tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13603607049051027512024-03-14T01:33:53.322-05:00Nuggets of wisdom.... no, seriouslySheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-51727638223040605602010-11-08T20:47:00.003-06:002010-11-08T20:52:36.153-06:00Direct descendents of Adam and Eve<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/TNi2lZWd0AI/AAAAAAAAC_0/WiWppe7AWpA/s1600/adam%2Band%2Beve%2B2.png"></a><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/TNi2lO9vh3I/AAAAAAAAC_s/Z-J2Aja406k/s1600/adam%2Band%2Beve.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 495px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 309px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537376492640503666" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/TNi2lO9vh3I/AAAAAAAAC_s/Z-J2Aja406k/s400/adam%2Band%2Beve.jpg" /></a><br />Roman: "Mom, who were the first parents?"</div><div>Me: "Adam and Eve."<br /><div>Roman: "And then they had kids?"</div><div>Me: "Yep."</div><div>Roman: "Yeah! And then they had kids and that was grandpa and then there was us!"</div><div></div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-42680175508155611022008-11-09T21:56:00.006-06:002008-11-10T00:16:30.042-06:00Halloween<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Halloween was sort of a bust this year for us. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">I planned to have a Halloween party for the neighborhood, and solicited volunteers in our neighborhood newsletter and through email, but only a couple of people replied that they could help. So I ended up planning, buying, and building for this party for pretty much the two straight weeks before Halloween. It took over my life and I was so glad just to get it over with. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">I have no pictures of the actual event because I was running around the whole time, but lots of people came and it ended up turning out okay. </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">This is my kitchen before the party, but most of the stuff was already packed up.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRe3VVaB8lI/AAAAAAAACBg/VjEdebqrnTU/s1600-h/DSC00758.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266879866384544338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRe3VVaB8lI/AAAAAAAACBg/VjEdebqrnTU/s400/DSC00758.JPG" border="0" /></a> Because of all this party planning business, we put off carving pumpkins with the kids until the day before Halloween. This was okay because we learned the first year that we moved to Texas that if you carve them too early they will mold and collapse before the big day. However, Dario Jr. had a birthday party to go to that day, and we were going to carve pumpkins after that, but then big Dario got held up at an appointment and wasn't going to make it home until after I had to leave for my class that night,(community college-whole 'nother story), so instead of carving the pumpkins with the kids myself, I had to scramble to find someone to watch my kids until Dario got home. I called a million people before I found someone who could help. By the time I found a babysitter, it was time for me to leave. So Dario carved pumpkins with the kids when he got home. He was tired and grumpy, and it wasn't the fun it should've been. (He said.) I was upset that I hadn't gotten to do that with my kids, and anxious to see the pictures of Gabby, Dario, and Roman digging out the pumpkin guts. So I turned on my camera and this is what I saw.<br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266901399986445314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 126px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 144px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRfK6wUzHAI/AAAAAAAACBo/tbJdfBbHVvU/s400/black+square.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">Dario had taken lots of pictures, but the memory card wasn't in the camera. So disappointing.</p><p align="center">So I missed that, but the next day was Halloween and we were going to have fun then. The party was over with and we were ready to just enjoy the holiday. But at 4:30am on Halloween morning, Dario Jr. came into my room feeling sick, and he ended up vomiting the whole morning. He had to miss school, where he was going to get to dress up as a storybook character and share a book with his class. I was supposed to go to a Halloween lunch with friends, but couldn't because I needed to stay home with Dario. And of course Dario Jr. and I then missed the Trunk-or-Treat party at church, because we definitely did not want to spread <em>that </em>around. What a bummer. </p><p align="center">So big Dario took Gabby and Roman. Here they are in their costumes. Dario Jr. didn't feel well enough to even put on his costume. (We did end up putting pants on Roman by the way. Oh, and yes that was Dario's costume from last year or the year before that or something. Again, because of the neighborhood party planning we didn't find him an original costume this year.)</p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266876813371404498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRe0joC-cNI/AAAAAAAACA4/ZgmnorjcG4Q/s400/DSC00763.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266876828379646594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRe0kf9OCoI/AAAAAAAACBA/1C5bNfZajOU/s400/DSC00765.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Little Dario and I set up a table in the driveway with leftovers from the neighborhood party. We had cookies and stuff to decorate them, cupcakes, and apple cider for the trick-or-treaters. We pulled out the back seat of my van and set a scarecrow on it, and surrounded that with hay bales and pumpkins for decoration. We turned on some Halloween music and sat next to the scarecrow and gave out treats to the trick-or-treaters. Again, no pictures, and no good excuses this time. But here he is trying to look happy while I am setting up.</p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266876836651082802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRe0k-xSJDI/AAAAAAAACBI/ZG-9fkh777g/s400/DSC00773.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Here are the pumpkins the kids carved with Dario. They took them to the Trunk-or-Treat. It just occurred to me how appropriate it was that we had one vomiting pumpkin.</p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266876844529527810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRe0lcHprAI/AAAAAAAACBQ/3uzc8YDXo-Q/s400/DSC00798.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">When Dario got home with the other kids, little Dario slipped on his costume and went with them for a couple of blocks of trick-or-treating, but pretty soon his stomach was hurting again and they came home. This is the only picture we got of him. He was a ninja. He had a mask and hood and weapons, but didn't use them.</p><p align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRe0l8iFi6I/AAAAAAAACBY/8snozZz4F_k/s1600-h/DSC00799.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266876853230341026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SRe0l8iFi6I/AAAAAAAACBY/8snozZz4F_k/s400/DSC00799.JPG" border="0" /></a> So that was our Halloween. Bleh. I'm glad it's over.<br /><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-86833208161219062972008-09-18T21:30:00.002-05:002008-09-18T22:13:48.540-05:00Why hello again emergency staffTonight was the night for our bi-annual visit to the emergency room. We do our best to stop by at least two, if not three times a year. You know, just to say "hi" and can my kid please have a ride in one of your x-ray imaging type things, and yes I'd like to make a large donation, as our savings account has been getting much too large recently and we need to keep that under control. Also, I really like to use these opportunities as a friendship litmus test. If you're willing to take my non-injured children for hours on end at a moments notice, then I give you the honor of being my official friend. And the privilege of doing it again in a couple months. It's a coveted spot, as I'm sure you can tell.<br />It has been at least a couple of months since our last visit, when Roman chewed up an old Vicodin and got to have tons of fun drinking "chocolate milk" aka charcoal, in the ER, so Dario Jr. thought it was about time we take another trip down to see our old friends at the hospital. The method he used to get us there was to run and slide across the tile in my newly mopped kitchen, thus resulting in his feet flying skyward and his skull crashing downward. He cried and I iced the goose egg and told him he would be fine. I was even nice enough not to take any <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/09/apple-baskets-no-more.html">pictures of his misery.