFFYM4/s320/005.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;And here's where the two shall meet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Earlier this morning I found Emma pulling down her pajama bottoms, putting Ben 10 in the crotch and then pulling her bottoms back up.&amp;nbsp; I thought I had a few more years before I had to worry about a guy in her pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-1344724598193557006?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/1344724598193557006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=1344724598193557006&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1344724598193557006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1344724598193557006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/they-grow-up-too-fast.html' title='They Grow Up Too Fast'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuXrTaa9o7I/AAAAAAAADO8/pJPw4LqcekE/s72-c/003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-2160450659847525893</id><published>2009-10-23T10:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T10:52:37.869-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='scrap book'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tommi'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Vietnam adoption'/><title type='text'>Emma's Adoption Scrap Book</title><content type='html'>After my nightmare adoption with Emma and nightmare first month home, it should come as no surprise I never did anything with all the photos I had taken while in Vietnam. (For the record, I haven't done anything with Ryan's either.)  When I want to see the photos, I have to hook up my external hard drive and search through my photo files.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend and travel mate Tommi didn't leave the photos of her daughter Anabelle on her laptop .  Last year she learned how to digitally scrap book and made the most amazing photo book of her adoption journey to celebrate her one year Gotcha anniversary. And she didn't stop there.  She made books for Christmas, Anabelle's birthday, and other memorable moments.&amp;nbsp; Then she moved on and made books for her friends and family, loving every minute of&amp;nbsp; helping people get their memories into something tangible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of weeks ago, Tommi took pity on me and offered to make an adoption book for Emma.  She told me to send her the important and memorable photos from my adoption journey and any significant snippets from the emails I sent while I was gone (I didn't update my blog on Emma's adoption journey.)  She asked if there was anything specific I wanted her to include, what color preferences I had and then she got to work, often showing me what she had along the way to make sure I was happy with what she was creating.  About a week later Tommi had created this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Zr_w24jfHOU&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Zr_w24jfHOU&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;(This is a slide show of the actual book that Tommi created. You can check it out more &lt;a href="http://ladybugsandredthreadscrapshoppedsb.blogspot.com/"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I can't tell you how exited I am to have this book!&amp;nbsp; I don't have to beat myself up anymore for neglecting our memories.&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;During the process, Tommi and I realized that I'm not the only person out there who doesn't have the time or talent to create a book like this. Other people need someone to help them get their memories out of their computer files and onto a book they can hold in hands and show off to their friends, family and their children. I'm so excited to tell you that Tommi created &lt;a href="http://www.ladybugsandredthreadscrapshoppe.com/"&gt;Ladybugs and Red Thread Scrap Shoppe&lt;/a&gt;!  She is now offering her services to others to create lasting memories in several different forms.  From brag books, to memory pages and digital scrap books (like Tommi created for me) Tommi can come up with the best option for your needs and your budget.&amp;nbsp; Also, 5% of all her orders goes to &lt;a href="http://www.momsforvietnam.com/"&gt;Moms for Vietnam&lt;/a&gt;, a non profit group by a group of adoptive mothers who are currently focusing on the immediate need for tsunami relief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be sure to go check out her site and see what she can do for YOU!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-2160450659847525893?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/2160450659847525893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=2160450659847525893&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/2160450659847525893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/2160450659847525893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/emmas-adoption-scrap-book.html' title='Emma&apos;s Adoption Scrap Book'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-1785255521982443748</id><published>2009-10-22T13:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T13:29:02.633-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Alice in Wonderland'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hair'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='makeup'/><title type='text'>I Feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty</title><content type='html'>This week is &lt;i&gt;the big week &lt;/i&gt;for Julia; it's a full week of dress rehearsals and performances for her school play Alice in Wonderland.&amp;nbsp; Julia's part is The Duchess.&amp;nbsp; In the book (which I've never read) The Duchess is hideously ugly and I was worried about how Julia,&amp;nbsp; aka "Miss Pretty Girl," would feel about that.&amp;nbsp; After her initial shock, she decided it was okay.&amp;nbsp; It was a part and it was a good one.&amp;nbsp; So it was icing on the cake when her drama director didn't make The Duchess ugly after all, in fact she's pretty and regal. Whew.&amp;nbsp; On the other hand, Julia has had to have her hair up and full makeup on for all 3 rehearsals and all 4 performances this week.&amp;nbsp; Mom's become a hair dresser.&amp;nbsp; I'm now taking appointments for updos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a positive note, I know where to skimp on the girl's future weddings so I can possibly afford those completely unaffordable wedding dresses without selling my kidneys and/or part of my liver. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCdFK_QsSI/AAAAAAAADOs/TzT0uRJs6Ig/s1600-h/066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCdFK_QsSI/AAAAAAAADOs/TzT0uRJs6Ig/s400/066.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;It takes awhile to look like this, and it involves a mini curling iron, a half ton of bobby pins and a half can of hair spray.&amp;nbsp; Emma, ever the opportunist, took advantage of this situation a couple of nights ago.&amp;nbsp; While I was playing personal stylist, Emma decided to play Makeup Artist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCc3OVf3jI/AAAAAAAADOM/fC_qcLrwDlQ/s1600-h/056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCc3OVf3jI/AAAAAAAADOM/fC_qcLrwDlQ/s400/056.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;I looked over at her and in the matter of a couple of minutes, she had found Julia's makeup and an eyebrow brush out of my makeup drawer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCc94F4_dI/AAAAAAAADOc/EVMMC7N8I4Y/s1600-h/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCc94F4_dI/AAAAAAAADOc/EVMMC7N8I4Y/s400/058.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;Just in case you're wondering how this brush is supposed to be used.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCc6mnhUAI/AAAAAAAADOU/cKNzCXcbayg/s1600-h/055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCc6mnhUAI/AAAAAAAADOU/cKNzCXcbayg/s400/055.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;She looks a little drugged her but rest assured, that's merely the look of intense concentration.&amp;nbsp; This makeup stuff is tricky business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCh58rPS0I/AAAAAAAADO0/bQ3ytEOoors/s1600-h/059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCh58rPS0I/AAAAAAAADO0/bQ3ytEOoors/s400/059.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;I feel pretty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;Emma is now hiring out for makeovers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-1785255521982443748?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/1785255521982443748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=1785255521982443748&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1785255521982443748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1785255521982443748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/i-feel-pretty-oh-so-pretty.html' title='I Feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SuCdFK_QsSI/AAAAAAAADOs/TzT0uRJs6Ig/s72-c/066.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-95054072645192941</id><published>2009-10-18T21:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T21:00:01.533-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strawberry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><title type='text'>Ryan Makes a Family</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sts6EWx2gsI/AAAAAAAADOE/71PnEtJbJ_k/s1600-h/ryan+strawberries2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sts6EWx2gsI/AAAAAAAADOE/71PnEtJbJ_k/s400/ryan+strawberries2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ryan wanted strawberries with his breakfast, which is not unusual.&amp;nbsp; But this particular morning, he decided to personify them.&amp;nbsp; He named them Baby (no specific baby, just baby), Ross and Mommy-- because the mommy strawberry has a mouth.&amp;nbsp; Is he trying to tell me something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-95054072645192941?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/95054072645192941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=95054072645192941&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/95054072645192941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/95054072645192941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/ryan-makes-family.html' title='Ryan Makes a Family'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sts6EWx2gsI/AAAAAAAADOE/71PnEtJbJ_k/s72-c/ryan+strawberries2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-144739158180361673</id><published>2009-10-18T10:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T10:18:29.425-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='taylor swift'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><title type='text'>The Sister Act Grows</title><content type='html'>Emma was over 24 months old and had a vocabulary of about 10 words, to say I was worried is an understatement.  But about a month ago, she had a word explosion and her vocabulary grew to about 50-75 words and she even began starting to put together 2 word sentences last week, usually with the word "I" in front.  So this morning it came as quite a shock what song  my 27 month old chose for her "first song." Another performer in my midst?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wM8g6kAulww&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wM8g6kAulww&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-144739158180361673?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/144739158180361673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=144739158180361673&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/144739158180361673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/144739158180361673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/sister-act-grows.html' title='The Sister Act Grows'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-8063381132394907486</id><published>2009-10-17T21:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T21:44:02.035-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cody'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gauge'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pumpkin patch'/><title type='text'>Pumpkin Patch</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;We took our annual trip to the pumpkin patch today.&amp;nbsp; While last year's trip was warm and sunny, today's trip was the opposite but it didn't seem to dampen any spirits.&amp;nbsp; The kids were excited because this year they got to go on a &lt;i&gt;hayride&lt;/i&gt;!&amp;nbsp; But first things first. We went to the Deanna Rose Children's Farmstead in Overland Park, KS which has a model&amp;nbsp; Kansas farm for kids to interact with.&amp;nbsp; The best part is that the children's farm is free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpo-9cewfI/AAAAAAAADJ8/yDx2Yb0kSP8/s1600-h/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpo-9cewfI/AAAAAAAADJ8/yDx2Yb0kSP8/s400/003.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;As soon as you walk in you are greeted by a chicken pen.&amp;nbsp; Emma was fascinated with the chickens.&amp;nbsp; Ryan was scared.&amp;nbsp; We then moseyed on to the dairy barn which had real live cows. The girls were excited.&amp;nbsp; Ryan was scared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpsy34wc7I/AAAAAAAADMc/v2l07E62S68/s1600-h/084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StppCuO53wI/AAAAAAAADKE/ro639oE09a4/s1600-h/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StppCuO53wI/AAAAAAAADKE/ro639oE09a4/s320/012.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StppGl-kT-I/AAAAAAAADKM/dAbXM704lFM/s1600-h/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StppGl-kT-I/AAAAAAAADKM/dAbXM704lFM/s320/013.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;It also had a saddle right out in the middle of the floor which Jenna and Ryan had to try.&amp;nbsp; Contrary to the evidence above, Ryan is having a good time.&amp;nbsp; He just doesn't believe in smiling for the camera anymore.&amp;nbsp; He's moved on from &lt;i&gt;the wink&lt;/i&gt; to a more stoic look.&amp;nbsp; In fact, his preschool pictures were on Thursday and his teacher told me that she had to literally be attacked by Elmo to make him smile.&amp;nbsp; I'm not sure which should concern me more: the fact that they had to go to such lengths to make him smile or the fact that he found his teacher being mugged amusing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StppdRShy3I/AAAAAAAADKU/74miey5Yzqw/s1600-h/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StppdRShy3I/AAAAAAAADKU/74miey5Yzqw/s400/020.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;We then checked out the Indian village, complete with tepees.&amp;nbsp; The girls quickly decided that they had no desire to live in a tepee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stppg8WBFNI/AAAAAAAADKc/zXQILkwmJyM/s1600-h/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stppg8WBFNI/AAAAAAAADKc/zXQILkwmJyM/s400/023.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Next was the baby goat pen, which Ryan was afraid of.&amp;nbsp; He was completely content to stay outside and watch while...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stppl3xk9AI/AAAAAAAADKk/W_t_58KOEXw/s1600-h/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stppl3xk9AI/AAAAAAAADKk/W_t_58KOEXw/s400/025.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The girls feed the baby goats.&amp;nbsp; Emma wasn't frightened at all.&amp;nbsp; I was more concerned that the goats might eat Toodee, who was in her left hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StppyGvIEnI/AAAAAAAADK0/iVgH5c35GeU/s1600-h/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StppyGvIEnI/AAAAAAAADK0/iVgH5c35GeU/s320/030.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpp2FU65LI/AAAAAAAADK8/MaMC8ALu1u0/s1600-h/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpp2FU65LI/AAAAAAAADK8/MaMC8ALu1u0/s320/031.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jenna and Julia both had their turn feeding the goats too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpp5HNF5VI/AAAAAAAADLE/69GQD8Ew0Ys/s1600-h/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpp5HNF5VI/AAAAAAAADLE/69GQD8Ew0Ys/s320/032.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;While Gauge found a new friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqIDh1fxI/AAAAAAAADLU/RGIb-SRT7gk/s1600-h/037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqIDh1fxI/AAAAAAAADLU/RGIb-SRT7gk/s320/037.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Next up was the tractor races because what farm experience isn't complete without tractor races?&amp;nbsp; The farmstead had an oval track for the kids to race their tractor tricycles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Finally, it was time for the main attraction:&amp;nbsp; The Hayride and the Pumpkin Patch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqdE-1YjI/AAAAAAAADLc/PELiw381MyQ/s1600-h/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqdE-1YjI/AAAAAAAADLc/PELiw381MyQ/s320/040.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;The five of us on the hayride.&amp;nbsp; I never got a picture of the wagon.&amp;nbsp; The wagon was pulled by 2 horses which completely freaked Ryan out.&amp;nbsp; When I came time to climb onto the wagon I had 3 crying children which caused quite the spectacle.&amp;nbsp; (Good thing I'm used to causing spectacles so it didn't really bother me.)&amp;nbsp; Ryan was crying because of the horse.&amp;nbsp; Emma was crying because I put her down to load Ryan onto the wagon and Jenna was crying because she wanted to sit on my lap, which &lt;i&gt;obviously&lt;/i&gt; wasn't going to happen.&amp;nbsp; Once the hayride started, all crying stopped and Ryan thought it was fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqgloUufI/AAAAAAAADLk/RgZJpRnnnGY/s1600-h/041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqgloUufI/AAAAAAAADLk/RgZJpRnnnGY/s320/041.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;Cody and Gauge on the hayride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Once we got to the pumpkin patch there were many things for the kids to do.&amp;nbsp; There was a giant slide on top of hay bales.&amp;nbsp; While I got several videos of the kids on the slide, I didn't get any pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqqKD1NTI/AAAAAAAADLs/JEQYKsdqxoQ/s1600-h/053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqqKD1NTI/AAAAAAAADLs/JEQYKsdqxoQ/s320/053.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;The kids then went fishing in a kiddie pool for wooden pumpkins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpquHTmkgI/AAAAAAAADL0/yGfwqj6CHuo/s1600-h/054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpquHTmkgI/AAAAAAAADL0/yGfwqj6CHuo/s320/054.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;While Emma played in a watering trough full of corn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqycvuFHI/AAAAAAAADL8/0bFeRNwU458/s1600-h/060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpqycvuFHI/AAAAAAAADL8/0bFeRNwU458/s400/060.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;We then moved onto search for the perfect pumpkins.&amp;nbsp; The entrance fee to the patch include a pumpkin for each person.&amp;nbsp; Ryan must have gone through about 20 pumpkins before he left with one.&amp;nbsp; Notice the happy little guy in this photo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpyqWCdMkI/AAAAAAAADMk/1BUpTC7H7dk/s1600-h/Ryan+2008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpyqWCdMkI/AAAAAAAADMk/1BUpTC7H7dk/s400/Ryan+2008.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;Compared to the scared little boy last year.&amp;nbsp; It's amazing the difference a year can make.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpsPnvkZ0I/AAAAAAAADME/5USKqbqTtvE/s1600-h/064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpsPnvkZ0I/AAAAAAAADME/5USKqbqTtvE/s400/064.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Here's the look I got from Jenna most of the day.&amp;nbsp; From complaining about her boots, to her whining that she was cold, Jenna wasn't a happy girl most of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpslZesvbI/AAAAAAAADMM/xZ4YhV5apjQ/s1600-h/079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StpslZesvbI/AAAAAAAADMM/xZ4YhV5apjQ/s400/079.