tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68618383698168006072023-11-16T01:38:35.910-05:00Back to Square OneCelebrating the overlap of chaos and hilarity.Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.comBlogger231125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-17614422593350106662013-10-07T15:52:00.003-04:002013-10-07T15:56:38.721-04:00Golden momentsEvery once in a while, my husband and I forget the endless possibilities of how things can go horribly wrong, and we decide we’re going to plan a Cameron Family Fun Day, much in the same spirit as Clark Griswold packed up the family truckster and traveled across the country in <em>Vacation</em>.<br />
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This past Saturday was a Cameron Family Fun Day. <br />
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We had loosely planned our annual trip to Knollbrook Farm, about an hour away from our home. The place is great, with not only a you-pick pumpkin patch, but pumpkin gourd catapults, cows, goats, a huge slide, corn maze, hayrides, mums, decorations, games… if it has to do with fall fun, they have it. It wasn’t until we were leaving Bobby’s flag football game that Jeff announced we were heading up there right that minute. The rest of the kids were a little unprepared for a road trip, but everyone settled down and stopped grumbling in a short amount of time. I took issue with the fact that there was grumbling in the first place, because seriously… the boys get to hang out with friends pretty much whenever they want, and don’t usually miss out on anything unless one, or both,… or all three are grounded. I tried to explain that I didn’t think spending a few hours with family would be the end of the world as they knew it. They argued to the contrary. Whatever. To pass the time I offered a round of The Alphabet Game, and Sam was the only taker. We made our way through small town after small town calling out words and advancing through the alphabet.<br />
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About 30 seconds after we arrived at Knollbrook, we were reminded that they took neither credit/debit cards, nor checks. We had admission covered, but Jeff and Tyler drove to the nearest ATM, about five minutes away, for funds to actually purchase all our pumpkin goods. During that time, the kids and I checked out some of the games – until the rain began. Luckily there’s a covered shelter, so we hung out in there and watched a torrential downpour pelt all the other poor families who had to run in from the pumpkin field. When Jeff and Tyler returned, the super nice family who owns Knollbrook offered either a full refund of our admission, or the option to head into town, eat lunch and come back when the rain stopped. We chose the latter. In an amazing turn of luck, the kids actually sat through lunch without as much as a crossed eye or partial disagreement. It was so much fun and restored my faith in the humanity of our family. We actually *could* function normally in public! No fighting! No yelling! It was downright harmonious, and there was [dare I say it?] laughter.<br />
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We returned to Knollbrook and proceeded to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. We trudged through the muddy pumpkin field and everyone chose their favorite pumpkin. We returned home around 7pm, weary, muddy and a little sweaty… but our mission was accomplished. <br />
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I know the boys – at 14, 14 and 11 – don’t always see the value of spending “family time” together, but I hope by <strike>force-feeding</strike> continuing our annual family outings, a true desire and appreciation for their family will grow in their hearts. I think that Tyler (21) and Kate (19) have officially reached the age at which they understand the importance of family and are willing to put up with the others’ shenanigans for the cause. We are far from a perfect family – there are spats, arguing and punishments doled out daily, if not on the hour. But despite our knack for spinning out of control, we somehow manage to pull ourselves together on occasion and make it work. It’s those “make it work” times that shine like gold in my memory bank.<br />
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In other news, I am looking forward to Week 4 of the Living & Active Challenge. Last week was a bit shaky, but I have renewed my resolve – and optimism – that I can get back on track. I shared my optimism with Buddy-dog this morning on a quick run. He seemed on board too, but that was probably just because it’s also his chance to get out early and poop. Whatever works. His unconditional love and happy tail-wagging is incentive enough to get out of bed at 5:20a on a chilly autumn morning.<br />
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<br />Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-64275933602746877802013-09-23T14:41:00.000-04:002013-09-23T14:41:05.183-04:00Student of LifeRecently – now that the shine has worn off the new school year – the kids grumbled one morning, <em>“You're so lucky you don't have to go to school anymore.”</em> Ha. I initially reminded them that I long ago traded school days for full-time work days; but lately I’ve realized that every day I’m still learning. Only now? It’s more a case of being a “student of life,” rather than middle school, or high school, or even college. My ability to learn and apply said knowledge is tested each and every day, not on paper, but in application. For example…<br />
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(A) I learned that the school will send a note home when a child decides for himself to not wear his winter coat in January (despite my thoughts otherwise), because he thinks it’s “too bulky.”<br />
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(B) I took this knowledge and proceeded to harp, nag and threaten to ground said child if he goes to school without his coat again.<br />
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A+B= (C) Child wore coat for the remainder of winter, stayed warm at recess and I didn’t fear CPS would show up at our front door. <em>Live and learn, people. Live. And. Learn</em>.<br />
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The phrase “You learn something new every day,” is really more a form of reality to me. Another example… yesterday I took on the task of reorganizing/purging/cleaning our garage, which is really more of a place where all the excess in our lives goes to die. It’s also the favored place for our house to seemingly vomit on itself, leaving random items strewn everywhere. Here are the things I learned in just a short hour-and-a-half:<br />
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• The elusive little field mouse that took up residence last winter/spring was able to carry a staggering amount of wild bird seed to almost each and every storage shelf. <br />
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• Same field mouse designated the area underneath a Little Tykes wagon as his toilet, as well as a lunchbag-sized insulated cooler. Also? My North Face winter boots. Grrr.<br />
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• I am almost certain that I will now likely contract hantavirus from contact with mouse turds.<br />
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• My dear husband is henceforth banned from buying motor oil unless he first uses the generous supply he’s amassed by forgetting he already bought enough motor oil for a dozen oil changes.<br />
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• The same goes for weed killer.<br />
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• Sawdust from the table saw will fly into the air and gently settle everywhere. <em>Everywhere</em>.<br />
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OK. So these aren’t things that will put me in the same league of intellect as Einstein, but they were things I learned – some, much to my dismay. (Ahem,… bird seed, sawdust, mouse turds in my boots.) The point is, there is always something to discover and learn every day. And when you do stumble upon these little nuggets of information, you react and adjust your sails to either fix a problem or take it in stride and carry on.<br />
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Similarly, as I enter week #2 in the Living & Active challenge, I am faced with learning new things about myself and the capacity that I have for increasing my wellness and spirituality. I am learning that some weeks, it’s going to be a genuine challenge to carve out four, 25-minute (minimum) workouts. My usual workouts come in at about an hour, start-to-finish; or about 30-35 minutes if it’s an early morning and Jeff needs to leave for work. Still… the days when he’s at the station for 24 hours and I’m Alpha Parent, I’m lucky to find 25 seconds to use the bathroom in peace, let alone 25 minutes to throw down a workout.<br />
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But I’m learning…<br />
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Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-78434953933769600222013-09-16T12:38:00.000-04:002013-09-16T13:55:03.758-04:00Up for the Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Last week while perusing Facebook posts, I spied this posted by a friend from high school: "<em>Living and Active 5-week challenge</em>" -- it sounded interesting. And an icon with running shoes AND a book? That really caught my attention. I mean, really... running and reading are <em>my things</em>. So I clicked on the link and investigated. Let me say first, that lately I've been feeling... depleted. I seemed to have misplaced my mojo for running, and I've been feeling sort of hollow in my spirituality too. So, when I read more about the Living and Active Challenge, I discovered that the basis is tied to both physical and spiritual activity (yeah, that "book" in the icon is THE book, a Bible). I immediately perked up a bit, and it was as if the Lord himself reached down, poked me in the head with his Holy finger and whispered, "<em>Hey... this is for you.</em>"</div>