</a> I sent him to his room to rest, and then woke him up a couple of hours later because I needed to go to the store to get an ingredient I was missing for dinner. He cried some more and told me it hurt, but frankly, Dario can be somewhat of a drama-king so again I told him I knew it hurt but I thought he would be fine. The guilt set in a little when he started vomiting. So I called my neighbor Carol, aka "my new best friend", and she took my other kids while I rushed Dario to the ER.<br /> Many hours, more vomiting, some stickers, some cartoons, and one CAT scan later, we have arrived back from our visit. He has a concussion, and luckily no bleeding or skull fractures. Although, can I tell you one thing? There was a moment there when the doctor was telling me he needed to check for a skull fracture and I was kind of thinking that if he actually did have one, that I could use that to my advantage. I could say, "See? I was right. You cracked your head open just like I always tell you will happen." I think I can still use it though. "Be careful! Remember that time when your brother almost cracked his head open?!?" That's still pretty good, right? Not quite the same ring, but possibly still effective. <br /> Anyway, we got to see all our old friends again. We really missed Admitting Chick, Registered Nurse, CAT Scan Guy, ER Doctor, and especially Billing Lady. It was a nice visit and we promised to come back and see them real soon. Dario especially liked it. His statement as we left the ER-and I quote- "That was great! I had so much fun! Except for the puking." Good times, good times.Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-67295133229609534902008-09-17T21:19:00.005-05:002008-09-17T22:41:19.032-05:00Apple baskets no more<div align="center"> You know what I hate? Ingrown toenails. That, and apple baskets. And that crust that develops around my faucet handles. But mostly apple baskets. But who doesn't like a delicious basketful of apples you ask? Me. That's who. Because I've been looking at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">flippin</span> apple baskets pasted on the walls of my kitchen for the last four years of my life. Apple baskets and blue plaid country curtains. Oh, how I loathe apple baskets.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNHBhMfEKGI/AAAAAAAABvo/35lLN1FiYq4/s1600-h/DSC00376.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247187816894703714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNHBhMfEKGI/AAAAAAAABvo/35lLN1FiYq4/s400/DSC00376.JPG" border="0" /></a> But finally I have decided to do something about it.<br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Witness Exhibit A:</div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247183939565714994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNG9_gTy_jI/AAAAAAAABvg/uqZTHlS1hGY/s400/DSC00370.JPG" border="0" />Witness Exhibit B:<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247183935858954882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNG9_SgCUoI/AAAAAAAABvY/cdt5iZ5K6js/s400/DSC00368.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I don't know why I didn't do this sooner. I actually prefer the look of raw drywall to the hideousness that was the wallpaper.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">My daughter actually thinks removing wallpaper is <em>fun</em>. I've got a wallpaper remover <em>and</em> a <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/search?q=meatballs">meatball maker</a>. This sort of free labor makes me rethink my decision not to have any more kids. Just think, if I pop enough of those suckers out, I could run me a plantation....<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNG9-ahVGGI/AAAAAAAABvA/N0XCsE3Vs3g/s1600-h/DSC00366.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247183920831993954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNG9-ahVGGI/AAAAAAAABvA/N0XCsE3Vs3g/s400/DSC00366.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><p align="center">This child was not joining in the fun. He was too busy crying about some injury. So, like the good mother that I am, I comforted him by taking pictures of him crying. <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNG9-kUzsxI/AAAAAAAABvI/s8Uar7X7TYs/s1600-h/DSC00364.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247183923463828242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNG9-kUzsxI/AAAAAAAABvI/s8Uar7X7TYs/s400/DSC00364.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNG9_OSx_bI/AAAAAAAABvQ/XMgi_9VYGtE/s1600-h/DSC00365.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247183934729616818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNG9_OSx_bI/AAAAAAAABvQ/XMgi_9VYGtE/s400/DSC00365.JPG" border="0" /></a> Hey, it actually worked. I told him he could see the pictures but only if he stopped crying. So the crying stopped and he got to see what he looks like in full drama-mode, which is something most people don't get to do, (except for my sister who used to stand in front of the mirror while she cried so she could fully wallow in her own pity). Win-Win for everyone, see? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Them's</span> good <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">parentin</span>' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">skillz</span>.</p><br /><p></p>So fare-the-well apple baskets. Your ugliness shall not taunt me another day.<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247200302546301074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SNHM39KYMJI/AAAAAAAABvw/QWRqlERHJVg/s320/no+apples.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-35229712999224438332008-08-31T21:33:00.012-05:002008-09-03T21:58:42.991-05:00What happens in Vegas...<div align="center">Oh Baby. When I went to Las Vegas to see my little sister Brandy get married, who'd a thunk I'd have my very own celebrity wedding? Here's how it all went down....</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">My sisters and I were doing a little sexy picture posing in one of the hotels on the strip. Well, as we were taking photographs, a casting director for <em>The Blue Man Group </em>walked by.<br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241229363569842002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SLyWVkHtV1I/AAAAAAAAA3A/0vS040cDzJo/s400/DSC00103.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">He told us he had been searching for some hot sexy ladies such as ourselves to perform at the next show. It was a smashing performance. We brought the house down.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL32aV9QtFI/AAAAAAAAA5Q/kOP7cVLcEM8/s1600-h/DSC00166.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241616473760248914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL32aV9QtFI/AAAAAAAAA5Q/kOP7cVLcEM8/s400/DSC00166.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center">And as it turns out, Governor Schwarzenegger was in the audience that night. (He was relaxing a little before the Republican National Convention.) He was so impressed by my performance that he came backstage after the show and invited me to a party that night.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241606787179358978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3tmgoaKwI/AAAAAAAAA3o/9vHTi9QE3Ts/s400/DSC00144.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">The party was filled with celebrities. I met Cameron Diaz, and it turns out we have a lot in common. (I mean, besides the fact that we're practically twins.) We swore to be best friends forever. She gave me half of her heart shaped BFF necklace, and we cut our fingers and rubbed them together so we could be blood sisters. Our bond will last forever, I'm sure. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241613573661527234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3zxiP2DMI/AAAAAAAAA4w/mGgQsOGKxqQ/s400/DSC00225.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">All night at the party, Johnny Depp was totally coming on to me. Frankly, it was starting to get annoying, because he's hot and all, but I was getting tired of him telling me how great France was and asking me to run away with him to Paris. Finally, I gave him a peck on the cheek and told him it just wasn't going to work out for us. (That's why he looks so upset.)<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241606779648036562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3tmEkzTtI/AAAAAAAAA3g/4Y0GZTCKnVs/s400/DSC00137.JPG" border="0" /> Later on that night, Brad and Angelina stopped by. I have to admit, I've had the hots for Brad for a really long time, so I took advantage of finally seeing him in person.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241606787042038402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3tmgHq0oI/AAAAAAAAA3w/ecWRiuYNkKY/s400/DSC00155.