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;But she seemed pretty happy when she got her pumpkin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpspw9KrnI/AAAAAAAADMU/59AlYqd6QkM/s1600-h/080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpspw9KrnI/AAAAAAAADMU/59AlYqd6QkM/s400/080.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Emma spent most of her time in the pumpkin patch picking up sticks.&amp;nbsp; She had no interest in pumpkins.&amp;nbsp; In fact, when given a pumpkin this was her response:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KfD_Lj0vgCc&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KfD_Lj0vgCc&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Some days I wish I could give a pumpkin a good spike too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpsy34wc7I/AAAAAAAADMc/v2l07E62S68/s1600-h/084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpsy34wc7I/AAAAAAAADMc/v2l07E62S68/s400/084.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We knew it was time to go when spiking pumpkins wasn't fun any longer and Emma just wanted to be held.&amp;nbsp; Nevertheless, the pumpkin patch was a smashing success.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry, I couldn't resist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-8063381132394907486?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/8063381132394907486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=8063381132394907486&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8063381132394907486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8063381132394907486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/pumpkin-patch.html' title='Pumpkin Patch'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Stpo-9cewfI/AAAAAAAADJ8/yDx2Yb0kSP8/s72-c/003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-6206167667261023550</id><published>2009-10-15T08:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T08:07:23.298-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='church'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bible'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jesus'/><title type='text'>The Bible According to Jenna</title><content type='html'>Over the last year we've been total slackers with church.  First we had a hard time finding a church we felt comfortable with.  Then there's the logistics of trying to get 4 kids to Sunday school and church as a single parent.  But at the beginning of this school year, I vowed that we would be better.&amp;nbsp; And other than the Sunday's we've missed because we had &lt;strike&gt;the plague&lt;/strike&gt; H1N1 flu, we've been pretty good.&amp;nbsp; In fact, we're so good we've been going on Wednesday nights.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Yeah, so they serve dinner on Wednesday nights.&amp;nbsp; That's not the &lt;i&gt;only&lt;/i&gt; reason we go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday after dealing with the aftermath of &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/frustrated-artiste_14.html"&gt;Emma's marker mural&lt;/a&gt;, I decided to calm myself down with a non fat, no whip Mocha from Starbucks.&amp;nbsp; (Hey, it beats buying crack on the corner.)&amp;nbsp; I picked Jenna up from school and we headed straight to Starbucks.&amp;nbsp; On the way, I told Jenna that we were going to church later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't want to go to church!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But we have to go so you can learn about God and Jesus."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I already know all about God and Jesus."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was impressed.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; At 6 years of age Jenna has achieved what most theologists have strived&amp;nbsp; for their entire lives.&amp;nbsp; "Okay,"&amp;nbsp; I said.&amp;nbsp; "Tell me about Jesus."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jenna seemed disgusted at the pop quiz but explained, "Mary didn't want Jesus so she put him in a basket and floated him in a river and a princess found him.&amp;nbsp; He grew living with the princess."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After giving myself a mental head slap, I questioned which was worse-- The Gospel according to Jenna or when Jenna came running up to me after Sunday school last spring very excited that she had discovered that she could pray &lt;i&gt;anytime&lt;/i&gt;, not just at dinner and bedtime.&amp;nbsp; (My friend Heather, Jenna's Sunday school teacher at the time, still won't let me forget that one.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Actually," I said gently so that I wouldn't upset her, "that was Moses."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, yeah."&amp;nbsp; She seemed puzzled that she had got that one wrong.&amp;nbsp; I decided to try again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So tell me about &lt;i&gt;Jesus&lt;/i&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After thinking for a moment, Jenna said, "Jesus had to travel to a city really far away because people could be counted, I can't remember what it's called..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A census?"&amp;nbsp; I volunteered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, he had to travel on a donkey to a census."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great.&amp;nbsp; I had failed my daughter's Christian education, yet ever the cock-eyed optimist, and just like when Jesus asked Peter who he was 3 times, I tried for the third time to see if Jenna knew about Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But what about Jesus and the cross?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yeah... Jesus died on the cross to forgive our sins so we can go to heaven."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I wasn't a total bum.&amp;nbsp; Thank goodness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But I still don't want to go to church."&amp;nbsp; She added.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How could I make my daughter go to church and &lt;i&gt;want&lt;/i&gt; to be there?&amp;nbsp; I pondered this as we waited in the Starbucks drive through lane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They're having fried chicken for dinner."&amp;nbsp; I told her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What kind is that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know, crispy chicken on the bone."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her entire attitude changed.&amp;nbsp; "I love that kind of chicken.&amp;nbsp; I want to go to church."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's my girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-6206167667261023550?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/6206167667261023550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=6206167667261023550&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6206167667261023550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6206167667261023550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/bible-according-to-jenna.html' title='The Bible According to Jenna'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-8629503999428541089</id><published>2009-10-14T15:55:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T15:58:09.960-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marker'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art work'/><title type='text'>Frustrated Artiste</title><content type='html'>Artists are often tortured souls, or at least that's what I've always heard.&amp;nbsp; They battle the demons that struggle to be released in an artistic medium.&amp;nbsp; If Emma could clearly articulate her thoughts, I'm sure that's the cockamamie bull she would tell me to justify her "creative urges."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emma is drawn to writing instruments, particularly (but not limited to) &lt;i&gt;markers&lt;/i&gt;.&amp;nbsp; At this stage of the game I pretty much have all markers under lock and key but when I heard Trace yell in a very exasperated voice "&lt;i&gt;Em-ma&lt;/i&gt;!"&amp;nbsp; I knew it couldn't be good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY0sc0Jr7I/AAAAAAAADIU/LYMPCTVePl4/s1600-h/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY0sc0Jr7I/AAAAAAAADIU/LYMPCTVePl4/s320/029.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;strike&gt;Weapon&lt;/strike&gt; artistic medium of choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StYvL91waGI/AAAAAAAADHk/nI5jLj_BTE8/s1600-h/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StYvL91waGI/AAAAAAAADHk/nI5jLj_BTE8/s320/023.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Oh that's sweet.&amp;nbsp; Emma drew a picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY1zm1e8jI/AAAAAAAADIc/Dow0Hm-bYNg/s1600-h/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY1zm1e8jI/AAAAAAAADIc/Dow0Hm-bYNg/s320/025.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;She then moved to the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StYvU8fXapI/AAAAAAAADH0/LNBUbDfOioA/s1600-h/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StYvU8fXapI/AAAAAAAADH0/LNBUbDfOioA/s320/021.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Then the sofa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StYvcxBx8xI/AAAAAAAADIE/VulbVYn-W9o/s1600-h/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StYvcxBx8xI/AAAAAAAADIE/VulbVYn-W9o/s320/027.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;The piano.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StYvgUykoQI/AAAAAAAADIM/bpdEFRm_aaU/s1600-h/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StYvgUykoQI/AAAAAAAADIM/bpdEFRm_aaU/s400/028.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And a stool.&amp;nbsp; But these furniture pieces are getting rather old, don't you think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY2pVvMZTI/AAAAAAAADIk/YSfA9Dieuo0/s1600-h/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY2pVvMZTI/AAAAAAAADIk/YSfA9Dieuo0/s320/009.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Let's artistically express ourselves on the wall. (So her previous art work is there too, She just added to it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY2sZyEXdI/AAAAAAAADIs/UCT0UsEi-WY/s1600-h/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY2sZyEXdI/AAAAAAAADIs/UCT0UsEi-WY/s320/010.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Let's take it around the corner too.&amp;nbsp; These pictures were taken &lt;i&gt;after&lt;/i&gt; I used Mr Clean Magic Eraser.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY2vPXCXvI/AAAAAAAADI0/qZPXhhOiwMU/s1600-h/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY2vPXCXvI/AAAAAAAADI0/qZPXhhOiwMU/s320/011.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And then she finally stopped here when she was caught in the act.&amp;nbsp; What did Emma think of her accomplishment?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY22HVfg5I/AAAAAAAADJE/hcOYO5Mk_RE/s1600-h/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY22HVfg5I/AAAAAAAADJE/hcOYO5Mk_RE/s320/003.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It's pretty obvious she's quite pleased with herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY2yJYUx5I/AAAAAAAADI8/U4X1czPRV3w/s1600-h/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY2yJYUx5I/AAAAAAAADI8/U4X1czPRV3w/s400/008.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ya do the crime, you gotta do the time, only this wasn't punishment to her.&amp;nbsp; She was crying to help wipe the walls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;So what are my options here?&amp;nbsp; Mr Clean Magic Eraser hasn't taken it all off so I could repaint but then I'd have to paint--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY4f2eVIdI/AAAAAAAADJM/U3uDHnugRjU/s1600-h/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY4f2eVIdI/AAAAAAAADJM/U3uDHnugRjU/s320/012.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY4jJfOMYI/AAAAAAAADJU/buLIum0dl1M/s1600-h/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY4jJfOMYI/AAAAAAAADJU/buLIum0dl1M/s320/013.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY4mUrX0rI/AAAAAAAADJc/Ym9Wwj1os5M/s1600-h/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY4mUrX0rI/AAAAAAAADJc/Ym9Wwj1os5M/s320/014.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY5ZswKWJI/AAAAAAAADJ0/ulrVu7EYvUI/s1600-h/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY5ZswKWJI/AAAAAAAADJ0/ulrVu7EYvUI/s320/015.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY4sRF9twI/AAAAAAAADJs/6xLymp_2Wg4/s1600-h/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY4sRF9twI/AAAAAAAADJs/6xLymp_2Wg4/s320/017.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;You get the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;So we're reverting back to caveman times, next thing you know she'll be hunting down the dogs and building a fire in her bedroom.&amp;nbsp; Wait, don't give her any ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" style="-moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; -moz-background-origin: padding; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; border: medium none;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-8629503999428541089?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/8629503999428541089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=8629503999428541089&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8629503999428541089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8629503999428541089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/frustrated-artiste_14.html' title='Frustrated Artiste'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/StY0sc0Jr7I/AAAAAAAADIU/LYMPCTVePl4/s72-c/029.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4114413744391786647</id><published>2009-10-05T11:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T11:42:34.994-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beef'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Money Saving Madness'/><title type='text'>Money Saving Madness:  Ordering a Side of Beef</title><content type='html'>In my quest to save money at the grocery store I decided to order a side of beef from a cattle farmer who sells at my local Farmer's Market.  I've got a house full of people to feed and I knew that if I ordered a side of beef we'd definitely use it.  The problem was I had NO idea what to ask or what to look for when getting my beef so I did the smart thing and asked my network of friends.  Deanne from &lt;a href="http://tryingtraditional.wordpress.com/"&gt;Trying Traditional&lt;/a&gt; answered my plea for help and did me one better-- she wrote a blog post about it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;----------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Deanne:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First a bit about me.  I am a stay-at-home mother of four beautiful girls and am blessed to be married for 11 years now to my highschool sweetheart.  We live in the same very small community that we grew up in, met each other, and where grandparents are only a 3 minute drive down the road. I love to cook and bake, though along the way I feel like I was thrown a couple curve balls.  If anyone already reads my blog, you know that I have a child that is very sensitive to processed foods.  If it comes in a box, she probably should not be eating it.  With the exception of a brown rice pasta I love (Tinkyada brand) and the occasional loaf of bread when I am feeling lazy, we make it all from scratch.  We make our own stock/broth, soups, casseroles, pizza, salad dressings, cereals, baked goods, and even ketchup.  I can barely remember the days where I would open up a can of cream of mushroom soup or a package of mac and cheese.  If the label has any form of wheat, milk, soy, sugar, or msg on the label we make it ourselves.   This is what got me started on feeding my family a nourishing, whole-food diet.  I hope to answer some of the common questions I am asked about ordering a side of beef.  Being that I always order a side instead of a split side, from here on I will talk mainly on ordering a side of beef.  If you are interested in a split side, ask your butcher for more specifics about what cuts you will be receiving (seeing as you will be buying either the front or hind quarter) or buddy-up with someone and split the roasts, steaks, and other cuts as evenly as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;What exactly is a side or split side of beef and why would I want one?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A side of beef is half of a cow, with a split side being a quarter of a cow.  There are many reasons people buy a side of beef.  For us the reasons are part economical and part quality.  While I would love to buy a side of organic beef, that is simply not in our budget.  I have found a farm that uses antibiotics sparingly, allows their cows out into the sunshine and to chew grass to their hearts content, but also feeds them some grain as well.  We will get to cost later, but for now this is the best I can afford to feed my family and I know the farmers personally and am pleased to help support their family.  When I order grocery store meat, I know nothing about it but the grade assigned to it by the USDA.  What I do know is that it has been injected with a sodium solution to make up for the lack of marbling.  Let's face it, fat means flavor and with the popularity of reducing fat in our diets tough, tasteless meat wasn't selling either.  These solutions help to flavor the meat and plump the weight as well.  Think about the last time you paid $5.99 a pound for beef, you were also paying that much for salt water.  While it is possible to find meat without the sodium solutions, it can be pricey and hard to find.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other reasons people buy a side of beef could be: trying to eat more local foods, wanting organic meats, preferring to know where the meat originated from, and it just tastes better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;You mentioned economical, how economical are we talking?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is where it gets tricky.  Costs vary widely.  I can give you an example of what we pay.  We will usually spend around $650 on a side of beef, before you click on to the next blog keep reading as I will give you an approximate tally of what you get for that kind of money on down the post.  If you are working direct with a farm, they will give you a per pound hanging weight price and the processors will give you a per pound processing price.  Say the hanging weight of your side of beef is 300lbs and your farmer is charging you $1.50 a pound.  You will be writing them a check for $450.  Then say your processor is going to charge you $.75 per pound for the cutting and wrapping of you side of beef.  Do you see how this adds up?  And, just to make it more confusing, you will not be taking home 300lbs of meat, in fact, about 20-35% of your hanging weight is waste (fat and such that that is trimmed away.)  When all is said and done, we average a little over $3 a pound for the meat we take home.  Imagine paying that for T-bone steaks at the store!  I said it before, but will say it again, this is just an example of what we pay.  Prices vary greatly due to local economy, organic or not, and so on.  A good source should be able to give you a loose idea of what you will be paying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;What cuts of meat will I be getting?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is where it gets fun.  The first time we ordered a side of beef, you can imagine the crickets chirping in the background when the butcher asked me how I wanted it.  Umm, how about cooked and ready to reheat, is that an option?  What on earth was I supposed to tell the guy and why didn't anyone warn me?  Thankfully, he was took the time to explain many a thing that I was clueless about.  He started by asking me if we were particular to roasts, steaks, ground or any other certain cut.  From there he started asking if wanted -bone steaks or strips and a tenderloin.  