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And so, I am starting this challenge today. I've signed up for the emails, downloaded/printed my first "Soul Food" verse and I'll be heading to the gym shortly for a little one-on-one with the treadmill. </div>
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Before I do, though, I thought I would share the importance of what I consider to be the "divine intervention" that led me to a path that can only serve to improve my physical and spiritual health. Granted, thumbing through a Facebook news feed can hardly be considered "from God," but hear me out. I know I was meant to see that post. The same way, several years ago, while running a half-marathon I was all but smacked in the face with a divine message. I was in the "why-did-I-ever-sign-up-for-this-punishment-again" phase, somewhere between mile 6-7. I glanced around and did a visual check-in with the other runners who had been keeping the same pace as I was. Yes, they were still there toughing it out, but my concentration and resolve started to get a little cloudy as I slogged along. Suddenly, two runners came up behind me, one passing on each side of me, and kept pace just ahead of me. I hadn't seen them before. And in longer races like a half, it isn't uncommon to quickly become familiar with those other runners who are keeping your speed. I have no idea where this couple came from, but I would have remembered seeing their matching, brilliant sky-blue shirts before. Then I read the wording on the back of their shirts:</div>
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<em>"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."</em></div>
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<em>Philippians 4:13</em></div>
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I nearly stopped running right there out of complete shock. Then I smiled. And I looked up at the overcast, gray sky and thanked Him for the reminder that I could, in fact, get through the next six miles. I know in the grand scheme of things that God has much bigger problems to attend to, but that was a reminder that no problem, big or small, escapes His notice. As much as someone praying for the health of a loved one or praying for peace through a difficult time, I got a visual nudge to have faith and carry on. </div>
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And those two runners ahead of me? At some point I lost them in the crowd. Never saw them again. </div>
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Verse for week #1 in the Living and Active Challenge"</div>
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"Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." Ecclesiastes 4:12</div>
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Gotta run. Literally.</div>
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Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-88299861031942097972013-09-09T10:56:00.002-04:002013-09-09T10:56:40.049-04:00Clarification...For anyone reading "Clearing the Cobwebs..." and you click on the link to thebloggess.com, please for the love of God scroll down past her frozen yogurt post.<br />
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While I love that one and always think the conversations between Jenny and Victor are hilarious, *that* particular post doesn't quite capture the deep, meaningful sentiment as the one further down the page titled, "I didn't eat anyone that I know of."<br />
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Thanks for reading! Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-34606611205192307912013-09-08T08:39:00.004-04:002013-09-08T08:39:54.909-04:00Clearing the cobwebsClearing the cobwebs indeed.<br />
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Sometimes the seemingly incessant demands of everyday life (parenting, working, housekeeping, etc) will suck the life right out of you and then you face this spiral of "oh-holy-hell-I'm-failing-at-everything-I'm-doing." And that's no good because who wants to feel like a failure? It's a shameful parenting moment when you <em>think</em> you're too busy to sit and watch an episode of "<em>Caillou</em>" when your 4-yr old invites you to do so.<br />
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In making my usual rounds and catching up on favorite blogs this morning, I ran head first into this:<br />
<a href="http://thebloggess.com/">http://thebloggess.com/</a><br />
Looks like I'm not the only one who suffers from feeling like I am sometimes drowning in my own life. Luckily, reading Jenny Lawson's spot-on affirmations (the part where she celebrated one achievement, but scratched out the "I'm failing" part) bolstered my spirits. And in a crazy twist of coincidence -- as the universe often provides -- I had the chance to visit with my two oldest and most dear friends yesterday. These wonderful women, -- Maria and Tammy -- and I met in 7th grade, a time when self-confidence and fear of rejection are very real every. single. day. We met. We bonded. We began what would grow into a life-long friendship. From day one, we accepted each other for who we were and celebrated every aspect of our lovable, nerdy selves. Today, we laugh over memories that span over 30 years and still celebrate our lovable, nerdy selves. Collectively, we have 11 children, spanning in ages from 3 to 21. Three are in college. One in high school. Three in middle school. Two in elementary school. Two in pre-school. That's a whole lotta kids and a whole lotta crazy, folks. We are each graciously blessed to have found and married our soul mates. We are good people, and we are happy -- but still may find ourselves wondering if we're not failing miserably at something at some point of a day, week, month. <em>It happens</em>.<br />
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There's a line in the movie <em>"Terms of Endearment"</em> where Patsy is visiting Emma in the hospital and tells her tearfully, "You're my touchstone, Emma." Maria and Tammy are my touchstones. Two of only a few people on the planet that I can be with and find myself instantly centered, connected with the most honest and true essence of who I am. They save me from drowning in my life. And for that? I owe them so much and love them dearly.<br />
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Today, I feel like I have cleared the cobwebs that have grown in the parts of my life that matter -- while I've been busy doing laundry, clearing clutter, working, shuttling kids here and there. And having that renewed sense of "<em>Hey! Pay attention</em>!" I feel like I can take Jenny Lawson's advice and go forward and not feel like I'm failing at things.<br />
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<li>I will work on the next chapter, instead of "finishing the book."</li>
<li>I will pick an smaller area to de-clutter, instead of the entire house.</li>
<li>I will go out and run a few miles, instead of worrying about the marathon.</li>
<li>And I will not eat anyone. <em>(You won't get this unless you clicked on the link above and read her blog post. You're welcome</em>.)</li>
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And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm taking my green tea and going to watch the umpteenth million episode of "<em>Caillou." </em>Because my 4-yr old asked me to watch with him. <br />
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Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-39943277443728329902013-07-17T15:46:00.001-04:002013-07-17T15:46:04.171-04:00Lacing up and going publicLately I’ve been really trying to commit myself to making wise decisions overall as it pertains to my health. I think I’m a little ahead of the curve on this, given the fact that our new insurance company awarded me with “elite” status as far as my physical health is concerned. (Pausing for a moment to mentally flex my muscles and make “Grrrrrr!” noises.) In reality, I think they just caught me in a lucky streak of running and we must not have had any ice cream in the house prior to my blood draw.<br />
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I’ve discovered that my middle-aged self is no longer a fan of sugar. Let me clarify – it isn’t the <em>eating</em> that I have developed a problem with, it’s the way sugar works on my body. I can't enjoy a nice dessert after dinner without knowing that I will wake up feeling like I had five margaritas rather than a slice of cheesecake. I have no idea why this happens, but it does. I can usually resist most sweets, but there are times when it’s oh-so-hard to say no. Case in point: Last night we had our umpteenth fire of the summer, which means s’mores. I relegated myself to being the marshmallow/chocolate/graham cracker distributor (because, let’s face it… you do not simply give an entire bag of marshmallows to the kids). It was difficult to see those puffy, white mallows being toasted over the dancing flames until they reached the perfect golden brown color, knowing I wouldn’t allow myself one. I knew my resolve was thinning when one burst into flames and I considered telling the owner I’d take it off their hands.<em> For free</em>. But I held my ground and resisted. I sipped my green tea and reminded myself that I’d feel great in the morning by not giving into the gooey, chocolatey, crunchy graham goodness of a s’more. I’d be lying, though, if I said I didn’t savor the chocolate smudges left on my fingers as I assembled the fixins for everyone else. Come on, people, I said I am <em>committed</em>, not downright stupid. <br />