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">I mean it. I really <em>did</em> take advantage of finally seeing him in person...<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241610485080160882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3w9wYqenI/AAAAAAAAA34/vCtqc8LH6oc/s400/DSC00156.JPG" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">He was totally enamored of me after that though. He likes aggressive women. (Hello? That's why he's shackin' up with Lara Croft!) Angelina only stayed at the party for a few minutes because she had an appointment to give a speech at the United Nations later. When she left, Brad found me at a VIP table and professed his undying love. He said that the way I nearly licked him when he walked into the room just set his heart soaring. He went on to tell me about all the arguments he and Angelina have been having over their interior decorating issues, and begging me to hop on his jet and fly away with him. Anywhere, just as long as he could be with me. I have to say, I seriously considered it, but after some soul searching I decided that I didn't want to be the one to come between Angie and Brad. I mean, come on! Think of the twins! So, our romance was not to be.</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">I was heartbroken for at least a half hour. But then I really did meet my true love. He and I locked eyes across the room and we didn't have to speak a word. We just <em>knew</em>. And we decided to get married.</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">That's when things started to get a little crazy. Al Roker came and interviewed me right away. You may have already seen the segment on "<em>The Today Show"</em>.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241613565526054322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3zxD8MlbI/AAAAAAAAA4o/r4ooIF_8ib8/s400/DSC00228.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br />The ceremony that night at the "Always and Forever Wedding Chapel" was beautiful, and <em>so</em> romantic. The inscription on my ring said, "I love you Sheyenne, always and forever. George."</p><p align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3zwyoXuYI/AAAAAAAAA4g/9CzP_D2RSzo/s1600-h/DSC00245.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241613560879495554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3zwyoXuYI/AAAAAAAAA4g/9CzP_D2RSzo/s400/DSC00245.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><p align="center">After the ceremony we had an amazing reception. And I was surprised, although I shouldn't have been, that even as hasty as the wedding was, the paparazzi still managed to find us.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241229358301359858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SLyWVQfmrvI/AAAAAAAAA24/NonLETOZADI/s400/DSC00094.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">I was thrilled that Michael found time to come by and congratulate us. He even showed me some dance moves. (I'm still learning, okay?!?)<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241614460212687058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL30lI6HMNI/AAAAAAAAA5I/HJ7ZJhDk_G4/s400/DSC00282.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Our cake was scrumptious. George let me pick it out. And of course I chose chocolate everything!<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241606777894949474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3tl-C1UmI/AAAAAAAAA3Y/VFRW6TAjQqQ/s400/DSC00115.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">The rest of the food was also divine. It was catered on such short notice by a celebrity chef friend of George's. The creme brulee was <em>to die for</em>.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241229369914977874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SLyWV7wgblI/AAAAAAAAA3I/ci8MvJadOko/s400/DSC00110.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center">The highlight of the evening was when Stevie Wonder serenaded us as we had our first dance. Later on, he invited me up to sing with him. It was awesome. And apparently he thought so too because he's invited me to do a duet with him on his next album. It'll be coming out sometime next summer.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241613587126602834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3zyUaKzFI/AAAAAAAAA5A/xAe3V_rsbCE/s400/DSC00271.JPG" border="0" /> After a quick charity golf tournament the next day with Tiger Woods and some other golf guy, (George had already been signed up for a long time, and I wanted to support him),<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241613580269619346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3zx63ViJI/AAAAAAAAA44/KOIVDf_st8g/s400/DSC00249.JPG" border="0" /> we jetted off to a private island. It's only me in this picture, because it was a <em>private</em> island, and George had to hold the camera. It was such a wonderful, unforgettable trip.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241624421608580050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL39o9_949I/AAAAAAAAA5Y/lyD1_S5Ke9Q/s400/DSC00090.JPG" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">When we got back from our honeymoon, Oprah called. She wanted to be the first to interview me on my whirlwind romance with one of Hollywood's most sought after bachelors. That's how she said it, anyway. The show will be coming on soon. You can watch for it if you like. You'll probably miss it though, because you're so busy.<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241610507888993714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SL3w_FWtpbI/AAAAAAAAA4Y/yWY6d9JXnxw/s400/DSC00220.JPG" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">Unfortunately, though, since we've been back from the honeymoon, things have been pretty rocky. The paparazzi camped outside my house has been crazy, and I really think I'm more of a private person. I don't think I'm cut out for celebrity marriage after all. (Plus, I haven't told Dario yet, and the nerves about that are killing me.) So I've made a decision. I'm filing annulment papers tomorrow. I ask that you respect our privacy during this difficult time. Thank you.</p><p></p>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-44423807210452104642008-08-31T21:21:00.003-05:002008-09-02T20:38:02.333-05:00It's the principle of the thingI received this check in the mail the other day. It took a lot of time, energy, and frustration to get this check, and even though it turns out to be less than minimum wage, when I pulled it out of the envelope I was <em>very</em> happy. <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SLtVu_geOnI/AAAAAAAAA2g/XJBLZit6a1A/s1600-h/green+mountain+check+edit.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240876857185679986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SLtVu_geOnI/AAAAAAAAA2g/XJBLZit6a1A/s400/green+mountain+check+edit.jpg" border="0" /></a> It's difficult to see, but on the top green portion it says "PYMNT REFUND BBB". The "BBB" stands for Better Business Bureau, which is one of the parties I had to contact in order to get this five dollars. In fact, I made 4 phone calls and wrote 2 letters to secure this measly payment. But it was worth it in my mind, because of the principle of the thing.<br /><br />Long story short- When I ended my service with Green Mountain Energy to switch to another less expensive (but still green), power company, they sent me a final bill. At the bottom of the bill it said in big bold letters, "DO NOT PAY THIS INVOICE". It said that because I was set up on an automatic payment plan, and had all payments charged each month to my credit card. I was surprised some time later with a call from a collection agency, which Green Mountain had turned me over to for nonpayment of my final bill. They threatened me with damaged credit if I didn't immediately pay by phone, and also pay their $5 pay-by-phone fee. After contacting Green Mountain, and speaking to a representative and a supervisor, and being told "too bad", in so many words, even after they acknowledged that a mistake was made on their part, I got really mad. It was only $5 extra that I was asked to pay, and it didn't hurt me financially in any way, but I am so darn tired of lousy service everywhere I turn that I decided to do something about it. So I wrote to the Better Business Bureau. And then I wrote to the Public Utility Commission of Texas. I spent time, effort, and postage because I was that ticked off. And apparently that's what it takes to get these people's attention, because lo and behold, here's my $5 check. And I will cash it with glee. <br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SLtSOetDWHI/AAAAAAAAA14/6eLgke5-zaM/s1600-h/green+mountain+check+edit.