I communicated to him, that we weren't big steak eaters (turns out we love steaks now that we are getting quality meat) and that I used a good bit of ground beef and he obliged.  Now when I order, I tell them that we prefer our ground beef in 2 pound packages and that I prefer our roasts to be about 4 pounds.  We do not have them make any of our ground beef into patties, though this is an option that some places charge a little bit more money to do.  I also instruct that we will eat nearly anything and to please include soup bones, liver, heart, tongue, etc. in our order.  (Don't cringe, if you eat hot dogs than you are likely eating all kinds of unknown meat pieces and you know it!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you order your side of beef, you can expect to get the following (this is not a precise list, just an estimation):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* 4 chuck roasts&lt;br /&gt;* 2 chuck steaks&lt;br /&gt;* 3 arm roasts&lt;br /&gt;* 10 pieces of short ribs&lt;br /&gt;* 8 soup bones&lt;br /&gt;* 6 pounds of stew meat&lt;br /&gt;* 1 rib roast&lt;br /&gt;* 10 rib steaks&lt;br /&gt;* 2 sirloin roasts&lt;br /&gt;* 8 sirloin steaks&lt;br /&gt;* 2 rolled rump roasts&lt;br /&gt;* 8 T-bone steaks&lt;br /&gt;* 8 porterhouse steaks&lt;br /&gt;* 6 round steaks&lt;br /&gt;* 12 cube steaks&lt;br /&gt;* 60 pounds of ground beef&lt;br /&gt;* 3 packages of liver&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keep in mind that these quantities change with the size of cuts you prefer.  The average cut for roasts is 3 pounds.  We do 4 because there are more of us and I can throw leftover roast in soup or fried rice for an easy meal.  You see, there is flexibility here, you can get the sirloin steaks instead of roasts, same with the rib section.  Instead of the T-bone steaks you could get a tenderloin (have the tenderloin cut into filet mignon if you like) and strip steaks.  This all affects the cuts you get, but in the end you still get about the same weight of take-home meat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was a bunch of information, can you simplify that for me?&lt;br /&gt;Sure, your will be getting a huge amount of meat cut into steaks, roasts, ground meat, and more. Here is what you are going to need to tell your butcher in regards to your side of beef:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* how big do you want your roasts&lt;br /&gt;* how thick do you like your steaks and how many to a package&lt;br /&gt;* how much ground beef per package&lt;br /&gt;* if you want some of your ground beef in patties, how big do you like your patties&lt;br /&gt;* do you want the rib section to be steaks, roasts, or both&lt;br /&gt;* do you want the sirloin tip as steaks or a roast&lt;br /&gt;* do you want the top round as a roast, steaks, or London broil&lt;br /&gt;* do you want cube steaks and if so how many to a package&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Okay, I'm going to do it...what now?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once you order your beef, you should be given an approximate date of pickup.  The butcher will likely call you when it is ready for pick up.  One thing you should know is that you will need coolers and or boxes to pick up all this meat.  Think about it, we are talking about 200 pounds of frozen beef.  Even if you did manage to bring enough grocery bags for that much meat with you, can you imagine that rolling around in your mini-van after a sharp turn or stop?  We usually use either boxes or milk-crates unless it is a hot day, then I borrow all the coolers I can fit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I get my meat, I try to start sorting it as I put it into boxes as I put it into my vehicle.  The butcher has my meat stored in carts in his freezer, they roll them out to me and I start loading up.  Ground beef is stacked like bricks all into a couple milk crates that will stack one on top of another in my chest freezer.  Roasts go into another, steaks another, etc.  This helps me keep my freezer organized so that when I want to make liver I am not digging through 150 pounds of ground beef, roasts, and steaks tossed into the bottom of the freezer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do not be afraid to ask questions, you will be paying quite a bit of money up front for a large quantity of food...might as well do your best to get exactly what you want for your family.  Ask others that have ordered a side of beef, ask the farm or ranch you are getting your meat from, or ask your butcher.  Most of these people are proud of the work they do and are more than happy to help you in the choices you have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;-------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Denise:&lt;/span&gt;  I think if you are a person who strictly buys your beef when it's on sale at the grocery store and price is your primary focus, ordering a side of beef probably isn't for you.  But if you get a lot of different cuts (steaks, roasts, etc) then ordering a side is something you should investigate.  I was also interested in it because I could get meat that was organic or as close it as possible without having the official organic seal (which takes farmers a lot of time, money and energy to get.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I ordered my side of beef it was already butchered, processed and boxed up waiting in a deep freeze to be sold.  I paid $3.50 a pound for my half side of a 630 pound cow. (However, I only received a little over 200 pounds of processed meat, so I really paid more than $3.50 a pound.) I met the farmer in the Farmer's Market parking lot on a weekday and he transferred the meat into my van.  (His farm is about an hour and half south of where I live.) I took home 5 boxes of beef, set them in my garage and began to inventory what I had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Ssods-nK71I/AAAAAAAADHA/hDICw268Yfk/s1600-h/100.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Ssods-nK71I/AAAAAAAADHA/hDICw268Yfk/s320/100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389152562660962130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SsodB4ZjeaI/AAAAAAAADG4/TN80wxabcJA/s1600-h/102.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SsodB4ZjeaI/AAAAAAAADG4/TN80wxabcJA/s320/102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389151822258862498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept hearing how hard it was to keep track of the beef in your freezer but my new chest freezer has built in compartments so I made a chart of where I put everything.  I also made a list of every package of meat that I received and planned to check off what we got out to use.  This is a great plan and might work for someone else but not for us.  We just aren't that organized but I think with my chart showing what compartment the specific cuts are in is organization enough for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Ssoc3297eKI/AAAAAAAADGw/hJZIQkkPuxY/s1600-h/104.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Ssoc3297eKI/AAAAAAAADGw/hJZIQkkPuxY/s320/104.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389151650075867298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Ssod0A5V0EI/AAAAAAAADHI/p9cHKLVUpxk/s1600-h/105.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Ssod0A5V0EI/AAAAAAAADHI/p9cHKLVUpxk/s320/105.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389152683533127746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to say that I didn't expect that big of a difference between grocery store beef and my farmer's beef, but even the ground beef is better.  The farmer's ground beef is a deep red instead of the grocery store's pink tones.  (That's one of the two packages of ground beef we're having in our chili tonight.)  We've also tried out the steaks and they are incredible!  I can't believe beef can taste that good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It takes a chunk of money up front and a lot of freezer space but buying a side of beef just might be something for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And no people, I'm not dressing up like a cow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SsocDbfz8_I/AAAAAAAADGo/tGOevVDAWcI/s1600-h/100.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4114413744391786647?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4114413744391786647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4114413744391786647&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4114413744391786647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4114413744391786647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/10/money-saving-madness-ordering-side-of.html' title='Money Saving Madness:  Ordering a Side of Beef'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Ssods-nK71I/AAAAAAAADHA/hDICw268Yfk/s72-c/100.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4125118802786157340</id><published>2009-09-29T20:30:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T22:46:35.988-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleep'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cougar.'/><title type='text'>What I'll Do For a Little Sleep</title><content type='html'>With this many kids in my house, I've got to be strong and try to be consistent.  Most days I feel like I accomplish this goal.  But kids, being kids, will figure out your weakness.  Superman's is Kryptonite. Homer Simpson's is donuts. (&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Jill's is white mini donuts&lt;/span&gt;)  Mine is sleep.  And Crack Bars. And Starbucks.  And Diet Coke.  Okay, okay we'll stick with sleep in this post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since last spring when I was &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/03/this-means-war.html"&gt;Mean Mommy and took away Emma's bottle&lt;/a&gt;, I've gotten spoiled with my 5-6 hours of consecutive sleep.  Don't be messin' with my sleep people!  So when children wake up in the middle of the night I take the path of least resistance.  I put them in my bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would like to insert here that I have also been known to not totally wake up when the older children have come into my room in the middle of the night and have said some pretty off the wall things, according to them.  The rule is now that if you really need me you have to keep talking to me until I'm speaking coherently.  I think that's a good rule for when I'm awake too.  But that's another story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In any case, you can't sleep?  Get in my bed. Had a bad dream?  Get in my bed?  There's a thunder storm outside?  Get in my bed.   You're a young hot stud?  Get... oh, never mind.  I'm just plain lazy and I throw those kids in my bed.  I've been known to have up to 3 kids in bed with me. (Four if you count our &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2008/07/night-on-town.html"&gt;trip to China last summer&lt;/a&gt;.) I don't get much sleep but its better than none.  I keep telling myself that anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night as I was getting ready to go upstairs, I heard a small child beginning to cry.  When this happens, I always hope that it's Ryan.  Ryan's easy.  Sometimes he's not even awake so I can pat his back, tell him Mommy's there and he'll stop crying and go back to sleep.  Emma's not so easy, but seriously,  who's surprised by this?  Emma has to be rocked and rocked completely to sleep, otherwise she'll start to cry again.  This often means at least 15 minutes of rocking.  I will do this if I'm still awake, so last night, it was her crying and I rocked her, dozing as I rocked, and got her back in bed. But less than an hour later, when I was amazingly enough asleep, she began to cry again.  There was no way I was going to rock her again so I brought her back to my bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No problem, right?  Big king size bed, a small 24 pound 33 inch long child in my bed, plenty of room, right? Need I remind you?  This is Emma.  About 3 am I found myself completely plastered against the edge of my bed.  I finally roused around enough to consider &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;moving&lt;/span&gt; her.  Did I move her and risk waking her up?  Sleeping on the edge wasn't working.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past weekend Julia was sick and came into my room in the middle of the night because she was coughing so much she couldn't sleep.  Between her coughing and the TV, I ended up sleeping with Ryan.  (Much to his complete surprise and delight the next morning.)  This could have been an option with Emma but I was too out of it to think of it.  I also could have moved to the other side of the bed, but didn't think of that either.  Instead, I gently moved her and was thankful she was still asleep.  Only to find myself plastered to the edge again about an hour later. Sure I slept, but not very well.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;It occurs to me that my children could use this weakness to their advantage, exploiting my vulnerability for their own selfish whims.  They could come into my room in the middle of the night, ask me for anything and I'd probably say yes.  Get it on camera and it's iron clad.  But it also occurs to me that I could use it to my own advantage as well.  How did that hot young stud get in my bed?  He must have asked me in the middle of the night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe this isn't a weakness after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4125118802786157340?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4125118802786157340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4125118802786157340&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4125118802786157340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4125118802786157340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/09/what-ill-do-for-little-sleep.html' title='What I&apos;ll Do For a Little Sleep'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-1153594414737754106</id><published>2009-09-27T22:48:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-27T23:52:51.600-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flaws'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Blog'/><title type='text'>Blogging is a State of Mind</title><content type='html'>So where have I gone?  And why do I feel like I'm always explaining myself?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All summer I felt like I was in overwhelm.  It's better now since the kids are back in school but some days I feel like I start going from the moment I get up until the moment I go to bed.  Lots of other bloggers are busy.  So what's my excuse?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The beauty of reaching, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ahem&lt;/span&gt;, a certain age (over 40) is you begin to really become familiar with who you are.  I think I've reached the point that I accept some of my flaws and realize that if I haven't changed by now it probably isn't going to happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned that I'm terrible about returning things.  I've run through my fair share of video rental stores.  I've funded more then a couple of books in various public libraries across the lower 48 states with over due book fines.  I used to beat myself up about this but I realized that there were worse flaws and to just accept this one.  I don't borrow things from friends of neighbors.  I rarely rent a movie other than Netflix.  I try the library from time to time and then go back to allowing myself to buy a book at Costco every other week, it's what I would pay in late fees anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have another flaw that probably needs some work.  I'm a classic avoider. The more a situation gets out of hand, the more I avoid it.  It's a terrible character trait, one I really do need to work on.  Honesty has always been my policy on my blog so here's the honest truth:  the longer I go without blogging, the harder it is to do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's so many reasons for this.  One is stated above.  I don't blog and when I finally do I feel the need to explain myself.  So here's the deal.  I've confessed my flaw and I'm going to stop apologizing for absences because this is getting beyond ridiculous.  Sometime I won't be here.  Sometimes I'm going to just jump right in like I have.  Hopefully the more I just do it and stop being intimidated (by my ownself, I might add) the sooner I'll get back to normal.  Not that anyone could really call me normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two, blogging is a state of mind.  When you're full on blog mode everything in your life is potential blog fodder.  Your view of life is skewed a bit and it's not entirely a bad thing.  But when you get out of blogging mentality its harder to jump right back in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll also confess here that I've considered giving up blogging but ultimately have decided not to stop.  I really like to blog when my heart is in it and I really do miss it.  I just need to jump back into the saddle again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And while we're on the topic of blogging and the love of blogging I'll mention one other thing.  You probably noticed (or not) that my BlogHer ads and blog roll are missing.  I removed them.  They used to pay me about $25 a month but after the first of the year I was lucky to get $10 a month and I had more page loads than when I was making more.  BlogHer has rules and requirements and I decided I was tired of worrying about them.  There was a time that I saw getting on the BlogHer network as a sign of "making it" in the blogging world.  I guess my priorities have changed.  That or I've grown up a bit, as improbable as that might seem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I hereby promise to stop beating myself up for not blogging more and just blog.  I promise to have more fun with blogging and I promise to just get over myself.  This is supposed to be fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-1153594414737754106?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/1153594414737754106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=1153594414737754106&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1153594414737754106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/1153594414737754106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/09/blogging-is-state-of-mind.html' title='Blogging is a State of Mind'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-7782395620888173571</id><published>2009-09-16T11:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T15:11:01.414-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laundry detergent'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Little House on the Prairie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Money Saving Madness'/><title type='text'>Welcome to My Little House on the Prairie</title><content type='html'>When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with Little House on the Prairie.  I devoured the books and read them several times each, well except for Farmer Boy. (Not only was it boring to me, it was about a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;boy&lt;/span&gt;.)  I wanted to live 100 years in the past. I wanted to be Mary Ingalls.  Forget Laura;  I wanted to be a girly girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the amazement of my children, we only had 4 tv stations when I was a girl.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh the horror!!! &lt;/span&gt; No Disney channel, no Nickelodeon.  What was  kid to do?  We played outside and used our imaginations.  Our neighborhood was the land of make believe--  Lost in Space, Huckleberry Fin &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(which we had completely wrong)&lt;/span&gt;, and Little House on the Prairie.   All the others were prop-less but with Little House on the Prairie, I would wear one of my mom's old dresses and a baby dress on my head, the bodice cinched to make a sun bonnet.  What can I say?  