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<br />In any event, this more focused attention is not without its (potential) reward. I have verbally committed to running a half-marathon in September (my 10th), and my first-ever marathon in early November. I went back to basics and downloaded a training plan devised by a runner whom I trusted to get me re-started in the hot mess of running back in 2005 after a nearly 20-year hiatus. With the exception of one missed long run, I have stuck to the training schedule for two weeks. I feel better and so much better overall when I make time to run. Granted there are days when it just isn’t going to happen, but most days I can get to the gym at work during lunchtime, then grab a salad from the cafeteria to eat back at my desk. <br />
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I decided to bring this area of my life to the blog for no better reason than simple accountability. I can rationalize my way out of working out like nobody’s business. I practically minored in Rationalization Theory in college, learning from the best: Shipley. <br />
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Shipley: Hey, what are you doing?<br />
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Me: I’ve got Spanish in half an hour.<br />
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Shipley: Wanna go to the Fashion Shoppe?<br />
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Me: I should really go to class.<br />
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Shipley: Come on….. it’ll be fun. And you’re getting an A in Spanish anyway. <br />
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Me: (divided pondering)<br />
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Shipley: It’s just one class….<br />
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Me: Mmm… OK.<br />
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OK. So I was probably an easy mark for her persuasion, but had I not been? I would never have had all the bonding experiences we have shared as best friends. And I would have never found myself being driven backward through a Rax restaurant drive-thru, with me looking pitifully up at the confused Rax employee holding our chocolate chip shakes, while Shipley cackled next to me in the driver’s seat. <em>Oh. Yes. She. Did.</em><br />
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My point? Rationalization will get you out of what you’re supposed to be doing, but it will move you no closer to your goal. (In my defense, I still kept that A in Spanish class.) I figure if I post my training on Back to Square One, it’ll make me accountable to do it without cutting any corners. No matter how tempting they might be. (I <u><em>am</em></u> getting back to basics… “square one” … you know.)<br />
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Thank goodness there isn’t a Fashion Shoppe in Fort Wayne. <br />
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Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-86491977693988549592013-07-06T12:14:00.000-04:002013-07-06T12:14:18.556-04:00You wouldn't believe how exciting the last several months have been...And neither would I. Because it simply isn't true. <br />
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Sure, I'd love to say that in the time since my last post that we've enjoyed successes and excitement beyond measure. However, while we've had some really great things happen, there have been plenty of days/weeks/months where our days have been swept into the usual whirlwind of our life. Plainy put,... I got busy. Sidetracked. Delayed. And, sadly, at times lazy.<br />
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In a nutshell,...<br />
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<li>Wonderful Husband's (a.k.a., Jeff) arm healed nicely, and returned to work after about four months on medical leave. Lesson learned: We are officially in "middle age" now, with the abundance of aches, pains, twinges and increased opportunity for injuries. <em>We're so not 20-something kids anymore</em>. </li>
<li>The college student and school-aged kids all finished their respective academic years with amazing grade reports and plenty of fun. With that came the reminder for me that we are truly blessed with these children, and their achievements continue to amaze us and make us crazy proud.</li>
<li>We kicked off our summer with a family road trip to Florida. Yes, two parents, five children and a friend comprised a two-vehicle caravan that made its way to sunny Florida. Our first stop was Orlando where we stayed at the Nickelodeon resort, and visited Downtown Disney and The Magic Kingdom the first two days. We were surprised and amazed that our 4 year old was not only tall enough to ride the bigger rides, but a totally willing and eager participant! One of my favorite moments was after getting off our second consecutive trip on Big Thunder Mountain, he burst into tears. I heard a woman behind me say something like, "<em>Oh, poor little guy... he must have been terrified on the ride</em>." I turned around laughing to let her know that his outburst was in disappointment and anger that the ride was over. Crazy kiddo. Midweek we traveled about two hours south to the Port St. Lucie area, staying at Jensen Beach on Hutchinson Island. This is rapidly becoming one of our favorite destinations, after staying there three years ago for Spring Break. The main reason for the trip was the Cameron Family Reunion at the end of our vacation week, which was a truly wonderful time. So great to visit with Jeff's family members, most of whom live far from us.</li>
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Back home now, our summer is clicking along nicely. We have had many evenings by the fire out back, hosting the kids and their friends as they enjoy the buffet of s'more fixins we always have on hand. Now that we're settled into summer, I find I can finally relax a little. And for me, relaxing never fails to conjure up all the "To Do" items I keep on my mental list: decluttering, laundry, organizing all the kids' keepsakes from the school year, laundry, helping with home improvement projects, laundry, ... oh, and writing. While I keep my freelance writing steady on the side (a true juggling act with a full-time job and boys with summer baseball league) the characters and story lines are still rolling around in my skull, just waiting to be put on paper. Or on screen at least. But when I think back to that lesson we learned from Jeff's ruptured bicep tendon and repair... <em>we're not getting any younger</em>. That said, if I want to achieve my goal of getting something published at some point, I'm going to have to work harder at time management and prioritizing. Naturally, the family comes first, so I will just have to grab those elusive idle moments and tip-tap-type my way into completion of at least one project. <br />
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And all the while, this blog needs attention too. If not for the entertainment of others, but to keep my sanity. Because, really people. Some days,... it's hanging on by a thread. <em>A. Single. Fraying. Thread</em>.<br />
If you're reading this right now, then THANK YOU. I hope you can feel the big cyber-hug I'm giving, because writing is one thing, but having readers is incredibly awesome. Hope you come back, if for any other reason than to delight in our family's antics as we <em>bridge the gap between chaos and hilarity</em>. <br />
Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-89302076204974782632013-02-20T12:30:00.000-05:002013-02-20T12:35:03.356-05:00The day in which I am caretaker, housekeeper and timid techno-geek; or how I cared for a post-op husband, youngest son and welcomed myself to Facebook for the second time.Well, I did it. I managed to successfully (?) create a Facebook page for Back to Square One, and [gasp!] actually post a new blog. Honestly, I am still reeling. Imagine, ME! Tackling a techno-project and coming out on top! Or at least ahead... <br />
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I think the best part of accomplishing this epic task after four years is that I chose to do it on a day when I've got a husband upstairs recuperating from surgery to reattach a tendon in his arm, and our youngest (just one week away from turning 4) as my sidekick. I am seriously feeling like a rock star right now. <br />
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There aren't many days when I feel like I've actually crossed the finish line -- in my head, there are lists upon lists with too many "want to do" items than workable hours in the day. And, yes, I realize this pressure is self-imposed and put squarely on my own shoulders. This is all part of the charm of being me. I aspire to do much, and usually end up frustrated when I can't do it all. Same old story for so many moms. It's that cycle that causes periodic moments of feeling overwhelmed... when there are three different places I need to be at once. Or a guest room with no room for guests because of all the mayhem created by thinking it's a storage room. Or three sons (two teens, one tween) who realize at 6:30am that they are out of underwear. I simply need to stop and reel myself back in. Back to square one. Back to simplifying things and taking everything one step at a time. <br />
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So, today, as I revel in my "rock star" status for the moment (because, seriously, we all know I'll do something to cancel it out yet today) I will go forth and make lunch for my patient and my sidekick. And transfer the laundry. (Yes, I found clean underwear for the boys before they left for school.) And continue with the project I brought home from work until the kids get home from school and dinner is served and homework is checked and kids head to bed... Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-29620332604563657412012-12-04T13:46:00.001-05:002012-12-04T13:46:48.501-05:00The Thanksgiving TableAs in years past, Jeff and I hosted Thanksgiving dinner at our house. This year his parents provided the turkey, while Jeff took care of a roast; the sides -- oh, Dear Lord the sides! -- sweet potatoes, mashed rutabaga (which was a first for me and I discovered I love it!), two different stuffings, corn casserole and Jeff's famous variation on green bean casserole. The side dishes were overshadowed by a ridiculous display of desserts: pecan pie, (2) pumpkin pies, cherry pie and an OHMYGODTHISISPHENOMENAL dark chocolate/raspberry cheesecake made by Jeff's mom. Holy hell, yes... we had a lot of food. <br />