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-54140356556763893642008-08-11T14:27:00.005-05:002008-08-11T14:42:54.305-05:00Quotable quotes from Roman<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SKCTcNvMl8I/AAAAAAAAA1U/R-3LLKmTJnw/s1600-h/IMG_2643.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233344879937755074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SKCTcNvMl8I/AAAAAAAAA1U/R-3LLKmTJnw/s400/IMG_2643.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><blockquote><div align="center">"Mom, your legs hurt!"</div><div align="center"></div></blockquote>As he ran his hand up my leg. I hadn't shaved in a while.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">And after seeing his brother and sister losing teeth and being rewarded with a visit from the tooth fairy. (Or a bribe from me.)</div><div align="center"><blockquote>"Mom, can you knock a tooth out?" </blockquote>(then opens his mouth for me to do the deed)</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">And this one here gives me hope that someday my hard work caring for my children will be rewarded...</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">We were in the bathroom and I was helping him, and this was the conversation:</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><blockquote><div align="center">Me: "Roman, when are you going to be big enough to wipe your<br />own butt?"</div><div align="center">Roman: "Um, when I'm older. And then I'll wipe <em>your</em> butt!"</div></blockquote></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-22340023276775235072008-07-27T22:14:00.006-05:002008-07-28T23:13:57.311-05:00Summer vacation<div align="center">We took a family vacation to Surfside Beach, Texas from July 14-21st and had a wonderful time. We invited Dario's sister Natalie and her son Tyson along with us and we're glad we did. The kids had a cousin to play with, we got someone to visit with, and I had and extra set of hands for cooking and cleaning and entertaining. We rented a little beach house called the "Sea Witch", which was only one house back from the beach. This is the 3rd house we've stayed in at Surfside, and it was the best, in my opinion. The location was great and it was decorated really nicely. The owners lived right next door and they told us they used to live there before they made it a rental, so I'm sure that's why so much work was put into it.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227919937372099282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1Ne_0_EtI/AAAAAAAAAzk/9QVOGGTrq9Y/s400/IMG_2677.JPG" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227919934519501890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1Ne1M35EI/AAAAAAAAAzc/BOEe4luDMbA/s400/IMG_2669.JPG" border="0" />All the kids in the living room.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227919928758568818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1NefvXB3I/AAAAAAAAAzM/k9i4FMsviPM/s400/DSC01447.JPG" border="0" /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1OstvQZGI/AAAAAAAAAz0/OCs3na8k65o/s1600-h/IMG_2695.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227921272546026594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1OstvQZGI/AAAAAAAAAz0/OCs3na8k65o/s400/IMG_2695.JPG" border="0" /></a> The kids wasted no time getting to the sand and making castles.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227924040874391618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1RN2kK-EI/AAAAAAAAA0k/sXXR7ZcZAZM/s400/IMG_2783.JPG" border="0" />And finding shells.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1Os5X0fFI/AAAAAAAAAz8/QR_0x4ncMGw/s1600-h/IMG_2712.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227921275668954194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1Os5X0fFI/AAAAAAAAAz8/QR_0x4ncMGw/s400/IMG_2712.JPG" border="0" /></a> Yes, we gave her boobs. We're bad parents. I only wished we had a bikini top to put on them...</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><br /></div><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1OtPafrxI/AAAAAAAAA0E/JAQDS8ndmfo/s1600-h/IMG_2724.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227921281585753874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1OtPafrxI/AAAAAAAAA0E/JAQDS8ndmfo/s400/IMG_2724.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>Gabby as a mermaid. </p><p align="center"><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1OtcH4fvI/AAAAAAAAA0M/NJ19jZN8eNM/s1600-h/IMG_2751.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227921284997349106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1OtcH4fvI/AAAAAAAAA0M/NJ19jZN8eNM/s400/IMG_2751.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="center"></a>Almost every evening at dusk we went out and caught sand crabs. They're fast little buggers so you have to keep a sharp eye on them and pounce quickly. And then you have to run screaming back to the bucket because they're little squirmy legs tickling the inside of your palms is freaking you out. That's the rules. </p><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228280759279692578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI6VpmLgKyI/AAAAAAAAA1M/SQE1UQFPLGk/s400/IMG_2795.JPG" border="0" />Here's a large crab that the people across the road from us pointed out. It was a female with egg sacs on her underside, and she was snapping mad!</div><div align="center"><br /> </div><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1NekIkcpI/AAAAAAAAAzU/sAh15sVouVY/s1600-h/DSC01462.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227919929938047634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1NekIkcpI/AAAAAAAAAzU/sAh15sVouVY/s400/DSC01462.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>My boys are even more handsome at the beach, don't you think?<br /><br /><br /></p><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1NfNzxpfI/AAAAAAAAAzs/YSLNo1bxCvw/s1600-h/IMG_2686.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227919941125121522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1NfNzxpfI/AAAAAAAAAzs/YSLNo1bxCvw/s400/IMG_2686.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"></a>The two Dario's flying a kite.<br /></p><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227921284268256578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1OtZaDbUI/AAAAAAAAA0U/Djni0BHn_ik/s400/IMG_2762.JPG" border="0" />Gabby holding a shark head we found on the beach.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227924042280209906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1RN7zWDfI/AAAAAAAAA0c/Z9sPlFl3GVU/s400/IMG_2812.JPG" border="0" />We took a side trip up the Schlitterbahn in Galveston. It was SO much fun! We only took a couple of pictures because we were just so busy going on all the slides and the lazy river over and over. We arrived at 10:30am and they had to kick us out at 8pm. Really. Me and kids were sailing down the lazy river and 4 lifeguards at different stations whistled at us and told us to get out, and Gabby was saying "Maw-om! They want us out!" and I just kept saying, "Look away Gabby. We didn't hear them!" Finally they turned off the waves and forced us outta there. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227924047309727858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1ROOieaHI/AAAAAAAAA0s/Tegq46rErPk/s400/IMG_2916.JPG" border="0" /></div><div align="center">On another day we went back up to Galveston and rode the ferry. It was the first time my kids have been on any type of boat. We saw lots of other big boats, and a TON of dolphins. One of the neatest things we saw were a group of dolphins that were swimming in front of a huge boat and jumping out of the water. It was like they were racing. Can you see them out front in the picture below?<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228280753275231426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI6VpPz7XMI/AAAAAAAAA1E/tL9VYUUZAtQ/s400/IMG_2942.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227924044829950370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1ROFTQAaI/AAAAAAAAA00/rxv2HPq_wM0/s400/IMG_2979.JPG" border="0" />On a couple of different days we went <a href="http://www.geocaching.com/">geocaching</a>. It's another type of treasure hunt, like <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/06/letterboxing.html">letterboxing,</a> but you use a GPS unit to find the location of the cache. This is a picture of one that was actually full of prizes. It was called "Pretty in Pink" and it was a box full of toys and jewelery and other things that all had pink on them. The kids were so excited to find actual "treasure". </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227924049504126482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI1ROWtqRhI/AAAAAAAAA08/r1GTeBgLXhI/s400/IMG_2982.JPG" border="0" /></div><p align="center">On the way home we stopped in Brenham to get some ice cream at the <a href="http://www.bluebell.com/home.aspx">Blue Bell Creamery</a>. It was delicious as always, and only $1 per huge-mongous scoop. It broke up the drive home and was a perfect ending to a wonderful vacation.