I had a rich childhood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I decided to make my own laundry, memories of Little House came rushing back.  Doesn't making soap seem like something Ma would do?  So before I started my soap making endeavor, I had to have my props.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBseOboZ9I/AAAAAAAADGI/XWMgRWwXdl0/s1600-h/017.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBseOboZ9I/AAAAAAAADGI/XWMgRWwXdl0/s400/017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381920821233608658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was ready to make some soap but my girls were horrified.  Maybe some things are better left in the past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBsdXdWq7I/AAAAAAAADGA/OOpnKHexJag/s1600-h/018.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBsdXdWq7I/AAAAAAAADGA/OOpnKHexJag/s400/018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381920806476884914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I assembled all my ingredients and prepared to start mixing.  For those who might have missed my&lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/09/money-saving-madness-laundry-and.html"&gt; Money Saving Madness post&lt;/a&gt; about making your own detergents the recipe is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1 box of Borax&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1 box of Washing Soda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;6 cups of Baking Soda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;6 bars of Fels Naptha, shredded&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gathering the ingredients was actually a scavenger hunt.  I had never bought Borax, but apparently it's everywhere.  I bought my box at Target in the laundry detergent aisle, but I also saw it everywhere else I went.  Borax is easy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Washing Soda was found at my grocery store, HyVee.  It was also in the laundry aid aisle.  Interestingly enough, it wasn't at my Super WalMart.  But the Fels Naptha was.  Baking Soda, no explanation necessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBp7-nJYXI/AAAAAAAADFw/xU1rb2IfFCM/s1600-h/023.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBp7-nJYXI/AAAAAAAADFw/xU1rb2IfFCM/s400/023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381918033848131954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I realized the toughest part was shredding SIX bars of Fels Naptha.  Let's get this party started!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBp7LbTIzI/AAAAAAAADFo/mlrlKkHYsgk/s1600-h/019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBp7LbTIzI/AAAAAAAADFo/mlrlKkHYsgk/s400/019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381918020108231474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;With a quick break to update my Facebook status.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBp6txy5YI/AAAAAAAADFg/rEeiBqvqa4I/s1600-h/021.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBp6txy5YI/AAAAAAAADFg/rEeiBqvqa4I/s400/021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381918012149523842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Still shredding, and by the looks of things, I've got 4 more bars to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBr8sCZx6I/AAAAAAAADF4/OVjdIDWdh-c/s1600-h/thought+bubble.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBr8sCZx6I/AAAAAAAADF4/OVjdIDWdh-c/s400/thought+bubble.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381920245065303970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Trying to stay motivated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBpL-zWuxI/AAAAAAAADFY/od3CNBJin0k/s1600-h/024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBpL-zWuxI/AAAAAAAADFY/od3CNBJin0k/s400/024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381917209265617682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;By this point, Jenna was taking pictures and I was making all kinds of poses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBpK01Sq8I/AAAAAAAADFI/BWzVx376Igk/s1600-h/026.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBpK01Sq8I/AAAAAAAADFI/BWzVx376Igk/s400/026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381917189409516482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I freely admit that we watch too much America's Next Top Model in this house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBpKUhoEQI/AAAAAAAADFA/X8Y0JFzZWoM/s1600-h/030.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBpKUhoEQI/AAAAAAAADFA/X8Y0JFzZWoM/s400/030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381917180737097986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Julia thought that shredding soap looked fun and wanted to give it a go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBpJqWtD8I/AAAAAAAADE4/L9N3f9bVLSY/s1600-h/037.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBpJqWtD8I/AAAAAAAADE4/L9N3f9bVLSY/s400/037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381917169416998850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Her ANTP pose.  She couldn't be out done by her mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBngH__WRI/AAAAAAAADEw/B6nioFjvHtI/s1600-h/040.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBngH__WRI/AAAAAAAADEw/B6nioFjvHtI/s400/040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381915356308658450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Okay!  The shredding is done, as you can tell by the smile on my face, and the mixing has begun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBnffvZvOI/AAAAAAAADEo/JsTUVnRceiQ/s1600-h/043.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBnffvZvOI/AAAAAAAADEo/JsTUVnRceiQ/s400/043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381915345501666530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Unlike &lt;a href="http://www.underthemistymountain.com/"&gt;Cynthia&lt;/a&gt;, I don't live close to a ginormous cheese factory where I can buy big tubs for $0.50. So I found this file box clearance priced at WalMart for $3.50.   I poured the ingredients in layers and stirred it with a wooden spoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBne0S_DCI/AAAAAAAADEg/-8rXq_ixgn0/s1600-h/042.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBne0S_DCI/AAAAAAAADEg/-8rXq_ixgn0/s400/042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381915333839752226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I wrote the recipe on the top of the box so I wouldn't have to look it up again.  I completely stole this idea from my friend Heather at &lt;a href="http://fivebuckstofun.blogspot.com/"&gt;Five Bucks&lt;/a&gt;, who called me multiple times yesterday with questions about finding the ingredients.  (That's okay, she tells everyone that she's my stalker.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBneEwGgiI/AAAAAAAADEY/doHgtns-6gY/s1600-h/047.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBneEwGgiI/AAAAAAAADEY/doHgtns-6gY/s400/047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381915321076974114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I used my old laundry detergent cup and marked the 1/8 cup line all the way around the cup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBmci4LqTI/AAAAAAAADEI/ITOTv43OZEw/s1600-h/051.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBmci4LqTI/AAAAAAAADEI/ITOTv43OZEw/s400/051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381914195292563762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And here it is in my washing machine dispenser tray.  I've washed a load of towels and my kids tell me that they smell fabulous.  I'm onto some bigger test cases later this morning (my kids clothes.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was this hard work worth it?  I buy my laundry detergent at Costco for $13.59 and it washes 110 loads which equals $0.12 per load.  The price for my homemade detergent:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Borax:  $2.56 (Target)&lt;br /&gt;Washing Soda: $2.69 (HyVee)&lt;br /&gt;Fels Naptha: $5.82 (6 bars at $0.97 each, Super WalMart)&lt;br /&gt;Baking Soda: $1.59 (used 6 cups of an 8 cup box, Super WalMart)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Total:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;$12.66&lt;/span&gt;  divided by 300 (approx loads per batch)&lt;br /&gt;           &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;$0.04 per load&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; vs $0.12 per load.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And who said I'd never use those math story problems???&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, this endeavor was totally worth the effort.  But that's not where my Little House adventures end.  In the near future I'll post about my bread making experiences.  Next thing you know, I'll be getting my own butter churn.  But I'm stopping short of getting my kids a pigs bladder.  A girl's gotta have her standards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;---------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Edited Wednesday, Sept 16 afternoon&lt;/span&gt;:  I have ran 6 loads through my washing machine using the homemade detergent and there isn't a single trace of detergent when I open the tray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I made a small batch of the homemade Dishwasher detergent (equal parts Baking Soda and Borax.)  Cynthia suggested to get the dishes pretty clean before putting them in the machine but I wanted to really test out this recipe.  So put dishes in with chocolate and peanut butter still on them.  Not covered, but still present.  Then I ran the load and when I opened it up and began to put the dishes away I was astounded.  Not only were the dishes clean but they were more sparkley then I've ever seen them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-7782395620888173571?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/7782395620888173571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=7782395620888173571&amp;isPopup=true' title='25 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7782395620888173571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7782395620888173571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/09/welcome-to-my-little-house-on-prairie.html' title='Welcome to My Little House on the Prairie'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SrBseOboZ9I/AAAAAAAADGI/XWMgRWwXdl0/s72-c/017.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>25</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-6609318656212835950</id><published>2009-09-14T09:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T10:06:28.852-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='soap'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Money Saving Madness'/><title type='text'>Money Saving Madness-- Laundry and Dishwasher Soap</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I ain't gonna lie:  the first time I heard of people making their own soap I thought they had jumped off the deep end.  Visions of Little House on the Prairie ran rampant through my head.  But then I got serious about saving money and thought about all the laundry I wash with a house of 9 people and the 3 dishwasher loads I run a day. I figured it was worth a shot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;-------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hello everyone! This is Cynthia from &lt;a href="http://www.underthemistymountain.com/"&gt;Under the Misty Mountain&lt;/a&gt; with your guest blog today… ready to get clean for PENNIES??????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4rX34BKPI/AAAAAAAADCw/XdM5FUnnfxU/s1600-h/Baking+Soda.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4rX34BKPI/AAAAAAAADCw/XdM5FUnnfxU/s200/Baking+Soda.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381286293890214130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier this year I had a change of heart about spending money. I started to resent any and every company getting one thin dime of ours, especially if I felt like it was something we could make at home for next-to-nothing. Baking soda and borax have become my best friends. Somewhere around here I even have an Idiot’s Guide to Cleaning and it was a tremendous help getting me going, but basically if you start with baking soda, you’re off to a good start!! And Costco sells the GIANT BAGS of baking soda for nearly nothing…so get mixing!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAUNDRY DETERGENT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My homemade laundry soap recipe came through a friend of mine on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; after I sent out a complaint, I mean, a status update… asking why we &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t make our own soaps for regular household cleaning. We were almost out of our regular laundry soap and I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;wasn&lt;/span&gt;’t looking forward to going to Costco and buying yet another giant plastic bottle of whatever detergent they had for sale this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This laundry soap is VERY simple, it has four ingredients:&lt;br /&gt;1 box 20-Mule-Team Borax&lt;br /&gt;1 box Arm &amp;amp; Hammer Washing Soda (NOT baking soda!)&lt;br /&gt;6 cups of Arm &amp;amp; Hammer Baking Soda (THIS is baking soda!)&lt;br /&gt;6 bars &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Fels&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Naptha&lt;/span&gt; soap, grated with cheese grater&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Use 1/8 of a cup for each load. Our giant bucket of soap, that cost around $15 to make will last (my friend reports) over 300 loads. This recipe works great in front-loading as well as top-loading machines, as the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Fels&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Naptha&lt;/span&gt; soap makes little to no suds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took a bit of elbow grease to grate all of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Fels&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Naptha&lt;/span&gt;, but it really &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;wasn&lt;/span&gt;’t that bad. The soap &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;isn&lt;/span&gt;’t as hard as I thought it would be, just slightly harder that an aged cheddar. And it smells AWESOME. Which means you will smell awesome when you are done grating all of that cheese. I mean, soap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4rgZzqrQI/AAAAAAAADC4/2-uZ5BXCZWk/s1600-h/Borax.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4rgZzqrQI/AAAAAAAADC4/2-uZ5BXCZWk/s200/Borax.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381286440437722370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I used a giant tub to gently stir all of the ingredients together and then we keep it in a giant plastic tub with a tight-fitting lid. Keep in mind Borax is poisonous if you inhale or swallow too much of it, so I don’t advise inviting all the toddlers on the block on a windy day to help you stir your soap. I used a big tub with higher sides and a long whisk and had the kids &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;unglue&lt;/span&gt; themselves from my legs for ten minutes while I gently stirred the soap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we started using this recipe for our laundry soap, we haven’t used dryer sheets AT ALL, which is REALLY excellent, since we were nearly out of those, too!! And it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;doesn&lt;/span&gt;’t matter if we put the clothes in the dryer or hang them on the line, they smell SO GOOD and are SO CLEAN, my husband was even amazed and we’re never going back to store-bought soap again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4tevD3FUI/AAAAAAAADDo/aM0x9jTCjsA/s1600-h/the+tub+itself.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4tevD3FUI/AAAAAAAADDo/aM0x9jTCjsA/s200/the+tub+itself.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381288610806306114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The only things we don’t put out on the line are our bath and hand towels, because of the rough texture they come back in with. BUT – that was the case when we were using the other kind of laundry detergent anyway. Everything else comes back in super soft and smelling wonderful, so we think it has more to do with the fabric of our towels. So they are spoiled and dried in the dryer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a million other combinations for laundry soap out there, and some will tell you how to make a liquid soap, so don’t be afraid to experiment! I like our powder. It’s easier to sweep up if it spills!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DISHWASHER DETERGENT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay… this is REALLY EASY. There is no excuse for anyone to be buying those giant tubs of little blue cakes with the pink pearls ever again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mix equal portions of baking soda and borax together (carefully – don’t want to breathe in a bunch of that dust – yuck!) and keep it in a tight-fitting lidded container. I started with 3 cups of each, and I put it right in the container that formerly held all of those little blue cakes with pink pearls. *snap*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some websites say to use 2 teaspoons and others say 2 tablespoons, but what we do is fill the little spot up and close the little door, and that’s about 2 tablespoons. We put straight white vinegar in the spot where you would normally put your FUNKY BLUE LIQUID to keep your dishes streak-free, and so far, so good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, do not worry that Borax is poisonous and you are using it to wash your dishes. ANYTHING YOU BUY MADE FOR DISHWASHERS IS POISONOUS… just in case you missed that… ANYTHING YOU BUY MADE FOR DISHWASHERS IS POISONOUS. That’s why they all have those pesky “harmful if swallowed” warnings on them. Don’t worry about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, this has not been a perfect process for us, but I still prefer using this recipe over relying on the store-bought processed cakes for two reasons – I always have borax and baking soda on hand and therefore will never run out of dishwasher soap, and it makes me pay more attention to what I’m expecting my dishwasher to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our dishwasher is 11 years old…that being said, it’s obvious it’s not a top-of-the-line machine like the Bosch we stuck in our last kitchen (the one we remodeled from the floor joists up and recovered none of the costs when we sold the house? Yeah…THAT kitchen has the GOOD dishwasher…), so I make sure I give the dishes a swipe before putting them in the dishwasher. I check for dried-on cheese and other things that may still be there when the cycle is finished. I also am careful and I don’t overload the dishwasher, because if things are too tight, then *stuff* could be left behind. But it’s still better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;DISHSOAP&lt;/span&gt; FOR &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;HANDWASHING&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4uJYD1ozI/AAAAAAAADDw/B-FxNchVsfU/s1600-h/dish+soap.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4uJYD1ozI/AAAAAAAADDw/B-FxNchVsfU/s200/dish+soap.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381289343366570802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Another thing I got tired of buying every time I turned around (or so it felt like it) was hand &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;dishwashing&lt;/span&gt; soap. I was already buying the happy-happy-green alternative from Bio-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Kleen&lt;/span&gt; at $6 a pop, but I felt I was going through it too fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now…I love knowing I am Saving the Earth by buying green, but Saving the Earth loses when I am choosing between buying chicken at 79 cents a pound and happy-happy-green soap alternatives. I have to feed my family first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I looked to Costco again and they happened to have that week a GIANT bottle of something that sort of looked environmentally friendly, and it was less than $10. Sold. I smelled it in the store, because I hate soap that smells like chemicals, and it passed the sniff test, so we brought it home. It is a concentrated formula, so I add maybe ¼ of a cup to an old &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;dishwashing&lt;/span&gt; soap bottle and fill it up with water. Now when I do dishes by hand, I am using a fraction of the amount of soap I used to use and still have bubbles and still have clean dishes. What more could I ask for?? (Maybe some rubber gloves that last longer than a week?