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However, while the spread was clearly of gluttonous proportions, for me, the highlight of our dinner table was the result of my half-assed attempt at channeling Martha Stewart: the Thanksgiving Table Votives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFLan43HUtM8ZY4Y1EDn8z4xz20mIMXOLsa8LP7wFufjmHEYKP3Djnz3p-Pb8VvB1VF-1J2g4fCX6qtPlKPAoznUHYrJeEbc1buEVJBd5JEVA3medf2AosW3wgF0Lk3inrIhY3R1AsTHu/s1600/thanksgiving+votives.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFLan43HUtM8ZY4Y1EDn8z4xz20mIMXOLsa8LP7wFufjmHEYKP3Djnz3p-Pb8VvB1VF-1J2g4fCX6qtPlKPAoznUHYrJeEbc1buEVJBd5JEVA3medf2AosW3wgF0Lk3inrIhY3R1AsTHu/s320/thanksgiving+votives.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
What you're seeing here are square, heavy glass votive holders (which were purchased for $1 apiece from Dollar Tree for Kate's graduation open house). I love these because they are simple, stocky and solid; perfect for use any time of year. I don't remember where or how I got this idea stuck in my head, but I wanted to wrap these votive holders with black & white photos of each person in our family who was attending dinner. It ended up being relatively simple to size the photos, and I just placed them four-wide on the layout (landscape view). Even with our black ink cartridge just about dry, the images still came out pretty well. Even though I ultimately ended up cutting the photos individually and using double-stick tape to adhere them to the holders, I was pleasantly surprised with the end result. Here's a closer look at two of them:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvtTDR5vJRUjvLfPy7aOj-PVGagutQgRjM-zbqCJnn0wGlhuBi17s0jo7-s8Cyv_wwTun5hmLp8EhQak3KjGUxPqMCmXq6nR_kN1oFaMNDiDIrJXygdk7My0OYMX7xrmX7luP_LJU1DCE/s1600/mom-jack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvtTDR5vJRUjvLfPy7aOj-PVGagutQgRjM-zbqCJnn0wGlhuBi17s0jo7-s8Cyv_wwTun5hmLp8EhQak3KjGUxPqMCmXq6nR_kN1oFaMNDiDIrJXygdk7My0OYMX7xrmX7luP_LJU1DCE/s320/mom-jack.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Yes, there was a slight curling of the edges -- which I had to really try not to let bother my slightly-OCD self -- but if I do it again, I'll remedy that before it becomes too obvious. I used simple tea lights in the holders, because as I mentioned, I like to use these holders as much as possible I really don't want to mess with digging out the wax and cleaning them up. (I know, someone will undoubtedly tell me to place them in the freezer and the wax will pop right out, but tea lights are so much easier.)<br />
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I'm thinking next time (maybe Christmas...?) it's going to be baby photos. :)<br />
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Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-89563070292319185152012-11-05T15:28:00.000-05:002012-11-05T15:28:04.727-05:00For those days when I feel like I'm the worst mother ever...The following is copied verbatim from something Sam wrote for school in 4th grade. I found it in his backpack when we got them out for school this fall... because, you know, they brought them home on the last day of school and didn't touch them again for three months.<br />
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<em>My mom is really nice she has one brother, and she is very social. she is 43 years old and loves playing with me and my brothers. she loves navy blue because it is her favorite collage color Butler bulldogs. she could write a news paper on the teams mascot blue two blue one died but the mascot is a bulldog. She loves the basketball team, she also knits she knit a scarf in one day. she yells when my brothers and I are messing with each other. She likes vacations and driving, she dosen't like the long road trips like me until we get to the place, then we have to drive back to our home. My mom can be nice and when things get out of hand she thinks her head will blow up. I think my mom is awesome!</em><br />
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For those of you who know me well, you know how difficult it was for me to type that paragraph as it was written... run-ons, missed capitalizations, mild errors and all. But it was written by Sam -- my hilariously quirky boy who doesn't often speak from the heart. For all I know, this was written hastily and off the cuff just to get an assignment done. But for what he thought to include, it speaks to <u>my</u> heart. I particularly love that he gets how frustrating it can be when I deal with the three of them getting "out of hand." Perhaps it's because I'm prone to dramatically holding my head, saying, "UUUGGGHHHHHHH! IF YOU THREE DON'T STOP, MY HEAD'S GOING TO EXPLODE!" But I think it's those six words that close out the paragraph that really clinch it. No matter what I do or what Sam equates with me (diehard Butler fan, knitter, writer, mom with an exploding head, etc.), no matter what... he thinks I'm awesome.<br />
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Thank you, Sam. I love you.<br />
Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-16420125854394212412012-09-27T15:12:00.003-04:002012-09-27T15:13:18.112-04:00It's more than just a blog name...it's my way of lifeLately, I’ve been all about simplifying and getting down to basics – back to “square one,” so to speak. A lot of this came from an ongoing feud I have with myself and the clutter-ish appearance of some areas of our home. I’ve been trying to pinpoint one area at a time and attack – pitching that which is unnecessary and creating an organizational system that will keep everyone happy. (Everyone = me.)<br />
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Swimming in that same thought-pond are my ideas for getting myself back to basics, which consist of making basic, healthy meals for my family and exercising. I’ve learned in my 40-something years that I’m one of those people who over-analyze things. And when I over-analyze things, I tend to make them much bigger and daunting than they really are. For example: creating more healthful meals has, on more than one occasion, sent me to the library to scour the stacks in search of nutrition guides and cook books. I flip through and make notes, jotting down which recipes are keepers and which ones my kids wouldn’t touch with a 10-ft. fork. I read and research, research and read. But nothing gets cooked. Well, DUH. Now, if I just use some basic common sense, I could easily navigate the grocery – with no notes – and manage to end up with a cart of very good, wholesome food, rather than just reading about it. Easy peasy.<br />
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Similarly, I go the same route with exercise. I resumed a running hobby sometime in early 2005, and within a few months I ran my very first road race – a 5K. Since then, I’ve run numerous 5Ks and some half-marathons. My goal at that time was to run a half-marathon (which I did); and a full marathon by the time I was 40. Then I got pregnant and put that whole “train for a marathon” thing on the back-burner, where it’s simmered since 2009. I have run a few half-marathons since having Bobby, but that full marathon was still simmering in the back of my mind. About a week ago, I found information on the Monumental Marathon in Indianapolis which is scheduled for the first weekend of November. While I’m by no means in shape to run this year, I just might be next year. My goal = first full marathon in November 2013. Since no one ever successfully trained for a marathon simply by thinking about it (or reading and researching, which I tend to do in this area of my life as well… even more so than the whole food thing) it’s time to take Nike’s advice and Just Do It. <br />
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Today I dutifully got up at 5:20am, and ran. I was joined by the boys which is truly amazing in that I’ve never known them to willingly roll out of bed at 5:30am for anything other than the promise of tearing into Christmas presents. It was just a quick run, and Sam was the only one who groused at all, because he felt that Charlie’s transformation into “Johnny Sprint” was uncalled for. (I have to agree, since we’re running at DARK O’CLOCK in the morning and I’d rather keep all my ducklings in sight.) We didn’t break any land-speed records, but kept a pretty good pace overall.<br />
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And at least I wasn’t still in bed. <br />
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Back to basics. Back to square one.<br />
<br />Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-20058426413914385502012-09-12T15:11:00.001-04:002012-09-12T15:11:34.782-04:00It's all good until the popcorn needs poppedI’ve always thought friends are important. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t (at age 43) still declare a friend from 7th grade and my college Little Sis as my BFFs. Friends are especially important when you feel like you’re going crazy from all the chaos and drama in your life and you just want to feel normal. I am blessed to have two good friends who balance out my crazy – Jenn and Lindy.<br />
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Just because of our schedules and kids (13 between the three of us) lunch plans are frequently rescheduled (today’s lunch took three tries? I think?) but when we all sit down, sans children, it gives us a chance to reconnect, catch up and laugh. Oh, do we ever laugh. Sometimes at the most inappropriate things, but that’s how we roll.<br />