</p>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-37932625873317158382008-07-27T22:07:00.002-05:002008-07-27T22:14:36.335-05:00A buncha bananas<div align="center">This is the reason I just do the shopping myself. I sent Dario to the store the other day with a short list of things to buy. Included on that list was a bunch of bananas. So he came home with this:<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI04HkVEaUI/AAAAAAAAAzE/z0VdfkcZ3vk/s1600-h/DSC01388.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227896445109299522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI04HkVEaUI/AAAAAAAAAzE/z0VdfkcZ3vk/s400/DSC01388.JPG" border="0" /></a> <blockquote>"What? They come in bunches? You said you wanted a buncha bananas so<br />I brought home a buncha bananas!"<br /></blockquote></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-22047162036370309422008-07-27T21:22:00.005-05:002008-07-27T22:04:08.861-05:00Fashion Show<div>My sister-in-law Natalie and I took Gabby out the other night to buy some new clothes for school. It was a nice trip except for the crying at the end when Gabby realized she had forgotten her purse in one of the stores. We went back to Ross and she and her aunt knocked on the doors of the already closed store and tried to get some help. Finally someone came over and after Natalie describing through the crack in the door to an employee and then the manager every spot that Gabby had been in the store that night, (the shoe section, the girls' clothes, the boys' clothes, the other shoe section), and Gabby standing there crying and looking pitiful and heartbroken, (her whole life savings of $9 <em>and </em>other important things like assorted lip gloss were inside after all), they finally found it. By the toys. That was the one place where she was just distracted enough to put it down. And frankly, I was glad it was by the toys, because I know it won't be long before she won't even care to venture near that section. She's still my <em>little</em> girl.</div><br /><div><em></em></div><br /><div>But she does try hard not to be a little girl. She wants to be a young woman. And young women give fashion shows, so that's what she did a couple of days later, for a large audience consisting of her aunt Natalie, her cousin Tyson, Dario Jr., Roman, and me. Her best friend was the announcer and the stand up comedian for the intermissions where she changed outfits. After she ran out of jokes the boys decided to act wild and show their muscles. So giving, those boys.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227893781675325074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI01siQ7NpI/AAAAAAAAAy8/qeBT2K8_Al0/s400/IMG_2994.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227886396414642754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0u-qBkSkI/AAAAAAAAAyc/SL44J28wmX4/s400/IMG_3003.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227886404183048450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0u_G9swQI/AAAAAAAAAys/r7w-nYnOfIs/s400/IMG_3012.JPG" border="0" /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0w4ZaVQ9I/AAAAAAAAAy0/HFZMy7W_h0M/s1600-h/IMG_3013.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227888487899153362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0w4ZaVQ9I/AAAAAAAAAy0/HFZMy7W_h0M/s400/IMG_3013.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0u9pgxliI/AAAAAAAAAyM/X7seuGv6nOw/s1600-h/IMG_2996.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227886379097232930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0u9pgxliI/AAAAAAAAAyM/X7seuGv6nOw/s400/IMG_2996.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0u-bDnN6I/AAAAAAAAAyU/X4xUiOyxWlw/s1600-h/IMG_2997.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227886392396691362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0u-bDnN6I/AAAAAAAAAyU/X4xUiOyxWlw/s400/IMG_2997.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0u-xnrR8I/AAAAAAAAAyk/9ZTjQ4FOR7A/s1600-h/IMG_3010.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227886398453532610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SI0u-xnrR8I/AAAAAAAAAyk/9ZTjQ4FOR7A/s400/IMG_3010.JPG" border="0" /></a> After the show she was gracious enough to sign autographs for all of us. I'm hanging on to mine for when she's famous someday. I outta get some good money for selling it on Ebay, don't you think?<br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-14552543194627655832008-06-29T23:54:00.003-05:002008-07-28T22:29:01.105-05:00LetterboxingA few weeks ago I was trying to think of something to do with the kids besides going to the pool, so I decided to try <a href="http://www.letterboxing.org/">letterboxing,</a> which I had heard about before but never actually got around to doing. It's a neat little activity that lets you go on a treasure hunt of sorts, by going online and finding clues to the locations of hidden letterboxes. All you need is a stamp, a stamp pad, and a little log book. And then it's free fun from then on!<br />So on this day, the kids and I packed up a picnic dinner(Dario was out of town), and headed off to find a couple of letterboxes. We had some great fun around town.<br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217537273498968018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhqga1EH9I/AAAAAAAAAxs/fUwGBZWNRMo/s320/DSC01278.JPG" border="0" />Here's Dario Jr. searching at the location of one of the letterboxes we found.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhqg87qiII/AAAAAAAAAx0/4pjsccILQkE/s1600-h/DSC01280.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217537282653456514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhqg87qiII/AAAAAAAAAx0/4pjsccILQkE/s320/DSC01280.JPG" border="0" /></a> Found it!</p><p> </p><p align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhqhWh1NBI/AAAAAAAAAx8/6TKmwGRzG8c/s1600-h/DSC01283.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217537289524425746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhqhWh1NBI/AAAAAAAAAx8/6TKmwGRzG8c/s320/DSC01283.JPG" border="0" /></a> The kids at the "round rock" that gave our city is named for.</p><p align="center"><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhqhoozioI/AAAAAAAAAyE/_8O7gmgoxQc/s1600-h/DSC01302.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217537294385515138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhqhoozioI/AAAAAAAAAyE/_8O7gmgoxQc/s320/DSC01302.JPG" border="0" /></a> Roman watching the ducks.<br /><br />We also found a letterbox located in the <a href="http://www.austinexplorer.com/Cemeteries/CemeteryDetails.aspx?CemeteryID=51">Round Rock Cemetery</a>. We had never been there before and I'm glad we came. There's a lot of history there, and finding the letterbox was really fun. </p><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGholizZNCI/AAAAAAAAAxE/JdutKvJdvZg/s1600-h/DSC01252.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217535162515534882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGholizZNCI/AAAAAAAAAxE/JdutKvJdvZg/s320/DSC01252.JPG" border="0" /></a> The kids at the grave of Sam Bass, the leader of a gang that planned to rob the bank in Round Rock and ended up in a shootout with local lawmen that had been tipped off. Sam was shot and died a couple days later.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGholwnGorI/AAAAAAAAAxM/dx9UVslt5Vs/s1600-h/DSC01255.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217535166222082738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGholwnGorI/AAAAAAAAAxM/dx9UVslt5Vs/s320/DSC01255.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhomOQxyZI/AAAAAAAAAxU/rohi4lFrgDM/s1600-h/DSC01262.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217535174181505426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhomOQxyZI/AAAAAAAAAxU/rohi4lFrgDM/s320/DSC01262.JPG" border="0" /></a> Gabriella in front of the sign for the slave cemetery. The slave section is back in a corner and is full of trees. There are very few markers. Many slaves were buried without headstones to mark the grave. Some just have a rock to mark their burial place. We also saw a tiny little cross that someone made to mark the place they buried their little pet bird there at the base of a tree. That was sweet, and the kids really liked it.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhomZ2BNgI/AAAAAAAAAxc/N1jSqBxzbiY/s1600-h/DSC01264.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217535177290495490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhomZ2BNgI/AAAAAAAAAxc/N1jSqBxzbiY/s320/DSC01264.JPG" border="0" /></a> Found the letterbox!