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;SPRAY CLEANER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My final “homemade” soap solution is Mrs. Meyer’s lavender soap. I tried to find a picture, since I am out and actually need to pick some up, but the website is below for you to check out. The lavender soap is an all-purpose soap, and I dilute a small amount in a spray bottle with water. I use this to clean the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;countertops&lt;/span&gt;, the table, the stove, and the floor for spot cleaning. I am a stay-at-home mom with three kids, which means I am cleaning the counters and the table 2-3 times a day, and the floor about once a day in certain areas and for spills. This soap solution leaves behind a FABULOUS lavender scent that makes me WANT to clean (CAN YOU IMAGINE???).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just keep in mind that this is just soap…it was not made with Killing Germs in mind. When I have a situation such as raw meat juices or raw egg on the counters or in the sink, I reach for my 409. I like to know some things are dead and in the trash. That is also the only time I use paper towels for spills. Otherwise, I have an army of dishcloths and I use about two or three of those a day chasing around our messes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OTHER LITTLE IDEAS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep a small tub of baking soda by the sink because a little of that in the sink and some scrubbing gets it sparkling clean. I used an old cinnamon shaker bottle (one of the big ones from Costco) and filled it with baking soda and we use that in the bathroom to add a shake to the cat pans every day. I also shake baking soda all over the carpets once every two weeks, let it sit for about 15 or 20 minutes and then let the kids vacuum. They can tell where they still need to vacuum and they keep going until all the white powder is gone! *SWEET*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHERE TO START FOR HOMEMADE SOAP&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;http://www.soapsgonebuy.com&lt;br /&gt;http://www.thefamilyhomestead.com/laundrysoap.htm&lt;br /&gt;http://www.thefrugalshopper.com/articles/detergent.shtml&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MY LUSCIOUS LAVENDER SOAP I WOULD MARRY IF I COULD:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.mrsmeyers.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20 Mule Team Borax USES FOR:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.dialcorp.com/documents/borax.pdf   (has a picture)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;ARM &amp;amp; HAMMER:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They have all the answers for what baking soda can do:&lt;br /&gt;http://www.armhammer.com/basics/magic/&lt;br /&gt;Here is a link to their washing soda (not on A&amp;amp;H website??):&lt;br /&gt;http://www.soapsgonebuy.com/Arm_and_Hammer_Washing_Soda_p/ah1001.htm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now…. Get &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;crackin&lt;/span&gt;’ and have fun!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cynthia &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Moyer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mother: www.underthemistymountain.com&lt;br /&gt;author: www.clmoyer.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;-------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Denise&lt;/span&gt;:  &lt;strong style="font-weight: normal; font-style: italic;"&gt;Where do you get Borax and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Fels&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;Naptha&lt;/span&gt;?  Oh and &lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252927267_3"&gt;Washing soda&lt;/span&gt; too?  &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cynthia&lt;/span&gt;:   You can find anything online, but I actually found all of these products RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER at our &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252927267_0"&gt;Fred Meyer store&lt;/span&gt;. The borax you can usually find at Safeway or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;WalMart&lt;/span&gt; or whatever, but the &lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252927267_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;Fels&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;Naptha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; is a little trickier.   &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;I am not sure why our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"&gt;WalMart&lt;/span&gt; didn't have it, but &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252927267_2"&gt;Fred Meyer&lt;/span&gt; did??? People will just have to look, and they can always ask the store to stock it if their big box store doesn't have it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Denise:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;You say that you use this in your &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; font-style: italic;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1252940490_0"&gt;front loading washer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, but the detergent is a powder.  Do you put the detergent in the tray or do you add it directly to your wash? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cynthia&lt;/span&gt;: I use it in the tray and it hasn't caused any problems yet, and I've been using it for months!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you Cynthia for these great ideas!  Now I'm off to make some detergent. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-6609318656212835950?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/6609318656212835950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=6609318656212835950&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6609318656212835950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6609318656212835950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/09/money-saving-madness-laundry-and.html' title='Money Saving Madness-- Laundry and Dishwasher Soap'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Sq4rX34BKPI/AAAAAAAADCw/XdM5FUnnfxU/s72-c/Baking+Soda.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4359257141450289520</id><published>2009-08-31T00:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T00:01:00.479-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Money Saving Madness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='coupons'/><title type='text'>Money Saving Madness!  Finding Coupons</title><content type='html'>Welcome to our very first Money Saving Madness!  Every Monday a guest blogger will post about how SHE saves money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my biggest household expenses is my food bill.   As you can imagine, feeding a house full of 9 people gets pretty expensive.  So in my quest to save at the grocery store I turned to my Bloggy BFF Brandy from &lt;a href="http://imnotyouraveragesoccermom.blogspot.com/"&gt;I'm Not Your Average Soccer Mom&lt;/a&gt; for help.  Brandy also has another blog &lt;a href="http://cravingsavings.blogspot.com/"&gt;Craving Savings&lt;/a&gt; where she posts about her impressive deals using coupons.  The whole world of coupons seems pretty overwhelming to me so I asked Brandy to explain to me &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;where&lt;/span&gt; she finds coupons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;-----------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where to find coupons?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most people think that the Sunday paper is the best place to get coupons when in fact there are many sources.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are some of my favorites:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Online Internet Coupons&lt;/strong&gt; - aka Printables have quickly become one of the most popular ways to get coupons.  By only printing &amp;amp; clipping coupons that you choose it saves money AND time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And companies often gift us with high value printable coupons.  For example, I've found $3 off Smithfield bacon, $2.50 off Healthy Choice meals &amp;amp; $1 off Motts applesauce all in the last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few reputable sources that I use:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://print.coupons.com/couponweb/Offers.aspx?pid=13903&amp;amp;nid=10&amp;amp;zid=xh20"&gt;Coupons.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://coupons2.smartsource.com/smartsource/index.jsp?Link=5S2ZUA6PWPEPO"&gt;SmartSource.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://www.couponbug.com/couponweb/Offers.aspx?pid=11314&amp;amp;zid=hv40&amp;amp;nid=15&amp;amp;bid=alk0829180834e350ba2a78617"&gt;CouponBug.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://www.bettycrocker.com/coupons-promotions/coupons/coupons.aspx"&gt;Betty Crocker&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://www.redplum.com/"&gt;Red Plum&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://coupons.mambosprouts.com/online_coupons"&gt;Mambo Sprouts&lt;/a&gt; (Yes you can find coupons for organic food!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;**Tip: You can usually print two printables by using your back browser.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;E-coupons&lt;/strong&gt; - These coupons require no clipping &amp;amp; no sorting.  You just add the offers to your grocery card &amp;amp; the savings are automatically deducted at the register when you buy the specified items.  It doesn't get much easier that that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://www.cellfire.com/"&gt;Cellfire.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://shortcuts.com/"&gt;Shortcuts.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;a href="http://www.pgesaver.com/Sites/PG_eSAVER/Page/HomePage"&gt;P&amp;amp;G esaver&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="https://lty.s.upromise.com/member/home"&gt;Upromise&lt;/a&gt; also offers e-coupons, but it works a little bit differently.  Instead of receiving discounts at the register your "savings" will be added to your college savings account through Upromise.  It's an easy way to save your pennies for college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Blinkies, Peelies &amp;amp; Tearpads&lt;/strong&gt; - These coupons are found right in your grocery aisles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blinkies are little distributing boxes containing coupons that stick out from the shelves, typically in front of the product featured on the coupon. As you pull one another one is released.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peelies are located on the actual product themselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tearpads are normally found on a display but can be hung on shelves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;**Tip: I always pick up a couple blinkies &amp;amp; tearpads, even if I won't immediately use it.  I file them away &amp;amp; wait for a sale to maximize my savings.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ebay&lt;/strong&gt; - Yes I said Ebay.  Whenever I need a large quantity of coupons I check Ebay where I can get them for pennies apiece &amp;amp; they are already clipped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;**Tip: By checking advance ads I can determine if I need to order additional quantities early enough for the upcoming sale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I use &lt;a href="http://www.weusecoupons.com/upload/"&gt;WeUseCoupons.com&lt;/a&gt; to view advance ads, sales/coupon match ups &amp;amp; to see what my fellow couponers are buying. It's free to join &amp;amp; everyone is very helpful.  I'm known as "&lt;a href="http://www.weusecoupons.com/upload/members/uwoodz.html"&gt;uwoodz&lt;/a&gt;" there so stop by &amp;amp; say hi!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can see coupons are everywhere!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Denise:  What do you say to the people who say you that you spend MORE money and buy things you wouldn't get if you didn't use the coupons?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brandy:  Sometimes I do buy things that I don't need, but I NEVER spend more money on them. Typically those items are free after coupon or I make money on them!  And just because I don't need them doesn't mean it goes to waste. I'm always sharing with friends &amp;amp; family and I donate items 3-4 a year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example, yesterday I got 10 boxes of fruit snacks, 5 boxes of granola bars &amp;amp; several other items for $10.95 and then got back $11.50 in catalinas good on my next order.  We don't eat fruit snacks, but my nephew sure does!  Plus they are a great item to send to school for parties or to hand out for Halloween since they are individually packaged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Denise: How much money have you saved this year using coupons?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brandy:  My total savings is $7828.32! I'm averaging a 76% savings on ALL my grocery purchases and 98% on my drugstore purchases.  Using the reward programs from CVS (Extra Care Bucks) or Walgreens (Register Rewards) is a great way to save on toiletries, baby supplies, medicine, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can check out what I'm buying every week at &lt;a href="http://cravingsavings.blogspot.com/"&gt;Craving Savings&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Denise:  How do you keep your coupons organized?  It seems like so much work!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brandy:  I started out with a small coupon organizer, but I have since upgraded to a case file that has a handle.  It has 19 divided sections that I use to separate my coupons into groups (frozen, meats, canned goods, etc.) so that I find them quickly. I carry it right into the store with me &amp;amp; place it in the front part of the buggy.  You can see a picture of it &lt;a href="http://cravingsavings.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-finally-got-it-just-right.html"&gt;HERE&lt;/a&gt;. This is what works for me but there are many ways to stay organized including the coupon binder method. Do a little research and find out what appeals to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Denise:  How many newspapers do you buy each Sunday?&lt;/strong&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Brandy:  Only 1.  I check out the inserts and if there is a really good one then I decide to purchase more papers (expensive in my area @ 1.75/each!), buy just the coupons I need from Ebay, look for a trade on &lt;a href="http://weusecoupons.com/" target="_blank"&gt;weusecoupons.com&lt;/a&gt; or ask family &amp;amp; friends for their coupons. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div&gt;&lt;div class="im"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Denise:  Will YOU do my grocery shopping for me???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Brandy:  If only we lived closer...lol!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Denise thank you for allowing me to share this information with your readers today. Couponing has become my &lt;strike&gt;obsession&lt;/strike&gt; passion and I love to share the ways to save with everyone I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4359257141450289520?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4359257141450289520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4359257141450289520&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4359257141450289520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4359257141450289520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/money-saving-madness-finding-coupons.html' title='Money Saving Madness!  Finding Coupons'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-516877579316165549</id><published>2009-08-30T09:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T09:50:34.994-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Money Saving Madness'/><title type='text'>Reflections</title><content type='html'>My blog has always been about the life of my family, and heavens knows that these kids have provided plenty of content.  Gotta love that busy, cute little Emma.  But lately, my thoughts are also filled with worries over money.  I try not to include that stuff because honestly, it's a downer.  But recently, I pulled my head out of my own little world and realized that I'm not the only one going through this. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Duh&lt;/span&gt;.  Sure, I've realized that people are suffering, how could I not?  But something else struck me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm not the only one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you follow me on Facebook, you've probably noticed that I've been working on ways to have money.  This seems to consume a good part of my time.  I've been blessed to have befriended many women who are much smarter than I in money saving areas.  As I've pestered these women with my questions something else occurred to me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I bet I'm not the only one interested in this information.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And being the giver that I am, I've decided to share.  Starting tomorrow I'll be hosting Money Saving Madness which will feature guest blog posts from other woman who save money on their household expenses and are willing to offer us useful, practical tips.  This will be a weekly series posted on Mondays, because let's start the week off right!  Saving money.  My plan is to  implement the tips they offer and report back with my results.  I want to hear your results too.  What works for me might not work for you.  But I also need something else from you.  Ideas.  What are YOU interested in saving money on?  What would YOU like to see addressed?  Maybe you'd like to do a post of your own!  I have posts planned for the next four weeks, but after that anything and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;everything&lt;/span&gt; is fair game.  Just email me at dms052564@gmail.com with ideas or suggestions. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-516877579316165549?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/516877579316165549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=516877579316165549&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/516877579316165549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/516877579316165549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/reflections.html' title='Reflections'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4089826822761998967</id><published>2009-08-25T09:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T09:37:34.763-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='silliness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='harmonica'/><title type='text'>Harmonic Hilarity</title><content type='html'>Emma spent most the day in a very cranky state.  She's got a yucky cold and she just doesn't feel well.  If I had only known that she &lt;strike&gt;needed&lt;/strike&gt; wanted two simple things.  French fries and a harmonica.  With the french fries eaten, it was time to move onto to Act Two: the harmonica.