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Today’s lunch was a lovely Panera offering of soups and sandwiches, which also included topics ranging from two kids hoping to make student council at school; the often-inappropriate things that pop out of teen boys’mouths; school field trips; family drama; teenagers and their nonchalant views on how the world really works; kids’ challenges and disappointments; antics from overly-dramatic children; catching up on what’s going on with mutual friends… the list goes on. <br />
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During our conversation, we realized how funny it is that we find ourselves laughing at things that might have most parents stunned speechless or paralyzed with shock. Are we bad moms? Most definitely not. Is that how we maintain our sanity? Most definitely so. We are smart, strong women, helping raise 13 children to be good, responsible young adults – the kind of children you eventually feel pretty good about letting loose on the world. Juggling work and family life can be tricky, and is almost always chaotic. But we do it. Every day. Every week. Every month, and so on. And we do this with in partnership with three pretty great husbands, too. <br />
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So, while this post is a shout-out to two wonderful friends laced with my thanks for a.) being my friends, and b.) making my crazy life feel normal… I probably have to explain the title of this post. It ties into the “two kids hoping to make student council at school,” reference. Apparently, at Jenn’s daughters’ school, the parents of kids who make it onto student council find themselves automatically scheduled to go to the school and pop popcorn. (Which I completely forgot to ask why, but that can be addressed at our next lunch.) It was a statement that made us laugh, because … seriously?! The school tells you when you have to come in and help? Oy vey. As if schedules and calendars aren’t already filled to the brim...I can’t even begin to imagine my own response if I received a note like that. <br />
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My response just might be classified as an “inappropriate thing that might pop out of teen boys’ mouths.”<br />
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Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-15386897826279791702012-08-31T16:28:00.000-04:002012-08-31T16:28:40.803-04:00Birthday boys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAf8dElrnf3ID-3uUb4RKvib1UHiT7VdCaLNFMLl66m1dJPKhybwrqzMX2VRwo5oZbkERHqMnNtGpVcHuuuoJKnAWnCWnabSIy6PW1hTc7G2_D-GtdbICk6vvQzeBPZV8E4lwBy1gzldwc/s1600/J&C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" fea="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAf8dElrnf3ID-3uUb4RKvib1UHiT7VdCaLNFMLl66m1dJPKhybwrqzMX2VRwo5oZbkERHqMnNtGpVcHuuuoJKnAWnCWnabSIy6PW1hTc7G2_D-GtdbICk6vvQzeBPZV8E4lwBy1gzldwc/s320/J&C.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Happy 13th Birthday, Jack and Charlie.<br />
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It's kind of weird that the last time I posted, I loaded up a carload of boys and drove to Indianapolis for an NFL event. That was at the end of January. Now, it's the end of August, and last night I loaded up a carload of boys and drove to Indianapolis for an NFL event. This time it was just three, rather than five boys -- Jack, Charlie and a friend. I took them to their first-ever NFL game, Colts vs Bengals. It was a good night, and cooperative weather allowed for the ceiling and window of Lucas Oil Stadium to be open. Very cool.<br />
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On our drive home, which began shortly before midnight, Jack and Charlie realized we'd see the official start of their birth DAY. We counted down the seconds, just like New Year's Eve, and when the clock hit 12:00am, the boys breathed a big sigh: official teenagers. I, on the other hand, teared up. My boys. My first babies. How can they possibly be 13 years old? I clearly remember the night they were born -- hearing Jack fill his little lungs with his first breath and proceed to scream like crazy. My first thought? <em>"I am not ready."</em><br />
I also clearly remember a nurse bringing Jack to me the next morning. He'd had his first bath, and was tightly wrapped in a blanket. His shock of jet-black hair slicked down in a comb-over. So cute. I also vividly recall spending the first couple of days worrying about Charlie. My little Charlie, at just 4-lbs., 5oz. He was having trouble regulating his temperature, so they kept him in an isolette in the nursery. When he was finally able to join us, I couldn't get him to eat. One night, after they took Jack to join his brother, I lost it. I broke down into silent sobs and begged God to help Charlie. Eventually, Charlie began eating, and quickly caught up to Jack (a "whopping" 5-lbs., 9 oz.). <br />
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Such little guys, now growing into smart, funny, handsome young men. <br />
Happy Birthday, Jack and Charlie. Enjoy being "official" teenagers now. Only please don't do all your growing up so quickly. It goes by much too fast as it is...<br />
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Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-76683953459476289762012-01-30T17:07:00.002-05:002012-01-30T17:12:07.129-05:00Missed kicks and scoring pointsThis past Sunday we embraced our state’s good fortune of hosting the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">XLVI</span> Superbowl. I loaded up the car and drove four boys (ages almost-10, 12, 12 and 13) to Indianapolis. This morning, a friend asked how I handled that trip. My one-word answer was simply, “<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shipley</span>,” which is my best friend from college and (genetics aside) sister. During the past 24 years, she has redefined the definition of “good friend” or “best friend.” She has been there for me when even those closest to me <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">weren</span>’t. She is, simply, the sister everyone would want and she is the best friend everyone deserves. (BTW, I stole that line from Oprah, who used it to describe her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">BFF</span> Gayle. It doesn't mean I mean it any less, having stolen it. I think it puts us in pretty good company!) Had it not been for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shipley</span>, I may have returned home with a few less children. (Oh, I kid…)<br /><br />The trip down there was touch & go at its start… I ended up leaving my huge travel mug of freshly brewed Starbucks IN. MY. KITCHEN. I realized this about 10 minutes into the trip. Let’s just say it was a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">loooooong</span> ride to the next <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Starbuck</span>’s.<br /><br />By the time we reached Indianapolis and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shipley</span>’s house for an early lunch, the boys were ready to be out of the car. This point was clearly illustrated when it was time to re-load the car and I see two of the boys involved in a chase – through <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shipley</span>’s muddy front yard. Neither were listening to me telling them to “STOP!”, so I had to physically stop the “chaser.” I reached for the sleeve of his sweatshirt as he went whizzing by and accidentally grabbed the hood instead. Totally <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">horsecollared</span> him and he dramatically collapsed on the driveway. Oh, of course they both swore it was all fun & games… but we all know that’s until he actually caught him. Then they all piled into the new car, tracking mud all over the carpet. I was pissed speechless, so <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shipley</span> took the lead and skillfully lectured them about how they’d ALL be helping clean the mud out of my car after I get home from work today. She had them agreeing to everything. Thank goodness. My only option was to yell until my head exploded. Which would have meant another mess to clean up.<br /><br />We made it to downtown without another incident, and proceeded to take in all the NFL awesomeness proudly on display. We even had ourselves a true “celebrity sighting” when Jimmy Fallon (dressed like a woman… which was a little weird) walked in front of us at Monument Circle. As we’re staring and (of course) taking photos, I hear from behind me, “CUT! Okay,… we got it!” So it appears there was a television taping situation going on. I’<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">ve</span> never watched Fallon’s show, but I’ll be watching starting tonight to find out a.) if we got into the crowd shot, and b.) what the hell he was doing dressed in drag.<br /><br />The NFL Experience was exactly that – an experience. Up until yesterday, I’<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">ve</span> only stood in hours-long lines at Disney World. However, we endured a two-hour wait to have each boy attempt a field goal kick. None made the 20-yd. attempt, but they gave it a great shot. We walked around a lot after that, and tried getting a player autograph. The administration made a last-minute location change, so we totally missed Pierre Garcon on the autograph stage. The kids all got a Cliff Notes lesson in price-gouging when they realized our round of hot dogs and bottled water for six of us cost damn near $60. It seems the boys all enjoyed our last stop after leaving the convention center: The Colts Store at Circle Center Mall. Player jerseys were marked down from $129.99 to $39.99 and we had a 15 percent off coupon. S-C-O-R-E!!! All four boys walked out with a jersey, and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shipley</span> grabbed a treat for both of us at the Godiva Chocolate store. That? Is a game-winner right there.