<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhomqRwYDI/AAAAAAAAAxk/Nc3ZwzlrAUs/s1600-h/DSC01266.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217535181701799986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhomqRwYDI/AAAAAAAAAxk/Nc3ZwzlrAUs/s320/DSC01266.JPG" border="0" /></a> Whoever did this one actually made a stamp with Sam Bass' picture on it. Definitely a great find and a really fun evening for us.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-92197284777402250142008-06-29T22:58:00.002-05:002008-06-29T23:13:55.008-05:00Tooth fairy Plan BOr maybe it's plan G by this point. (If you don't know what I'm talking about look <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/01/sometimes-tooth-fairy-forgets.html">here</a> and <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/03/toothfairy-is-incompetent.html">here</a> and <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/04/no-longer-bumbling-toothfairy-trainee.html">here</a>.) After forgetting <em>yet again </em>to exchange tooth for cash- Gabby again, but she announced right in front of Dario Jr. "Mom, the tooth fairy didn't give me any money!"- I have come up with another plan that may save me some face, although it will make me slightly more poor. But in this circumstance, since I've proved that I obviously cannot handle the heavy tooth fairy responsibilities at my house, I think it'll be beneficial for us both. <br /><br />So here's the plan. Next time one of my kids loses a tooth, I will offer to buy it from them rather than have them leave it for the tooth fairy. I'm going to offer $2 per tooth, whereas the tooth fairy only pays $1 in quarters. I'm going to tell them that instead of letting the tooth fairy take all those teeth, that I want to keep their little baby teeth because I just love them oh so much and want to keep them for memories sake, and am willing to pay a premium for that privilege. Because my kids are greedy little buggers, I'm thinking this may work. The only problem I potentially foresee is that they're going to want to look at the teeth every now and again, so I'm actually going to have to keep the nasty little things somewhere. <br /><br />But I think it's a good plan. What do you think?Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-91410873303970606192008-06-29T22:41:00.002-05:002008-06-29T22:58:32.317-05:00Boys like dress-up tooWell, I guess you already knew that my boys like to <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/06/big-sister-strikes-again.html">dress</a> <a href="http://http//sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/03/isnt-he-pretty.html">up</a>. But this time, they actually did it as boys! <br /><br /><div align="center">Here's the Power Ranger with the Peter Pan pirate sword....<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhWUTO1ZeI/AAAAAAAAAw0/4JebgqWg-5w/s1600-h/DSC01246.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217515075068585442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhWUTO1ZeI/AAAAAAAAAw0/4JebgqWg-5w/s400/DSC01246.JPG" border="0" /></a>And the ninja with the baseball bat. What? You didn't know ninja's used baseball bats as weapoons? Man, you need to brush up on your history.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhWU5I5ayI/AAAAAAAAAw8/7ea4vTC8kxs/s1600-h/DSC01247.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217515085244230434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhWU5I5ayI/AAAAAAAAAw8/7ea4vTC8kxs/s400/DSC01247.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-60933291856058963162008-06-29T22:24:00.002-05:002008-06-29T22:41:30.391-05:00A garbage pile of my very ownMan I've never been so excited about a rotting pile of stench before. Because this is my <em>very own </em>rotting pile of stench. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217511047113912610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhSp17msSI/AAAAAAAAAws/C_zh9Vpy5dI/s400/DSC01311.JPG" border="0" /> Actually though, it's not very stenchy. The directions I read say to layer the rotting fruitiness with lawn clippings and other outsidey stuff, and that will keep the stink to a minimum, but I haven't really noticed much odor anyway. And soon (hopefully), this rotting pile of muck will be a pile of black gold that I can put on my garden and flowerbeds. Because I can use all the help I can get for those two areas. Plus, I feel all green and environmentally friendly-like when I throw these things in the little compost bucket under my sink rather than in the garbage can to be trucked off to the local landfill.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhSo_g2guI/AAAAAAAAAwc/6VGslG2epDk/s1600-h/DSC01307.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217511032506188514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhSo_g2guI/AAAAAAAAAwc/6VGslG2epDk/s400/DSC01307.JPG" border="0" /></a> You're supposed to keep the pile moist, so when the bucket is full I just fill it up with water before I dump it out. It adds wetness to the pile and rinses out the bucket at the same time. Try it!<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhSpXcTvmI/AAAAAAAAAwk/Z1RYu2bk50I/s1600-h/DSC01309.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217511038929583714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhSpXcTvmI/AAAAAAAAAwk/Z1RYu2bk50I/s400/DSC01309.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-41744107406132619002008-06-29T22:19:00.000-05:002008-06-29T22:24:01.000-05:00Big sister strikes again<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhRvEKd5tI/AAAAAAAAAwU/YSkJG0XkJ9U/s1600-h/DSC01323.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217510037322065618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SGhRvEKd5tI/AAAAAAAAAwU/YSkJG0XkJ9U/s400/DSC01323.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-53619010938841849332008-06-19T21:18:00.002-05:002008-06-29T22:19:41.888-05:00Out of placeLast week I walked out onto our back deck and saw a little fuzzy bird with a long beak and long legs standing on glider. It looked like some sort of water bird that definitely did not belong in my backyard. I ran to grab the camera and he hopped down and ran away, but I was able to snap a couple of (not very good) pictures as he ran away.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SFsUHohcqYI/AAAAAAAAAv8/aAkPQSj9jug/s1600-h/DSC01242.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213783114980829570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SFsUHohcqYI/AAAAAAAAAv8/aAkPQSj9jug/s320/DSC01242.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SFsUH2e5KXI/AAAAAAAAAwE/YObLSNj0LlI/s1600-h/DSC01243.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213783118728210802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SFsUH2e5KXI/AAAAAAAAAwE/YObLSNj0LlI/s320/DSC01243.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SFsUIP_8plI/AAAAAAAAAwM/D3LVDk5tFH8/s1600-h/DSC01244.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213783125577737810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SFsUIP_8plI/AAAAAAAAAwM/D3LVDk5tFH8/s320/DSC01244.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The next day and for quite a few days after, he and another little one just like him lived in some Rose of Sharon trees we have in our back yard. We thought about calling wildlife control (is that a real agency? I might have made that up...), but then I though that if there were 2 little chicks that there parents must have made the nest somewhere nearby. So we enjoyed watching them for a few days, and then one day we woke up and they were gone. I sure hope they actually flew away as opposed to getting eaten by the neighbor dogs. <br /><br />Do any of you know what kind of birds these might be?<br /><div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-81549103279928269482008-06-19T21:10:00.002-05:002008-06-19T21:18:19.885-05:00For the love of torpedoes<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SFsSRPWID8I/AAAAAAAAAv0/J9yP69F96ZY/s1600-h/DSC01241.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213781080997892034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SFsSRPWID8I/AAAAAAAAAv0/J9yP69F96ZY/s400/DSC01241.JPG" border="0" /></a> These are <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Roman's</span> new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bestest</span> toys. They're little diving toys shaped like torpedoes, and oh how he loves them! The first day we bought them they went with us to the pool. Then they went with us in the shower. Then they went with him in his room to play Little People get blasted by torpedoes. I had to sneak and put them in the pool bag when he wasn't looking later that day as I found them scattered all over the house from their various adventures. But alas, I should have just left them on the floor, because today we took five to the pool, and came home with two. They were no where to be found in or around the pool anywhere, so I'm quite sure that some other little boy fell in love with them and took them home. <br /><div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-90959958003743068322008-06-19T21:00:00.002-05:002008-06-19T21:10:06.607-05:00Never a dull momentLittle Dario's imagination is running wild these days. He's always full of funny ideas, and I love to hear what he's thinking. A couple of quotes from dinner conversation tonight:<br /><br />After arranging M&M's on top of his vanilla ice cream- <blockquote>"All my M&M's are in there command stations."