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_Zj7FyU-D04&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_Zj7FyU-D04&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BTW, this post was intended to go up last night, but after several hours and 4 unsuccessful attempts to upload the video to blogger, I decided to call it a night.  It's now on YouTube.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4089826822761998967?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4089826822761998967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4089826822761998967&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4089826822761998967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4089826822761998967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/harmonic-hilarity.html' title='Harmonic Hilarity'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4964912591404491124</id><published>2009-08-20T00:06:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T00:45:39.905-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Trace'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ross'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Powell Books'/><title type='text'>Family Togetherness</title><content type='html'>Trace and Ross are attending the same community college for a number of reasons, some of which include money, degree offered, and previous grades.  So it was logical to go buy their books together, especially since Mom was paying and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; didn't want to make 2 trips.  Coordinating work schedules was difficult but we finally found a day that we could all go together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SozbaBzLPMI/AAAAAAAADCU/qLzGFWkybmM/s1600-h/IMG_5508.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SozbaBzLPMI/AAAAAAAADCU/qLzGFWkybmM/s400/IMG_5508.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371909695752322242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you think of going off to college your freshman year, buying books is on the To Do list.  But what isn't in the book buying plan is your younger brothers and sisters accompanying you. Unfortunately, there wasn't any other option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Soza-I8_VXI/AAAAAAAADCE/aX3num5lQd8/s1600-h/IMG_5510.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Soza-I8_VXI/AAAAAAAADCE/aX3num5lQd8/s400/IMG_5510.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371909216636196210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;But Ross was a good sport, he just preferred that the small children keep their distance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SozepwD_nhI/AAAAAAAADCc/uNfngqyxpWE/s1600-h/IMG_5509.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SozepwD_nhI/AAAAAAAADCc/uNfngqyxpWE/s400/IMG_5509.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371913264403815954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Trace is old enough that he just doesn't care.  Notice Ryan's legs in front of Trace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Soza9jWj7cI/AAAAAAAADB8/qOndfsMJowo/s1600-h/IMG_5511.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Soza9jWj7cI/AAAAAAAADB8/qOndfsMJowo/s400/IMG_5511.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371909206542904770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The children were good, but they were bribed.  They are seen here reaping their rewards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SozgxHdxfEI/AAAAAAAADCk/mBJKY1QTzbs/s1600-h/IMG_5512.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SozgxHdxfEI/AAAAAAAADCk/mBJKY1QTzbs/s400/IMG_5512.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371915589968297026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;What family outing/college text book buying trip isn't complete without a family picture?  Ross is done by this point.  Emma just wants her Skittles.  Ryan just wants &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Emma&lt;/span&gt;'s Skittles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Soza8nf8g-I/AAAAAAAADBs/PcOKAyNK3XI/s1600-h/IMG_5513.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Soza8nf8g-I/AAAAAAAADBs/PcOKAyNK3XI/s400/IMG_5513.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371909190476137442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ross is so done, he's practically running to the car. We're outta here!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4964912591404491124?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4964912591404491124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4964912591404491124&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4964912591404491124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4964912591404491124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/family-togetherness.html' title='Family Togetherness'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SozbaBzLPMI/AAAAAAAADCU/qLzGFWkybmM/s72-c/IMG_5508.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-6237419036341452687</id><published>2009-08-18T23:59:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T00:27:42.589-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Trace'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Janne&apos;'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ross'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Field Trip Tuesday'/><title type='text'>Momma Gets Her Groove Back</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Bright and early this morning 2 girls were bright eyed and bushy tailed.  And with their rising, Momma got back her routine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEwRuP-1I/AAAAAAAADBU/M942VmjPpK8/s1600-h/Picture+025.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEwRuP-1I/AAAAAAAADBU/M942VmjPpK8/s400/Picture+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371532945495423826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Eager for their first day of school.  So eager that Jenna was ready an hour and half before she needed to leave.  (Be sure to notice Jenna's pink flip flops.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouFUYToPtI/AAAAAAAADBc/G1HX6n_ygdo/s1600-h/Picture+026.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouFUYToPtI/AAAAAAAADBc/G1HX6n_ygdo/s400/Picture+026.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371533565738106578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Showing off their new, monogrammed backpacks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEuDTHfOI/AAAAAAAADA8/Z4D8qcTUp4k/s1600-h/IMG_2947.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEuDTHfOI/AAAAAAAADA8/Z4D8qcTUp4k/s400/IMG_2947.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371532907263786210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It's a neighborhood tradition for our cul-de-sac kids to gather round and have their picture taken on the first day of school. They walk to school together too, but we didn't walk with them this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEu68sv9I/AAAAAAAADBE/0vk7eMETYVs/s1600-h/IMG_2955.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEu68sv9I/AAAAAAAADBE/0vk7eMETYVs/s400/IMG_2955.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371532922202144722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Because I noticed that Jenna didn't have her pink flip flops on.  She had her old flip flops with a missing giant jewel.  So I sent her back in to find her flip flops&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEtZ79qFI/AAAAAAAADA0/m3EKzTE7uR4/s1600-h/IMG_2950.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEtZ79qFI/AAAAAAAADA0/m3EKzTE7uR4/s400/IMG_2950.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371532896160819282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Which she couldn't find, so she came out with these.  And then promptly decided that these weren't going to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEu68sv9I/AAAAAAAADBE/0vk7eMETYVs/s1600-h/IMG_2955.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEu68sv9I/AAAAAAAADBE/0vk7eMETYVs/s400/IMG_2955.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371532922202144722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So ended up wearing these anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEvhFvDSI/AAAAAAAADBM/GyKJedDSiVk/s1600-h/IMG_2949.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEvhFvDSI/AAAAAAAADBM/GyKJedDSiVk/s400/IMG_2949.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371532932440591650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Okay, we're finally ready.  Notice that she has her hair done now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDK3tILNI/AAAAAAAADAs/gVq9v_G6Vtk/s1600-h/IMG_2951.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDK3tILNI/AAAAAAAADAs/gVq9v_G6Vtk/s400/IMG_2951.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371531203344608466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ryan, looking out the window upset that he wasn't going to school too.  Next week Ry-man, next week.  I don't sound &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;too&lt;/span&gt; excited, do I???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the girls weren't the only ones starting their first day of school today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDKccplGI/AAAAAAAADAk/uppokLCw8yc/s1600-h/IMG_2953.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDKccplGI/AAAAAAAADAk/uppokLCw8yc/s400/IMG_2953.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371531196027737186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The boys started their first day of college!  Of course, Trace has had many first days but this was Ross' &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;very&lt;/span&gt; first day of college.  They are both attending the same community college and even car pooled together.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ahhh...&lt;/span&gt;  BTW, notice how thrilled Ross is to be having his picture taken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;All those kids didn't leave a moment too soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouFnpBXyTI/AAAAAAAADBk/ZP3yfbrsFp8/s1600-h/IMG_5626.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouFnpBXyTI/AAAAAAAADBk/ZP3yfbrsFp8/s400/IMG_5626.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371533896642447666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was left with a total disaster!  Did I spend the whole morning cleaning up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDITmCH3I/AAAAAAAADAM/__xVfzmEBhw/s1600-h/IMG_5631.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDITmCH3I/AAAAAAAADAM/__xVfzmEBhw/s400/IMG_5631.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371531159291436914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;Ryan and Emma in the back, my nephew Trevor (in a round about way) and niece Caitlin.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shoot no! If I'm getting back into my routine then it was time for a Field Trip Tuesday with my SIL Janne'!  We went all summer with only a couple of FFTs.  Field Trip Tuesdays are exciting outings for Janne' and I.  We always go to Starbucks and then run errands.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Exciting stuff&lt;/span&gt;.  But it's not about &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;what&lt;/span&gt; we do, it's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who&lt;/span&gt; we do it with. And the Starbucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDJiVJsnI/AAAAAAAADAc/g0HMOkHuahU/s1600-h/IMG_5629.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDJiVJsnI/AAAAAAAADAc/g0HMOkHuahU/s400/IMG_5629.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371531180427031154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Just call him The Winkmiester&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just one more piece of evidence proving what a perfect mother I am.  Not only is my son's face still dirty from breakfast, but it's still dirty from powdered sugars donuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDIz8iSXI/AAAAAAAADAU/o0l-onU1Mi0/s1600-h/IMG_5628.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouDIz8iSXI/AAAAAAAADAU/o0l-onU1Mi0/s400/IMG_5628.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371531167975754098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;But hey, Emma doesn't seem to mind!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to an awesome school year and to me getting my groove back!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-6237419036341452687?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/6237419036341452687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=6237419036341452687&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6237419036341452687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/6237419036341452687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/momma-gets-her-groove-back.html' title='Momma Gets Her Groove Back'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SouEwRuP-1I/AAAAAAAADBU/M942VmjPpK8/s72-c/Picture+025.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3180646394833190128</id><published>2009-08-17T19:49:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T19:57:24.549-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tattoo'/><title type='text'>Kansas City Ink</title><content type='html'>Next on &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Kansas City Ink&lt;/span&gt;:  The team welcomes a new tattoo artist to the shop-- Emma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Son7RyvRfWI/AAAAAAAADAE/3OwR0OvJixo/s1600-h/IMG_2911.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Son7RyvRfWI/AAAAAAAADAE/3OwR0OvJixo/s400/IMG_2911.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371100313712426338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Emma is the youngest tattoo artist to ever be hired by the team at KC Ink but her tattooing skills can not be denied.  Not only are her designs extraordinary, she can even tattoo herself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Son7RfMbwjI/AAAAAAAAC_8/BMTO15duXSE/s1600-h/IMG_2915.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Son7RfMbwjI/AAAAAAAAC_8/BMTO15duXSE/s400/IMG_2915.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371100308466025010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Emma leans towards more abstract designs without a lot of emphasis on color.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Son7Q7v1UXI/AAAAAAAAC_0/6xxyZk_ton4/s1600-h/IMG_2914.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Son7Q7v1UXI/AAAAAAAAC_0/6xxyZk_ton4/s400/IMG_2914.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371100298950824306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;She also isn't afraid to go with more primitive types of design, such as on feet.  Emma is now taking appoints for new clients.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3180646394833190128?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3180646394833190128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3180646394833190128&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3180646394833190128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3180646394833190128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/kansas-city-ink.html' title='Kansas City Ink'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Son7RyvRfWI/AAAAAAAADAE/3OwR0OvJixo/s72-c/IMG_2911.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3053619950252597234</id><published>2009-08-16T10:31:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T12:09:44.791-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='joy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Starbucks'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><title type='text'>Soul Singing</title><content type='html'>This summer's been a bitch.  (Sorry, but I ain't gonna lie.)  I haven't felt this rough emotionally since I came home from my Vietnam ordeal with Emma and then went through her RSV ordeal.  (Emma=ordeal, is anyone else noticing a trend here?)  I can't pinpoint one thing that has led to my melancholy, it's more a accumulation of things.  Financial strain, a house full of nine people, trying to wrap up some loose legal ends from Darrell's death (yes, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;still&lt;/span&gt;.)  They've all kind of worn me down into a uninspired, unmotivated mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt better a few weeks ago.  I realized that I had to pull myself out of my pit and I was climbing at a pretty good rate.  I started blogging more.  I started working a on fiction writing project.  I felt the fog begin to lift.  And then the loose legal ends came to a screeching halt and I felt that all the pain and grief I have gone through for that process alone was for the benefit and profit of a whole bunch of other people who never felt any pain at all. Over and over I was told that I needed to proceed for my welfare and the welfare of my children, when the reality (after the chips have fallen into place) is that a group of lawyers and a health insurance company are skipping all the way to the bank while I'm sitting in an emotional maelstrom wondering what the hell just happened.  I wish I could say more, and I promise I will when it is all completely settled, but let's just say I feel very used.  All to the detriment of my melancholy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part of this legal mess was that I was supposed to be in Nashville on Tuesday, which ultimately got canceled, but me in my idiocy forgot to cancel the hotel and plane reservations.  At 1:00 am Monday morning I realized I was scheduled to board a plane 15 hours later.  I called the hotel and they said it was too late to cancel.  The question was do I just stay home and pay the hotel anyway or do I fly there for a day and a half and get away.  Alone.  My boys and my mother all jumped right in and took over the small children and on Monday afternoon I was flying to Nashville.  Alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could tell you I reveled in my aloneness.  At first it felt strange, and then it felt wasteful and then I decided I was there so I might as well enjoy it.  I was staying downtown so I walked around,  took a trolley tour of downtown and even visited the Country Music Hall of Fame.  (I'm not a country music fan but I can appreciate the history of it all.)  On Wednesday morning, I got on a plane and flew home again.  And I was emotionally back where I started when I left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Friday Julia and Jenna left to spend the weekend with Darrell's oldest daughter and her husband.  Ross left to spend the weekend with his father. On Saturday morning Trace, Cody and Gauge were doing their own thing, so I found myself alone with Ryan and Emma .  We went to the Farmer's Market and walked around and then we stopped at Starbucks and sat inside.  The babies (I guess their not babies anymore) sat eating their cookies and drinking their apple juice boxes.  I drank my mocha.  Ryan, who interacts more and more verbally since his ear tube placement in May, was talking about &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;everything&lt;/span&gt;.  We talked about what color his juice box was (green), and what color the apple on the juice box was (red).  He looked around finding red and green things. He called my chair a "sit down" and I told him it was a chair and he pointed to other chairs and tables and called them their appropriate nouns. All the while, Emma was sitting in her &lt;strike&gt;sit-down&lt;/strike&gt; chair, smiling and munching on her cookie and squeezing her juice box all over her dress.  I would try to include her with the naming of things but mostly she just wanted to be there and not have to work her brain too much.  (No judgment here, I can relate.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But as we sat there just talking and eating and drinking, I realized that my heart had a lightness it hadn't felt in such a very long time.  I realized how much I missed my babies.  The one on one interaction, the just being together-- uninterrupted and undistracted.  I didn't need to fly away somewhere alone to find my peace, it was right there in front of me all summer.  