<br /><br />We rolled back into our driveway just before 10pm (an exception on a school night) completely exhausted. It had been a good day – not without behavior reminders being tossed around like hot potatoes, but still a good day. Most days I spend more time than I care to admit wondering if I do enough for the kids. Most days I feel like a rabid <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sheltie</span>, snarling and snapping at the heels of my herd. I hate those days, but if just <em>one</em> kid would, for the love of God, listen when asked to do something and follow through, I would feel less inclined to nag. But it’s days like yesterday, even with my nagging… I think I may have scored a point in my sons’ books.Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-34765414527275482712011-12-02T16:13:00.003-05:002011-12-02T16:29:20.778-05:00Deck the halls...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFXeA6ZaGQGVC-qJ9YjwqAVfmRFCrPl842OB9xIOhacFc08i51BaSpt3sSGSD7soR_FhVOCY5LMAiurfmgVJmzjYTHai6RvincfkoF-tQ49_3qeyH41_zvhdhUm08jktsGzF2jw8vcbFJ/s1600/Bobby+decs+tree.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 148px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681643402786602674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFXeA6ZaGQGVC-qJ9YjwqAVfmRFCrPl842OB9xIOhacFc08i51BaSpt3sSGSD7soR_FhVOCY5LMAiurfmgVJmzjYTHai6RvincfkoF-tQ49_3qeyH41_zvhdhUm08jktsGzF2jw8vcbFJ/s200/Bobby+decs+tree.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh4wcVDPsd1hWIj1_FCJ3j8oDkz2eYoYHKbi2yX5C9tDiCTC2lksm9RwIij4QmWgD2uDwU1I2sDB9tGnV0_lmAzp7rIK5ZBTR-hHzOeR_6NvHetC2C7ZKPmPx4Y0qopKeYXo0zwI-KYQ9/s1600/Bobby+decs+tree.bmp"></a>This was taken last Sunday night when we officially started the Christmas decorating. This year Bobby is almost three years old, which puts him right on the cusp of "getting" the holiday. As soon as it was time to begin putting ornaments on the tree, he was ALL OVER IT. This is one of those photos that, to me, instantly warms the heart. I am sure it will be treasured by Jeff, Bobby and myself for many, many years.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Bobby's love affair with the tree -- specifically those shiny, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">irresistible</span> ornaments -- is ongoing. The first couple of days had him coming up to us, reporting, "I broke another ornament." Sure enough, one of the silver balls would be in slivers on the floor. So, why would we be foolish enough to even put them on the tree in the first place? Good question. You'll have to ask Jeff, though, since I stepped down as "Tree Decorating Coordinator" this year. I felt like for the past several years I've been standing there supervising the kids, making sure no one fell into the tree as they put up their own ornaments. It was so relaxing and fulfilling to sit and watch... even though I felt really lazy doing it. I probably saved myself from being an emotional wreck, since every year when we get the kids' handmade ornaments out, I have to look at each one, remembering the pride with which they crafted them. Shaky, crayon-scribbled signatures adorn the backs of the paper decorations. A few sequins always manage to dribble off some other creation. And the glitter... my god the glitter! Who knew one Kindergarten masterpiece could ever leave our floor looking like Friday night at Showgirl?! But they're all worth it. Every last glittery, sequined one.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>This weekend I'll be finishing up the last of the decorating (outdoor). Photos to follow.<br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div></div>Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-5133674260488794202011-12-01T21:53:00.003-05:002011-12-01T22:05:52.508-05:00Day One, Part IIIt all began with a baby in a stable.<br />No onesie.<br />No knit cap for His head.<br />No flowers for his mother.<br />No medical care.<br /><br />Nothing but a new life and those who had faith.<br /><br />The faithful believed.<br />The believers became travelers.<br />The travelers came to see the baby.<br /><br />But there was no grand reception.<br />No buffet.<br />No beverages.<br />No opulence and shimmer.<br /><br />Just silence.<br />Reverent silence.<br /><br />They stood in the stable,<br />On the dirt floor, among hay that was fed to the animals.<br /><br />Silent.<br />Staring.<br />Witnessing a precious new life, who<br />Would one day make the ultimate sacrifice for them.<br />Giving them precious eternal life.<br /><br />What image is in your mind's eye right now?<br />Think. Be there.<br /><br />Now, can you quickly imagine the mall or any retail store right now,<br />And not almost feel ashamed or embarassed?<br />The gaudy, overrun, irreverent spectacle.<br /><br />Go back to the stable.<br />Return to the silence.<br />Revel in it.<br />Stand in awe, in the glory of Our Saviour.<br />There in the cold, wrapped only in a thin blanket.<br />The baby.<br />Because it all started with Him.<br />A baby in a stable.Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-12084850158805492932011-12-01T14:58:00.004-05:002011-12-01T21:52:31.065-05:00Day One<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0lBBzE9HgCp_YwARrzabYHJf5_uCCLNVLSQDKQwqPvPl1ioYrBJfJ82pClHr3HRD7VGFyZyGUXUGV0brrn1sKIm-IYxGyr91IhRgk2S-7nbinFcfXZsl9aMAKgSFOnYJCb6ZP709ddUj/s1600/Christmas+manifesto+for+blog.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 153px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681251883348343346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0lBBzE9HgCp_YwARrzabYHJf5_uCCLNVLSQDKQwqPvPl1ioYrBJfJ82pClHr3HRD7VGFyZyGUXUGV0brrn1sKIm-IYxGyr91IhRgk2S-7nbinFcfXZsl9aMAKgSFOnYJCb6ZP709ddUj/s200/Christmas+manifesto+for+blog.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>December 01, 2011</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I received an email from <a href="http://www.glassaddictions.com/">Jenny</a> with a forwarded message from a blogger (who, as I just learned is a scrapbooker/writer/photographer... so it's like looking at what I want to be when I grow up) with this interesting concept to Journal the Holiday. She prompted this project with a Christmas Manifesto (at left). I'm not usually one to immediately "bandwagon" myself to someone else's manifesto of beliefs -- but this one spoke to me. I haven't had time to fully investigate and digest all the surrounding details, but the idea is to create a daily reflection of the holiday season through words, photos or crafts. I love all three with a passion, so that part should be easy. The hardest part will be finding enough time to do it. But where there's a will, there's a way. And this IS the season of miracles, yes? Hope anyone reading will enjoy the ride with me. This should be fun. :)</div><br /><br /><div></div>Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-62931605161133227772011-11-28T14:46:00.000-05:002011-11-28T14:50:37.746-05:00I just finished eating what will officially be my FINAL meal of Thanksgiving leftovers. It’s been a steady stream of turkey, stuffing, corn casserole and sweet potatoes – in varying amounts/combinations – since last Thursday. We did break for pizza last night, but that was out of sheer desperation. (Long story.) I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ve</span> eaten enough of said Thanksgiving foods that I am teetering on the verge of being disgusted by them. I’ll only need a short break, then I’ll be able to resume enjoying those sweet and savory dishes just in time for Christmas dinner… when the turkey will likely be replaced by ham, but the sides will be pretty much the same.<br /><br />That said, I have officially switched gears and have my sights set on Christmas. Every year, I hope beyond hope that we will somehow manage to give our family a nice Christmas, while weaving in a meaningful thread of charity/humility/spirituality. (Take your pick.) There has been such buzz lately about “going local” that, once I really thought about it, it made complete and total sense to me. If I was a small business owner, I would be doing everything I could to compete with everyone likes to call, “big box stores.” I get it. They have Corporate America on their sides; and who does the little guy have on his side? Exactly. So, I kind of had it in my mind to start thinking of ways to support local businesses and integrate those items into my gift list.<br /><br />Then, this past weekend, a very well-known “big box store” royally screwed us over. Let’s just call the store, “<em>Greatest Purchase</em>.” (I know you’ll get it if you think about it for a minute.) Anyway, <em>Greatest Purchase</em>, offered a Black Friday online deal for a video game system that Jeff wanted to buy for our family. Anyone who knows Jeff can attest that he will research a purchase thoroughly before making a move. (If “research thoroughly” means having no less than seven different browsing windows open on one computer at a time, each one with a different review of the same product.) So, once he found the deal he wanted, he purchased this video game system from <em>Greatest Purchase</em>, and opted to pick up the system in person at <em>Greatest Purchase’s</em> store in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Muncie</span>, IN. (The Fort Wayne stores were sold out already.) Yesterday, on the way home from Indianapolis, Jeff stopped at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Muncie</span> location, presented his receipt and paperwork, which clearly stated that the item <strong>WILL BE HELD</strong> well past the November 27 pick-up date, only to find that there was nothing for him to pick up. The store sold out of the game system before someone bothered to pick the item for online orders. Again, anyone who knows Jeff can attest to the fact that he not only took issue with the sales clerk, but the store manager as well. In the end, it was all for naught. They were happy to offer a different game system as a replacement, but would not offer the Black Friday price. Ugh. Corporate America strikes again.