</blockquote><br />And then later, after doing some deep thinking apparently- <blockquote>"I wish I could shoot babies. Chubby ones. Then if a bad guy came I could<br />shoot babies at him! Really fat ones!" </blockquote>(While he's saying this he's got his arm stretched out like he can shoot babies from his wrist, like <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Spiderman</span> shoots web.)<br /><br />Where he gets this stuff, I do not know. I guess that's why I'm not a boy.Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-28932575350092849532008-06-08T21:35:00.005-05:002008-06-08T22:34:02.387-05:00Grandma Raquel's visitMy mother-in-law came to visit us last week and we had a wonderful time. She spent a lot of time doing special things with the kids and spent one on one time with each of them. In the evening after the kids went to bed we played cards and had time to talk. It was a really nice visit and we were sad to see her go.<br /><br /><br /><br />One day Raquel and the kids made cookie pizzas. She took them to the store to buy cookie dough, frosting, and toppings and then came home and baked the cookies and let the kids go to town decorating them however they liked.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybhpn4_cI/AAAAAAAAAuk/n-kNgdod2WY/s1600-h/DSC01133.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209709871371976130" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybhpn4_cI/AAAAAAAAAuk/n-kNgdod2WY/s320/DSC01133.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybiajpC4I/AAAAAAAAAus/0qacBjQBhf8/s1600-h/DSC01139.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209709884507491202" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybiajpC4I/AAAAAAAAAus/0qacBjQBhf8/s320/DSC01139.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybigg1ERI/AAAAAAAAAu0/_Ts_rJvvsYk/s1600-h/DSC01137.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209709886106308882" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybigg1ERI/AAAAAAAAAu0/_Ts_rJvvsYk/s320/DSC01137.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybjMJ1ArI/AAAAAAAAAu8/X4cUDncBzNI/s1600-h/DSC01167.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209709897820996274" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybjMJ1ArI/AAAAAAAAAu8/X4cUDncBzNI/s320/DSC01167.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />On another day while the Dario and Gabby were in school, Raquel, Roman, and I went to Zilker Park. We walked through the Botanical Gardens, rode the train through the park, let Roman play at the playground, and then Grandma bought snowcones and we relaxed and watched the pigeons before heading home again. I was wiped out from the heat. Apparently so was Roman because when everyone headed out to the pool later on, Roman puked in the pool 3 times. Good times.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybk37f49I/AAAAAAAAAvE/tB-8ccx2BcA/s1600-h/DSCN1965.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209709926751921106" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEybk37f49I/AAAAAAAAAvE/tB-8ccx2BcA/s320/DSCN1965.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEycz-FxN8I/AAAAAAAAAvM/HN22Cq5A0WI/s1600-h/DSCN1979.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209711285615278018" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEycz-FxN8I/AAAAAAAAAvM/HN22Cq5A0WI/s320/DSCN1979.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyc1BrjY7I/AAAAAAAAAvU/O1RswDWZDac/s1600-h/DSCN1989.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209711303758930866" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyc1BrjY7I/AAAAAAAAAvU/O1RswDWZDac/s320/DSCN1989.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyc1_OwoyI/AAAAAAAAAvc/PnKR_eOh7-c/s1600-h/DSCN1993.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209711320281162530" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyc1_OwoyI/AAAAAAAAAvc/PnKR_eOh7-c/s320/DSCN1993.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><p>Another day Raquel took the kids to the craft store to buy treasure boxes. They each picked out the box that they wanted (except Roman was more interested in this pirate ship), and brought them home and painted them. My camera batteries were dead when they were actually working on them so I don't have any pictures of the action, but this is what they look like now. Roman painted the ship all by himself. Gabby spent a lot of time on the details of her pink and purple box. Dario got a little treasure chest box, which I can't find right now to photograph, but it turned out really cute as well. Raquel had to leave at 4:30 am last Sunday to catch her flight in time, but she left a letter for each of the kids to find when they woke up in the morning. Those are the first treasures that went into their boxes, and will mean a lot to them for a long time I'm sure. Raquel, you are such a wonderful mother, mother-in-law, and grandma, and we're so blessed to have you in our lives!</p><p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyi3QdajUI/AAAAAAAAAvk/jqHUaX395ds/s1600-h/DSC01234.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209717939155668290" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyi3QdajUI/AAAAAAAAAvk/jqHUaX395ds/s320/DSC01234.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyi34uL17I/AAAAAAAAAvs/7Cq6ukwaAWw/s1600-h/DSC01235.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209717949963425714" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyi34uL17I/AAAAAAAAAvs/7Cq6ukwaAWw/s320/DSC01235.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></p>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-23092825400786881212008-06-08T21:14:00.002-05:002008-06-08T21:35:04.684-05:00MUST...READ...AT...ALL...TIMESHere's Dario on his inversion table. Reading. Reading here just as he reads everywhere else and at all times that he has a spare moment. Don't tell him I told you this, but he's been known to go into the bathroom and sit on the pot when he doesn't actually have any business to take care of there, just to get away and read without being bothered. <br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyTJBHPvAI/AAAAAAAAAuU/3AsfMwhOZ9g/s1600-h/DSC01125.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209700652087753730" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyTJBHPvAI/AAAAAAAAAuU/3AsfMwhOZ9g/s320/DSC01125.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyTKF7dJwI/AAAAAAAAAuc/hy03xk6h818/s1600-h/DSC01128.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209700670560347906" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SEyTKF7dJwI/AAAAAAAAAuc/hy03xk6h818/s320/DSC01128.JPG" border="0" /></a>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-76509657761239330312008-06-08T21:10:00.004-05:002008-06-08T21:13:44.571-05:00A typical conversationOverheard in the backseat of the truck as we were driving home from church today:<br /><br /><blockquote>Dario Jr: "Roman, I love you."<br />Roman: "I love you too."<br />Dario Jr: "Can I have a bite of your fruit loop necklace then?"<br />Roman: "<strong>NO!!</strong>"</blockquote>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-78384161550555302172008-06-08T20:59:00.005-05:002008-06-08T21:14:22.306-05:00Lofty goals<div align="center">Dario Jr: <blockquote><p>"Mom, when I grow up, I want to live in my car."</p><p></p></blockquote>Way to aim high son. Way to aim high. <p></p></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-54567812408192815232008-05-23T21:20:00.006-05:002008-05-23T23:04:59.050-05:00Freak target<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDePGvvc6TI/AAAAAAAAAts/w-C8eSiIXiA/s1600-h/DSC01119.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203785240507377970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDePGvvc6TI/AAAAAAAAAts/w-C8eSiIXiA/s400/DSC01119.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Why oh why are they so drawn to <em>me</em>?! Besides the <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/05/supermarket-woes_17.html">kid in the grocery store </a>the other day, who really was creepy by the way, (after reading my post I think I just sound mean, but it really was <em>weird</em> I tell ya!), there was another, even more freaky, lady in my class last night at the library.