I was reliving what I had all last winter and I realized I craved it. I don't want the busyness and distraction.  I want to just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;be&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The financial strain is still there.  The house full of people is still here, although school starts on Tuesday.  And the legal disaster is still there being sorted out, but there is still joy to be found in the simplest things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course, it happened at Starbucks. ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3053619950252597234?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3053619950252597234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3053619950252597234&amp;isPopup=true' title='22 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3053619950252597234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3053619950252597234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/soul-singing.html' title='Soul Singing'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>22</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-8214979319958111726</id><published>2009-08-09T12:25:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T15:59:32.008-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Next Food Network Star'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Melissa d&apos;Arabian'/><title type='text'>Interview with Melissa d'Arabian  Part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.foodnetwork.com/FOOD/2009/02/20/nfns5_melissa_s3x4_al.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 354px;" src="http://img.foodnetwork.com/FOOD/2009/02/20/nfns5_melissa_s3x4_al.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;This is part two of a two part series on Melissa d'Arabian. You can read Part One &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/interview-with-melissa-darabian-part-1.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After having opportunity to participate in a telephone conference call with Melissa d'Arabian, the new winner of The Next Food Network Star and host of Ten Dollar Dinners, I realized I had so much wonderful information I needed to do a two part post. The first post focused on Melissa's path to the NFNS. This post will focus on cooking tips, particularly aimed towards moms with children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1)  Respect your child's palate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of families, including mine, have the "one bite" rule.  But Melissa takes it one step farther and gave it a name, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No Thank You Bites&lt;/span&gt;. Her four daughters, Valentine, 4, Charlotte, 3 and Margaux and Oceane her almost 2 year old twins, know that they are expected to take one bite but after that they are allowed to say "No Thank You." That doesn't mean that her children take one bite of everything and they're done. Melissa always makes sure that there's something on their plate they like to eat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2) Take your kids grocery shopping.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melissa say what???? Has she seen my 2 year old Emma in a grocery store? But Melissa says she takes her girls and lets them help shop for their food. Favorite stop? The produce department. She lets each girl pick a fruit or vegetable of her choice and then Melissa picks a recipe using the child's chosen veggie. Her daughter Valentine's current favorite vegetable? Bok Choy. My 12 year old Julia's favorite vegetable? Corn. Um, yeah I think we need to hit the produce aisle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3) Let your kids help you cook&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another way to get your kids to buy into what they're eating is to let them help you cook. Melissa sits her girls around her kitchen island and gives them their own bowls and spoons, cutting boards and plastic knives and lets them make a smaller version of what she's making. She also gives her children muffin tins to fill. One great example of this is her 5-Minute Individual Potato Gratins &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(recipe below) &lt;/span&gt;which she prepared in her mini pilot. By having her children participating she knows where they are while she's cooking and she's teaching them the love of preparing a meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always let my children help me cook but they didn't have their own cooking utensils. (I'm not sure why, it seems like a no brainer.) With 4 little ones there often isn't enough spoons or rolling pins, or whatever is needed for everyone. So being inspired, within an hour after getting off our conference call I loaded the 3 smaller kids up in the van and we headed out to Bed Bath and Beyond. Each small child is now the proud owner of a mini cutting board, wooden spoon, mini whisk, mini measuring cup and a bowl. After nap time we hit the kitchen island and they made mini white cakes with chocolate powdered sugar frosting &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;which they made themselves&lt;/span&gt;.  They were beyond excited.  (A blog post to follow with pictures. And is anyone else sensing a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mini &lt;/span&gt;theme?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4)  A gallon size ziplock bag can be your best friend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, when it comes to cooking away. If a zip lock bag is your real BFF, we need to talk because that's beyond sad, it's down right creepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When cooking with kids a mess free way to let them help you mix something is to throw it into a ziplock bag, seal it up and let them mix. Ziplock bags can also be used to store and hold a wide variety of things from pie crust dough to marinades.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) Inexpensive doesn't mean cheap&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The judges favorite dish in the Miami $1000 dinner party challenge was the meal on Melissa's first show of Ten Dollar Dinners, &lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/melissa-darabian/potato-bacon-torte-recipe/index.html"&gt;Potato Bacon Tort&lt;/a&gt;. It's dish that "feels luxurious and is extremely satisfying" but it's also budget friendly. Melissa believes that an inexpensive dish doesn't have to taste like one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One trick to use when looking for inexpensive meals is to shop the produce department for the best prices. The more plentiful the produce (meaning it's in season) the more inexpensive the produce will be meaning your buying the best flavored produce for less.  One great example of this is tomatoes. Tomatoes are my absolute favorite vegetable (fruit) but I only buy them in the summer. Those winter tomatoes are like eating plastic. Bleh.  Hey no worries, Melissa's got us covered.  But what am I going to do with all those chicken nuggets?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;----------------------------------------------------&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;5-Minute Individual Potato Gratins&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/melissa-darabian/index.html" title="Recipe courtesy Melissa d'Arabian"&gt;Recipe courtesy Melissa d'Arabian&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Show: &lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/the-next-food-network-star/index.html"&gt;The Next Food Network Star&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="sep"&gt;Episode: &lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/the-next-food-network-star/fn-star--finale/index.html"&gt;FN Star - Finale&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Cook time: 40 minutes&lt;br /&gt;Level:  Easy&lt;br /&gt;Yield:  4-6 servings&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;h2&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Ingredients&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;!--concordance-begin--&gt;  &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Vegetable spray&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 large russet potatoes, roughly peeled and thinly sliced&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;1/2 cup grated Swiss &lt;a class="cimotif" style="border-bottom: 2px dotted green; color: green; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; cursor: pointer;"&gt;cheese&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img style="border-width: 0pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none; position: static;" src="http://a19.g.akamai.net/7/19/7125/1450/Ocellus.coupons.com/_images/showlist_icon.gif" width="10" height="10" /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 green onions, finely chopped&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Salt and freshly &lt;a class="cimotif" style="border-top: medium none; border-bottom: 2px dotted green; color: green; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; cursor: pointer; background-color: transparent;"&gt;ground&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img style="border-width: 0pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none; position: static;" src="http://a19.g.akamai.net/7/19/7125/1450/Ocellus.coupons.com/_images/showlist_icon.gif" width="10" height="10" /&gt; black pepper&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;3/4 cup heavy cream&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;  &lt;!--concordance-end--&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Directions&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;p&gt; Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.   &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Spray 8 muffin tins with vegetable spray. Layer potato slices, cheese, and onions into each muffin cup. Season with salt and pepper and top each gratin with 1 or 2 tablespoons of heavy cream. Cover with foil and bake for 30 to 40 minutes, removing the foil halfway through cooking time. Invert gratins onto plate and serve. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;** Recipe and photo courtesy of Food Network&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-8214979319958111726?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/8214979319958111726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=8214979319958111726&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8214979319958111726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8214979319958111726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/interview-with-melissa-darabian-part-2.html' title='Interview with Melissa d&apos;Arabian  Part 2'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3281067844291076894</id><published>2009-08-09T02:23:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T09:33:14.749-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Next Food Network Star'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Melissa d&apos;Arabian'/><title type='text'>Interview with Melissa d'Arabian  Part 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.foodnetwork.com/FOOD/2009/08/03/Melissa-D-03_s4x3_al.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 200px;" src="http://img.foodnetwork.com/FOOD/2009/08/03/Melissa-D-03_s4x3_al.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;This is part one of a two part series on Melissa d'Arabian&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melissa d'Arabian is like a lot of stay at home moms except for the one thing that now sets her apart:  She just won season 5 of The Next Food Network Star.   Her new show &lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/ten-dollar-dinners-with-melissa-darabian/index.html"&gt;Ten Dollar Dinners with Melissa d'Arabian&lt;/a&gt; premieres today at 12:30 ET/ 11:30 CT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Friday I participated in a phone conference call with Melissa and several other "Mommy Bloggers" giving us the opportunity get to know her a little better.  She was very eager talk to us and said she feels a connection to other mothers.  She hopes to take her vast and varied experiences and use them to make not only delicious and luxurious meals, but budget friendly ones as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admit that I am very eager to see her new show.  I watched the entire season of NFNS and loved her immediately.  I'm not the only one.  Everyone I have talked to loves her.  Her lack of culinary training makes us feel less intimidated and her enthusiasm and bubbly personality makes us feel like she's our girl friend.  (I would totally meet her for a chat at Starbucks!)  But as Melissa answered our questions with such honesty and enthusiasm,  I realized that I was getting more out of our chat than just an "interview."  I was learning some lessons in life according to Melissa d'Arabian.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1) Everything Happens For A Reason&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melissa's mother died when Melissa was a 20 year old college student.  Melissa threw herself into her education and career but always wanted a family.  When she hit 30 all her friends were surprised she wasn't married and having kids.  She was even more surprised but she hadn't met "the one" yet.  A few years later, she met her husband and had children, planning to be a working mother.  Her third pregnancy resulted in twins, forcing her to bed rest.  She decided at that point to become a stay at home mom and planned to go back to work when her twins turned two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, Melissa was speaking to women's groups giving tips and techniques to cut their grocery bills up 60-70%.  It was at these groups that Melissa shared her tips for making homemade yogurt and created a video to send out showing how to make yogurt in your garage. Around that time, The Next Food Network Star was taking applications.  After a lot of thought and discussion, Melissa and her husband decided that she should send her yogurt video in for her audition video.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2)  Follow Your Dreams&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melissa knew by the numbers alone that it was a long shot that she would get accepted to the show, let alone win.  She saw having her own show as an opportunity to share all her shopping tips and cooking tips with other women.  More importantly, she saw that being a mommy didn't have to be her sole identity.  She could be a mommy and live her dream too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3)  Be True to Who You Are&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the first two episodes Melissa admits to being intimidated by the culinary trained contestants around her.  It clearly affected her performance.  Then she realized that she needed to be true to who she was.  She had to bring what she had to the table and not worry about everyone else.  Once she started to do that the real Melissa began to shine.  I loved it when she told the chefs at her dinner party presentation "I might fail, but I'm failing at the right thing."  How many of us can say that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melissa's passion for what she does is so tangible, success should easily follow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Tomorrow Part two will feature Melissa's tips for cooking for and with kids.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;** Photo courtesy of Food Network&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3281067844291076894?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3281067844291076894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3281067844291076894&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3281067844291076894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3281067844291076894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/interview-with-melissa-darabian-part-1.html' title='Interview with Melissa d&apos;Arabian  Part 1'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-8621971257023993069</id><published>2009-08-06T20:49:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T21:24:30.053-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='taylor swift'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jenna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Julia'/><title type='text'>The Next Big Thing</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2v8JDgn-NbU&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2v8JDgn-NbU&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again, Julia and Jenna dazzle us with the music video to Taylor Swift's song You Belong With Me.  It's kind of fun to compare this video to last &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2008/09/new-family-van-trapp.html"&gt;September's video&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*** Kendall-- this video is for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you&lt;/span&gt;!  Sorry Tim!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-8621971257023993069?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/8621971257023993069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=8621971257023993069&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8621971257023993069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/8621971257023993069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/next-big-thing.html' title='The Next Big Thing'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-7292628544192444177</id><published>2009-08-05T23:47:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T01:02:29.639-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food Network'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Busy days'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='summer'/><title type='text'>Lazy Days of Summer My Arse</title><content type='html'>My lazy days of summer have yet to arrive which is really a downer.  I'm one of those moms who totally looks forward to summer vacation and I'm usually not ready for school to start back up.  And while part of that is because I like to sleep in in the morning, the biggest part is I like spending time with my kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this summer has kicked me in the booty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a typical day in my summer life: (maybe you'll have new empathy for me at the end.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Get up around 8:30&lt;/span&gt; (yeah it's a rough life, but it gets better-- you'll see) to the sounds of Ryan moaning in his bed.  Every morning he moans when he wakes up.  He refuses to get out of bed so I end up yelling "Ryan you can get up" about 5 times before he finally comes to see me.  It's really fun when it happens at 6:00 and I make him get in bed with me while I try to get more sleep.  The fun part is when he's attempting to pry my eyes open repeating "sponge bob" over and over. (I think it's his mantra)  I freely admit to being more than a little cranky in this situation.  Bad mommy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Breakfast:&lt;/span&gt;  I try to decide whether to feed the children cereal, make breakfast of just give them Paula Deen's Three Chocolate Cookies.  Today I made cinnamon raisin biscuits (from scratch) and feed the children a pound of strawberries (literally) while they were baking. With 4 kids lined up at the counter, they ate them as quickly as I could wash them and cut the tops off.  In the process, there was a lot of elbowing and spilling of juice and dry cereal that was tiding them over until the biscuits where. Oh and crying, we can't forget the crying.  Biscuits come out of the oven and no one eats them but me.  (But I only had one.  Really)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Clean up:&lt;/span&gt;  I clean up the kitchen while the children destroy the living room, entry way and hearth room.  I think I'm going to get a giant play pen.  Or dog kennel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dressing:&lt;/span&gt; Drag small children one by one upstairs to change clothes.  