<br /><br />Last night, as Jeff detailed the situation at <em>Greatest Purchase</em> for me, including the conversation with the store manager who repeatedly claimed “<em>there’s nothing I can do</em>,” Jeff posed the question, <em>“Where has the concept of taking responsibility for actions gone?”</em> He’s right. I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ve</span> felt this way for a long time. I have seen more than my fair share of people who – for whatever reason – firmly believe they have no responsibility for their own actions, and repeatedly blame other people, their cars, the weather, cats, dogs, shrubbery, etc. You name it, and it’s the root of all the problems for these people. Personally, I cannot stand that character trait… or, I should say, character <em>flaw</em>. There have been a few times when one of the kids will start in with the whole “<em>it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">isn</span>’t my fault</em>” argument, and I immediately nip *that* in the bud. There will be no throwing of anyone or anything under the proverbial bus, in order to escape taking responsibility for something. “<em>Have character</em>,” I tell them. “<em>Take responsibility for yourself and your actions. Period</em>.”<br /><br />So, to recap… Buy local. Take responsibility.<br /><br />Not quite the warm and fuzzy holiday message, but it’s a start.Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-85568573664708838232011-10-31T15:24:00.002-04:002011-10-31T15:27:40.849-04:00I'm back. And with a response to an email scam artist.<p><span style="font-family:arial;">Actual email I just received:</span></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Dear Friend,<br /><strong><em>First of all, anyone I consider a friend would address me by my name.<br /></em></strong><br />How are you today? Hope all is well with you and your family?<br />I hope this mail meets you in a perfect condition.<br /><strong><em>Why thank you. How sweet.<br /></em></strong><br />You may not understand why this mail came to you. But if you do not remember me, you might have received an email from me in the past regarding a multi-million-dollar<br />business proposal which we never concluded.<br /><strong><em>OK. There are days when I am so busy I forget to eat. However, even if I “might” have received an email in the past regarding a multi-million dollar business proposal, I would hope to holy hell that I’d remember something as colossal as that. Especially since yours would be my first multi-million dollar business proposal. Ever.<br /></em></strong><br />I am using this opportunity to inform you that this multi-million-dollar<br />business has been concluded with another person who financed it to a logical<br />conclusion but i know that people has been using my identification to<br />contact you as a fraud act so i want you to decease from contacting them<br />because I know they just making earns out of you.<br /><strong><em>OMG. Where do I even begin? I am not quite sure how one finances a deal to a “logical conclusion.” Let’s focus on the use of singular vs plural verb tense; “…people has…” makes me cringe. And the fact that you want me to “decease” from contacting people? Well, that scares me a little. Lastly, I have no idea what “earns” are, and why are people making them out of me? Is that like making wigs out of human hair? Or, worse yet, like the guy on “Silence of the Lambs” who made the suit out of human skin?! Kind of makes me wonder about the use of “decease” in the prior sentence…<br /></em></strong><br />I thank you for your great effort to our unfinished transfer of fund into your account due to one<br />reason or the other best known to you.<br /><strong><em>Huh?!<br /></em></strong><br />But I want to inform you that I have successfully transferred the fund out of the security company to my new partner's account in London that was capable of assisting me in this great<br />venture. Due to your effort, sincerity, courage and trustworthiness you showed during<br />the course of the transaction<br /><strong><em>Wait. Didn’t you say earlier that our deal never concluded?<br /></em></strong><br />I want to compensate you and show my gratitude to you with the sum of $950,000.00. I have left an international certified bank draft for you worth about $950,000.00 cashable anywhere in the world. My dear friend I will like you to contact Barr. Eglin Williams for the<br />collection of this international certified bank draft have authorized to<br />release the international certified bank draft to you as soon as you contact<br />him regarding this issue because as soon as you contact them the package<br />will be forwarded to the delivery company.<br /><strong><em>Ugh. Again with the grammar. You’re killin’ me. Oops! We’re back to the “deceased” thing again.<br /></em></strong><br />At the moment, I'm very busy here because of the investment projects which myself and my new partner are having at hand.<br /><strong><em>Please let one of the investments be an ESL class.<br /></em></strong><br />Please I will like you to accept comply with Mr. George Williams so that he will send the draft to you without any delay.<br />CONTACT: Barr. Eglin Williams<br />ADDRESS: 102 Daytona ave. Holly Hull, City 32 Abuja.<br />EMAIL: eglinwilliams2011@globomail.com<br />TEL: +234 81 53 671 539<br />Therefore, you should send him your full Name and telephone number/your<br />address where you want him to send the draft to you I want you to give him a<br />call as well for verification.<br /><strong><em>I am really resisting the urge to send a card to this address, thanking them for my $950,000 windfall… just because. And I think it’s supposed to be “globalmail” not “globomail.”<br /></em></strong><br />Thanks and God bless you and your family. I am very busy now i may not reply<br />to any email for sometime.<br /><br />Best Regards<br />Mr. David Moore.<br /><strong><em>Well, Mr. Moore, I truly appreciate you wishing God’s blessing on me and my family, but invoking a Holy blessing under the guise of an OBVIOUS Internet/email scam… well, Sir, that’ll buy you a first-class ticket to Hell for sure. Busy schedule or not.</em></strong> </span></p>Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-58036872341451513292011-08-08T20:56:00.002-04:002011-08-08T21:25:27.030-04:00Full CircleToday I registered our two (almost) 12-year <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">olds</span> for middle school.
<br />
<br /><em>Middle. School</em>.
<br />
<br />That's, like, practically <em>high school</em>.
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<br />I left the school and headed back to the office feeling very,... well... just weird. Navigating through registration was no big deal. Getting their bus schedule, gym clothes and yearbook photo taken didn't phase me in the least. It was after we got their books -- when we found their lockers and they began working the combination locks that it hit me.
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<br />I remember middle school. Clearly. Maybe not like it was yesterday, but at least within the last few weeks. Except we called it "junior high" way back then. I remember the day I stood at my first locker, spinning the numbers R-L-R and feeling like I'd won a Vegas jackpot when it actually opened. (I was worried that I wouldn't be able to open my locker, causing me to be perpetually late for classes and sent to the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">principal's</span> office just because I couldn't operate a combination lock.) It was really hot that day, and I distinctly remember not being able to wear shorts (oh, kids these days have it SO nice!) so I had on a pair of jeans and a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">kelly</span> green/white jersey shirt with my name on the back. (Yes, I am cringing at the very thought of this Fashion Don't, but in my defense, it was in style.) I remember glancing over at my locker neighbor -- a girl named Jill. She had honey-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">blonde</span> hair, blue-grey eyes and braces. I remember silently rolling my eyes behind my dorky glasses, pushing my drab brown hair off my sweaty forehead and wondering if any of the boys who will undoubtedly be flocking around <em>her</em> would talk to me out of pity.
<br />
<br />As I watched Charlie and Jack, I began to wonder how they will be perceived by their new classmates. Will they be liked? Will one of them do something really funny and win their affections? Will one of them inadvertently say something silly and make everyone wonder where in the world he came from? Will they fit in? Will any of the older kids try to screw with them? Almost exactly at that moment, Charlie interrupted my thoughts asking "What if someone tries to shove me in my locker?" Upon seeing him try to "see" if he'd even fit in there (they're really narrow lockers) I had that flash of protective mother instinct and worry. Yes! Yes! What if that happens? How will I protect him? How can I save him the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">embarrassment</span> of being picked on? I took a deep breath and reassured him that he couldn't possibly fit inside the locker (I hope) and nothing like that will happen (fingers crossed). I realized then and there that it's officially time to let go a little. I cannot possibly be there for them every day. And I'm sure they will be just fine -- dealing with the natural element of craziness called adolescence.
<br />
<br />I lived through it to tell about it. And so will they.