<br /><div><br /><div>So there I was in the <em>free! </em>Excel class last night, and the teacher started making small talk about how far technology has come and he talked about a company that can put a computer chip in you so your car and house doors will unlock as you come up to them. Then he mentioned how there's a company that has come up with the idea to computer chip your child so if they are ever lost or abducted you could find exactly where they were. Just offhandedly I said, "Hey, sign me up for that!" Man, I never would have said that if I knew the wrath that I would bring upon myself for that casual statement. So there's this tall skinny black lady in front of me who makes some comment that I didn't fully hear about "the mark of the beast". I giggled a little because I thought she was making a joke, but <em>no</em>. It turns out she was talking to me and when I giggled she spun around in her chair and goes, "You shouldn't be laughing! I'm serious! You better quit your laughing because what you don't know CAN hurt you!"</div><br /><div>Whoa. I was a little shocked and had to say, "What? I didn't even really hear what you said at first. What?"</div><br /><div>Then she says, still deathly serious, "That's the mark of the <strong>beast</strong>! You better go read Revelations before you go and do that to your kid! Do you go to church? Read Revelations! What you don't know <strong>can </strong>hurt you<strong>!"</strong></div><br /><div></div><div>And seriously internet, I wish you could just hear her whole freak out. I don't feel like I can get across with mere typing the tone in which she approached me. My only response was, "Yes, I go to church, but I really don't want to get into this discussion with you right now." Holy crap! I realize that lots of people are seriously focused on the "mark of the beast" and have different beliefs about what that actually is, but, again, HOLY CRAP! Are you seriously going to make a scene with me in this little library computer class because I made a flippant remark about keeping tabs on my kids?!</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203784557607577890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDeOe_vc6SI/AAAAAAAAAtk/Hu_KhFuhw1k/s400/crazy+black+lady+recreation.jpg" border="0" /> <div></div><div>She had it out for me after that. The guy I was sitting next to was telling me how he was tired and was going to head home and go straight to bed after class. I told him that I was probably going to do the same since my son had kept me up the night before because he was sick with strep throat. At the end of class she turned around again for another attack. "Did I hear you say that you had strep throat?!" "No," I said, "my <em>son</em> has strep throat." Then she goes, "Well! I sure wish you would have told me that to begin with! I have to go to work tomorrow and I <strong>don't</strong> need to be sick! Just cause it's your son doesn't mean you're not a carrier of it!" At that point I didn't even know what to say to her. I didn't want to start anything, because we've got part 2 of class together next week, so I just said "oh, I'm sorry about that," which I totally kicked myself afterward for giving any hint of an apology to her, but it's always easier to think later of what you should or should not have said. </div><div> </div><div>I'll go in prepared next week though. I'm actually hoping we sit in the same spots and that she tries to say something else to me. (And yes I know that's wrong. I shouldn't go looking for conflict.) Maybe I'll get over it by next week and decide to be nice. But maybe not. I really just want to say something very snarky back to her so she doesn't think she can just say anything she wants to me. I'm not one to be pushed around. </div><div> </div><div>On the upside, I did learn the basics of Excel, for free!, and I'm looking forward to class (the learning part) next week.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDd8Afvc6PI/AAAAAAAAAtM/5fOOYp8mPOw/s1600-h/DSC01119.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-5836081333186424432008-05-22T23:44:00.003-05:002008-05-23T00:15:30.594-05:00Meet SaraGabby and I have been volunteering at the <a href="http://www.wilcopets.org/">Williamson County Regional Animal Shelter</a>. I told Dario, and myself, that this would NOT lead to us having any more pets. I lied. The first day that Gabriella and I went to volunteer, Gabby came home crying because she wanted to adopt a little chihuahua named "Pocket". It was horrible, and I actually talked to Dario after we got home while Gabby was upstairs still crying, and we ended up deciding to adopt him. Well, it turns out that Pocket got adopted the very next day. But since then adopting another pet has been on my mind. It breaks my heart to see all those sweet dogs and cats who need homes and people to love them, and may end up being euthanized if that doesn't happen. The last few days I decided to adopt a pet who needed a home, and I ended up getting a dog not from the shelter, but from a lady who was darn close to having to put this dog into a shelter. This is Sara-<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203429935042848962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDZL9Pvc6MI/AAAAAAAAAs0/plG4C_E9iiU/s400/DSC01097.JPG" border="0" /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDZL9vvc6NI/AAAAAAAAAs8/FELo80byxr0/s1600-h/DSC01100.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203429943632783570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDZL9vvc6NI/AAAAAAAAAs8/FELo80byxr0/s400/DSC01100.JPG" border="0" /></a> She's not the prettiest dog, (notice the pronounced under bite in the 2nd picture!), but she's as sweet as can be. I adopted her from a lady who has way too many pets and wasn't able to take care of her properly. She used to live in the house but had been relegated outside as they acquired more and more pets. The lady said she shaved and bathed her before I picked her up, but I gave her a bath when I brought her home and the tub had a layer of dirt on it still. Also, the hair on the back of her legs where the lady didn't shave well was really matted down, and I had to go back and trim it all by hand. She was so good and just laid there and let me do it. She had fleas when I picked her up(you can see how her front leg is red from her constantly licking and biting and scratching there, and there's more patches and scabs on her body that you can't see). I got a pill at the vet's office that kills all the fleas in 30 minutes, and they were seriously just falling off of her. I picked some right out of her hair as they were dying. She's never been vaccinated and she's not spayed, so that's my first order of business. She has little hanging boobies like she's had puppies recently, but the lady I got her from swears that she hasn't. (I'm quite sure she's lying, but whatever.) In any case, she's in good hands now, and I hope she'll be healthy and happy with us.<br /><br /><strong>PS.</strong> If you are thinking of getting a pet, please consider adopting one from your local shelter or rescue group instead of buying one. There are so many animals there that are waiting for a family. <a href="http://www.petfinder.com/">Petfinder.com </a>is a great site that will show you animals that are available for adoption in your zip code, both in shelters and in rescue groups.<br /><br /><div></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1360360704905102751.post-39401222320119124842008-05-22T23:34:00.004-05:002008-05-22T23:44:05.195-05:00I think he's on steroids<div align="center"><br /><br /></div><div align="center">Can you believe these muscles?!?</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center">Sunday Dario Jr. pulled a big piece of candy out of his pocket that the bishop had given him. Turns out the bishop came to Primary that day and asked for a volunteer with lots of muscles. Well, of course Dario raised his hand, what with his <a href="http://sheyennelilly.blogspot.com/2008/03/muscle-man.html">bulging muscles </a>and all. He said lots of kids raised their hands, but the bishop picked him because he could just <em>see </em>that he had the biggest muscles. He's right. Those other kids have got nothing on him. Check him out-</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203427589990705314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDZJ0vvc6KI/AAAAAAAAAsk/6l0AbiQqstI/s400/DSC01087.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203427594285672626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DV_EnzI_ouQ/SDZJ0_vc6LI/AAAAAAAAAss/u7fp7Zfaelg/s400/DSC01088.JPG" border="0" /></div>Sheyennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08510100663132358313noreply@blogger.com1