Try to get dressed myself but get distracted by Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's now 11:00&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Errands:&lt;/span&gt;  Load 4 children with 2 car seats and one to booster seat.  Drive to Office Max to finish school supply shopping.  Emma rides in front of cart and Ryan in the back.  Jenna "touches" the side of the cart sending Ryan into hysterical crying.  Later Emma wants out to stand on the edge of the cart, I put her back in, more hysterical crying.  Mommy sees total and breaks out into hysterical crying (okay not really, but I wanted to.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Starbucks&lt;/span&gt; because my day just isn't complete without it (which means most of my days aren't complete)  &lt;a href="http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2008/09/intervention.html"&gt;This Starbucks doesn't have a drive thru&lt;/a&gt; but it's right next to Office Max so I drag 4 children in with me.  Emma doesn't want to leave and wanders around the store evading my grasp.  She is eventually "herded" out with her siblings.  Off to home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lunch:&lt;/span&gt; It's now 1:00 so lunch time.  Heat up chicken nuggets and serve with fresh broccoli and ranch dressing.  And of course, more strawberries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Nap time:&lt;/span&gt;  Take Ryan and Emma upstairs for nap.  Change Emma.  Have Ryan pee in the toilet and optimistically put him down for a nap in &lt;strike&gt;panties&lt;/strike&gt; underwear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Nap time Part Two:&lt;/span&gt;  Clean up kitchen, laundry, mop floor, &lt;strike&gt;help&lt;/strike&gt; tackle Julia's sewing project (an apron)  Check Facebook and email.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wake up time:&lt;/span&gt;  Ryan wakes up and has peed the bed.  Emma wakes up. Change Ryan.  Change Emma.  Put them in front of tv to watch recorded Yo Gabba Gabba.   Someone comes to front door.  Ryan pees on sofa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Clean up time:&lt;/span&gt;  Pull out my mother's carpet shampooer (which has lived at my house for 3 months) that has a hand held attachment.  Shampoo all the cushions on sofa.  Shampoo mattress (Brilliant mommy forgot the water proof mattress pad)  Throw sheets, pillow (yes, he peed on his pillow!) and several changes of clothes into washing machine.  It's now 3:30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Snack time:&lt;/span&gt;  Feed children goldfish and realize that I haven't planned dinner.  Pull chicken out of freezer.  Watch children play outside.  Check Facebook and email on my phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dinner:&lt;/span&gt;  At 5:00 I decide to make chicken quesadillas for dinner.  Chop chicken and onions.  Cook dinner.  Eat dinner.  Clean up dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;After dinner: &lt;/span&gt; Children play in backyard under my watchful eye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Snack time:  &lt;/span&gt;Feed children cereal, fruit, cheese or ice cream.  Not all at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bath time: &lt;/span&gt; 8:30  Children take a bath.  Four children in one tub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bed time:&lt;/span&gt;  Attempt to clothe small children.  Attempt to brush teeth.  Attempt to brush hair. Attempt to find Toudee and Foofa for Emma.  Attempt to find one of the many blankets that Ryan has decided he needs to have at bed time yet never seem to be around.  Rock in rocking chair and sing songs.  Current favorite:  song Mommy made up--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Who loves Ryan?  Momma does.  Momma does. Who loves Emma?  Momma does.  Momma does.  Who loves her babies in the morning?  Who loves her babies in the afternoon? Who loves her babies in the evening?  Hmm?  Momma does.  Momma does!  Who loves Ryan?  Momma does.  Momma does.  Who loves Emma?  Momma does.  Momma does?&lt;/span&gt;  (repeat.  repeat. repeat.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Put children in bed:&lt;/span&gt;  Listen to Emma and Ryan talk.  Try to convince Julia and Jenna that it's not child abuse to go to bed before 10:00.  Girls end up in bed about 10:30 which means DFS doesn't need to be involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mommy time:&lt;/span&gt;  About 10:30.  Mommy pulls out laptop and turns on HGTV.  Checks email. Makes &lt;strike&gt;witty&lt;/strike&gt; lame comments on Facebook.  Blog (Okay, I just saw you spit out your beverage of choice all over the computer) Reads a book.  Can't stop reading book.  Turns off light and go to bed around 2:00 -2:30 am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tired yet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Emma wakes up:&lt;/span&gt;  3:30 and won't go back to sleep.  Drag her into my bed.  She keeps asking for Ross who she knows will let her watch Yo Gabba Gabba in the middle of the night.  She goes to sleep around 4:30&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wake up:&lt;/span&gt;  8:30 -- not looking so good now, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately I've been trying to get some gym time in there too. I've lost 6 pounds in the last 2 weeks!!! I think I need a clone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there's another busy mom out there-- &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Melissa d'Arabian&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;the newest The Next Food Network Star! &lt;/span&gt; Her new show airs this Sunday at 12:30 eastern time.  I got a press release about it a few days ago and when I got it I thought "Wow!  I would so love to be part of a press conference for her!"  So for once, I decided to be proactive and emailed the FN publicist that sent the email and &lt;strike&gt;begged&lt;/strike&gt; offered to be part of a conference call if one was available.  This morning I got an email asking me to participate!  The call is set for Friday morning and I am so excited.  I've got a million questions I would love to ask her but I only get to ask 2-4. Let me know if there's anything &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you're&lt;/span&gt; dieing to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, this post turned into one big whine fest -- I think I need some cheese. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-7292628544192444177?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/7292628544192444177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=7292628544192444177&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7292628544192444177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/7292628544192444177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/lazy-days-of-summer-my-arse.html' title='Lazy Days of Summer My Arse'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-4308457662542777441</id><published>2009-08-03T20:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T20:42:23.402-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='potty training'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ryan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gauge'/><title type='text'>Potty Power</title><content type='html'>Have I really sunk this low?  Has it gotten so bad that I go over a week without writing a blog post and then when I finally write one I resort to bathroom humor?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sweet little mischievous Ryan is 3 1/2.  When we received Ryan a mere 12 months ago, he pottied and poopied in the toilet.  We came home and he didn't.  No surprise, this happens to most toddlers just adopted.  But a year later and we were no closer to that Potty Trained Goal and I was becoming frustrated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHdQi9wHI/AAAAAAAAC_k/9RGtum0Qvsw/s1600-h/IMG_5446.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHdQi9wHI/AAAAAAAAC_k/9RGtum0Qvsw/s400/IMG_5446.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365906417762812018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Lucky for you, Ryan just had his 12 month post placement visit last week so I'll be including a bunch of photos we took to send to China.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure the boy can read but he couldn't pee in a toilet.  Of course I was frustrated.  (No, he really can't read.  But doesn't he look smart-- and cute-- holding that book?)  You have to understand, I'm pretty laid back when it comes to potty training.  I've learned the hard way that they ain't gonna pee in a toilet until they're darn good and ready.  But Preschool was looming in the not so distant future and being potty trained was a must.  I decided that potty training need to be jump started.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHdPLK_DI/AAAAAAAAC_c/5lj9amJ_45o/s1600-h/IMG_5448.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHdPLK_DI/AAAAAAAAC_c/5lj9amJ_45o/s400/IMG_5448.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365906417394580530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" &gt;(You would think Gauge would be a positive role model, or at the very least exhibit some positive peer pressure.  No such luck.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So about a week ago,  I decided that "today was the day" and I put Ryan in a pull up and began to set the timer on the microwave for 20 minutes.  Every 20 minutes he peed on cue and his pull up remained dry.  After about an hour and half, we moved to 30 minutes. When the timer went off and I took Ryan to the bathroom, his pull up was wet.  I was beginning to wonder if he had some bladder issue, maybe his bladder was mini sized.  Or maybe it was just too easy to pee in a pull up.  Time to pull out the underwear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHd-MYHJI/AAAAAAAAC_s/8m80UgLumgk/s1600-h/IMG_5474.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHd-MYHJI/AAAAAAAAC_s/8m80UgLumgk/s400/IMG_5474.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365906430016101522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(We needed a photo of just Ryan and I but he has started winking whenever the camera comes out.  So I started making silly faces with him in hopes of getting &lt;/span&gt;something&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; that didn't make him look like he'd just had a stroke.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, that thought made us cringe, but I learned with both Julia and Jenna that sometimes pull-ups enable them to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; go in the toilet.  So that very afternoon, he started wearing panties, uhm, I mean underwear.  (Sorry Ry, but Momma is so used to saying "panties" that I hope I don't scar you for life, or at least in the school locker room.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had one accident soon after putting his underwear on but it was only a very small one and he was dry after that.  In fact, the next day I took Ryan and Emma to Lowe's with me and as I was almost there, I realized that Ryan as still in &lt;strike&gt;panties&lt;/strike&gt; underwear.  But the trip was uneventful, in that he didn't leave a Hansel and Gretel pee trial throughout the store anyway.  Since then, he's done pretty well.  He's had a few accidents.  Once last week when I took him to the gym's Kid Club (child care)-- he didn't know where to go.  The other time was at my brother's house.  He was outside playing and perhaps too busy to stop and go inside to pee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHcwjJEUI/AAAAAAAAC_U/OOkKhh8t8Xc/s1600-h/IMG_5484.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHcwjJEUI/AAAAAAAAC_U/OOkKhh8t8Xc/s400/IMG_5484.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365906409173619010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(My absolute most favorite picture of Ryan and I together.  I love it so much I had a 5x7 made.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would consider his potty training mission to be pretty successful. He still needs a pull up at night and has had a few accidents at nap time, but that's to be expected.  Five down and one to go. (Oh, I made a pun!)  Now if Emma would just realize that the potty chair is for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;peeing&lt;/span&gt; or &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pooping&lt;/span&gt; and not her royal throne.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-4308457662542777441?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/4308457662542777441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=4308457662542777441&amp;isPopup=true' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4308457662542777441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/4308457662542777441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/08/potty-power.html' title='Potty Power'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SneHdQi9wHI/AAAAAAAAC_k/9RGtum0Qvsw/s72-c/IMG_5446.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-3260937916648243827</id><published>2009-07-24T00:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-24T00:06:40.384-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tyler Florence'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sandra Lee'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food Network'/><title type='text'>Sandra Lee's Money Saving Meals</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/images/200712/20071227ho_sandypink_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 327px;" src="http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/images/200712/20071227ho_sandypink_500.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few weeks ago I got the opportunity to take part in a telephone conference call with Sandra Lee, the Food Network host of &lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/sandras-money-saving-meals/index.html"&gt;Sandra's Money Saving Meals&lt;/a&gt; and Semi-Homemade.  The conference was to promote Sandra Lee's Fourth of July show on her Sandra's Money Saving Meals which aired on June 28th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so it's too late for you to watch the special but it's not too late to try out her recipes or you could even check out her show which airs on Sunday's at 12 pm/11 central or Mondays at 2 pm/1 central.   The premise of her show is that she makes a budget meal one day and saves part of the prepared ingredients for the next days' budget meal.  Her 4th of July recipes were for &lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/sandra-lee/ale-house-burgers-with-red-onion-compote-recipe/index.html"&gt;Ale House Burgers with a Red Onion Compote&lt;/a&gt;.  Her Round 2 meal, made with ground beef from the Ale House Burgers, is for a &lt;a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/sandra-lee/round-2-recipes-ale-and-onion-meatloaf-recipe/index.html"&gt;Ale and Onion Meatloaf&lt;/a&gt;.  I am proud to say I made them BOTH.   On the actual 4th of July, no less.  I'm here to tell you that those burgers were delicious.  No joke.  In fact, they were so good I've made them 2 times since then.  The meatloaf was okay, but half of my kids turn their noses up at meatloaf anyway.  I try to tell them it's just a giant rectangular hamburger but to no avail. Oh well, you can't win them all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of you can't win them all, during the conference call there was no sign of Tyler Florence at all. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Again&lt;/span&gt;.  I keep hoping that some day I'll get invited to participate in one featuring Tyler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Smk4kxoxgdI/AAAAAAAAC_M/TehBBDsIenw/s1600-h/Tyler_Florence_2_s3x4_al.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 354px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Smk4kxoxgdI/AAAAAAAAC_M/TehBBDsIenw/s400/Tyler_Florence_2_s3x4_al.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361879035812086226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Sorry but if I'm going to talk about my man Tyler, I've got to include a picture.  Can that man handle a pepper grinder!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Then again, if Food Network really reads this post and any previous posts about my&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;crush on him then they might be scared to let me talk to him.   I promise to be good.  I'd probably be too busy hyperventilating to do anything embarrassing anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=8338568744176253243" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="border: medium none ; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous;" src="http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t242/dms052564/siggy.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8338568744176253243-3260937916648243827?l=www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/feeds/3260937916648243827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8338568744176253243&amp;postID=3260937916648243827&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3260937916648243827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8338568744176253243/posts/default/3260937916648243827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com/2009/07/sandra-lees-money-saving-meals.html' title='Sandra Lee&apos;s Money Saving Meals'/><author><name>Denise Grover Swank</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08089120954470675439</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6k9mXInkTY/Tgj-FgCe3_I/AAAAAAAADkg/uj5A6_TnGIA/s220/Denise%2Bcloseup%2Bsmall%2Bsize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/Smk4kxoxgdI/AAAAAAAAC_M/TehBBDsIenw/s72-c/Tyler_Florence_2_s3x4_al.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8338568744176253243.post-6342614669981440328</id><published>2009-07-23T00:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T00:06:18.411-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Emma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='first teeth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birthday'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Balloons'/><title type='text'>Milestones</title><content type='html'>Within a matter of a few hours, 2 milestones were reached in our house last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SmdrcZ54mOI/AAAAAAAAC-8/YBWEa1MRPt0/s1600-h/Jenna+toothless+pic.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SmdrcZ54mOI/AAAAAAAAC-8/YBWEa1MRPt0/s400/Jenna+toothless+pic.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361372017142044898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Last Thursday night, right after bedtime, Jenna lost her top front tooth.  It's not her first tooth lost, it's actually her 4th, but there's something about losing those top teeth.  When the permanent teeth come in, they just don't look like babies anymore.  So while she would wiggle the tooth every chance she got to make it come out, I told her that she was wasting her time because I was just going to Superglue it back in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some reason, she didn't believe me.  And she was right, I didn't Superglue it back in because I couldn't find the dog gone glue.  I can't find anything in this house these days including, but not limited to: the charger for my camera battery, the battery for my video camera, mailing tape-- well you get the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I digress, as usual.  I was very sad to see that little tooth laying in the palm of her hand.  I lost my little girl last Thursday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And a mere few hours later I lost my baby.  Emma turned 2.  And given my over all melancholy state at that point, I cried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her birthday was Friday but for a whole host of reasons I won't bore you with, we had her party on Sunday.  Of course, she never knew the difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SmdrcFJkCEI/AAAAAAAAC-0/jsRuZstxkHo/s1600-h/IMG_5198.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GS35nXC0sIc/SmdrcFJkCEI/AAAAAAAAC-0/jsRuZstxkHo/s400/IMG_5198.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_