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<br />Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-33663284433191822482011-08-02T16:49:00.001-04:002011-08-02T16:51:29.513-04:00There was once a girl who grew up in a very conservative family. One might venture to say she lived a somewhat sheltered life, although to say she was naive would not be quite accurate. She went to college and met all sorts of interesting people. All these different people – from small towns, the East coast and beyond… those who drank and/or smoked pot, those who did not… athletes, scholars, musicians… bookworms and slack-asses, gays and straight – all of these different people and their personalities helped mold and form this girl into a different person than she used to be. She took in the influence of their personalities, habits and passions to make her own decisions, form her own opinions and create a newer version of herself. After four years, she liked the person she’d become. She was more comfortable in her own skin and genuinely enjoyed her own company if no one else was around. She listened to music that spoke to her. She watched indie movies, where the cast members were relatively unknown, yet the story was incredibly powerful. She was creative and wrote from her heart.<br /><br />And now she’s gone.<br /><br />Oh, she still comes around now and then… here and there. But she <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">isn</span>’t here like she used to be. By now, the 20-odd years that have passed have been filled with even more people and experiences that have molded and shaped her into yet another version of herself. The younger version of the girl could be best imagined as the rocky face of a cliff – with definite depth, areas that jut out and force themselves against a clear blue sky in an announcement, <em>“Look at this part of me!”</em> As the wind and rain, all the elements can weather and change the rocky surface, she has changed. By now she is perhaps not so brash or bold against a blue sky, but smoothed over. A surface that is still strong, yet softer in its silhouette.<br /><br />The girl – now a woman – now thinks more before speaking, has been made wiser through experience and never underestimates anyone anymore. She rarely trusts anyone unless they have proven that they can be trusted. She now has a much smaller “inner circle” of friends, where she used to take pride in the many she counted as close friends. Betrayal will make a person do that.<br /><br />Every now and then, the woman will catch a glimpse of the girl – sparked by a word, a lyric a melody – and she will want to bring parts of that life back. Not to take over and change her life; rather to create a more complete version of who she is now -- to get back to her “roots.” And when she does this, she can share it with those who are important in her life now, so she can once again say, <em>“Look at this part of me!”</em> and hope they appreciate and love that as much as she does.Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-62309286789212345262011-07-19T16:07:00.002-04:002011-07-19T16:18:49.340-04:00Hostage SituationOK. So I took the boys and Kate to pick up a few (SALE!) items for our upcoming vacation. The item of choice in the boys' department was athletic shorts. They each became strangely attached to a pair that they HAD. TO. HAVE. These kids aren't necessarily hurting for shorts, but considering I've started thinning the herd every time I do laundry (because I nix the wearing of stained/ripped clothing. Imagine!) it couldn't hurt to supplement by one more pair each. And, they were on sale. Winner-winner, chicken dinner.<br /><br />Throughout the remainder of our shopping adventure, the boys seemed to take turns <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ramping</span> up Bobby and getting him all riled to screeching level. In a good way, though. Still, heads were turning. When we arrived home and the boys were beside themselves to get into those COOL, NEW SHORTS, I said... <em>"No."</em><br /><br />They were appalled.<br /><br /><em>"What?!?! What do you mean we can't have them?!?!"</em><br /><br />I told them that their behavior in public had been obnoxious -- borderline atrocious. They would receive the shorts when their behavior changed for the better.<br /><br />That was Sunday. Today is Tuesday. They're still not wearing the shorts.<br /><br />Yesterday and today have provided damn-near a smorgasbord of obnoxious behavior. Granted, the weather is making people do crazy things -- because 95-100 degrees in 100 percent humidity <em>does that</em> to people. Still, there are three boys in my house who need to recall how to get... and keep... themselves under control. Period.<br /><br />I had a fleeting moment of self-doubt this afternoon, and asked <a href="http://www.futureblackmail.blogspot.com/">Lindy</a> if I had completely lost my mind, holding three pair of shorts hostage. Not only did she champion my cause, she even offered a few good points that will work nicely into my prepared speech the next time one of the boys asks, <em>"When do we get our shorts?"</em><br /><br />Does anyone else think I've lost it? Would you (or have you) held back something strange from the kids until they stepped up the behavior?Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-49847964810832859722011-07-14T14:51:00.004-04:002011-07-14T15:19:53.906-04:0010... 9... 8...<a href="http://www.futureblackmail.blogspot.com/">Lindy</a> just texted "<em>When do u leave for vacation again?"</em><br />As I responded with "<em>A week from this coming Sunday</em>," it hit me that Sunday is just three days away. Add the seven days, and with my spectacular math wizardry I realized we leave in 10 days.<br /><br />Ten days until we jam-pack two cars and drive 24 hours to Key Largo, Florida. It really is a blessing that we are able to swing this trip. Vacations are the last thing on our budget list. So when Jeff found a condo at an oceanside resort for way inexpensive AND the rates don't fluctuate with high-and low-season, well... he snapped up the last week of July, as well as the week prior to Christmas. The thing is, it will not only be Florida in July, but <em>extreme south</em> Florida in July. Damn near Cuba kind of south. If our trip to Florida two spring breaks ago is any indication, all but one kid in our van will be pleasantly pacified with hand-held games and/or iPod entertainment -- providing we have our small power source plugged in for recharging. Bobby is the exception to the rule since, at just 2, he has no use for PS3's or iPods. I am considering hauling out an old LeapPad for him to play with, just so he's got something. (NOTE: Any suggestions on keeping a 2-yr.old happy on a 20+ hour car trip would be welcome. I am desperate at the thought of having an angry boy who has had enough of being strapped into a car seat for hours on end. I will employ almost any idea you can throw at me, just short of hiring a clown to make him laugh and create balloon animals for the entire trip. Because, you know... clowns can be kinda creepy.)<br /><br />The two oldest kids will be driving the car, because unless we draw straws to see who gets strapped to the roof of the van, we are not all going to fit <em>inside</em> the van. I never in a MILLION YEARS expected to look longingly at 12-passenger vans, thinking "<em>My God we could use one of those</em>."<br /><br />Since we will be doing beachy kinds of things, I'm guessing everyone will pack lightly. Swimsuits, t-shirts and sunblock will be the staples of our existence that week, so I don't have to drive myself jackass batty doing a bunch of laundry for packing. I plan to dig out our snorkel equipment and beach paddle set, so that's just one trip up into the attic. I may get out of town with minimal stress yet. I expect the REAL stress will hit around mid-week, when one of the kids (God-help-that-child!) is all, "<em>I'm bored</em>." Because, remember? It's going to be hot. And while I don't enjoy hearing complaints in pleasant weather, I will not field boredom complaints in that kind of heat. Not. Happening. I will be all "<em>You know what? Counting grains of sand is a really awesome way to cure boredom</em>," and require a written total by sunset.<br /><br />Oh, I'm not really all that mean -- I'll let them round up to the nearest tenth.Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-1434084181734730052011-07-08T09:18:00.003-04:002011-07-08T11:37:48.004-04:00Ten Random Shots of Summer... So FarAround this time last summer, I chose 25 random photos and posted a glimpse of how we'd spent our time and fun things that happened. This year, however, since my camera now has not only a non-functional flash and a USB port that fell into the wrong hands (long story) I have been forced to document our summer on my Blackberry. Let's be clear about this: a Blackberry is awesome for making calls and keeping oneself organized. Taking photos? Not so much in the awesome category. But, hey... you make do with what you have. Here goes...<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1r8vJF6fCjEWj4Yz0_zkFvYtIdQqfxOfrlCCs0hIp94HlXlEqbYAKeQagbSghmcXmpIEYka1WAtnPQLeRaL_wRI6KWxV8H0acpH9uyuGG8Tcgl6dqd8LoO3XHBCV7ihWsFAJtbHIut8A/s1600/Sam-academicrecognition.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998490937138386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 146px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1r8vJF6fCjEWj4Yz0_zkFvYtIdQqfxOfrlCCs0hIp94HlXlEqbYAKeQagbSghmcXmpIEYka1WAtnPQLeRaL_wRI6KWxV8H0acpH9uyuGG8Tcgl6dqd8LoO3XHBCV7ihWsFAJtbHIut8A/s200/Sam-academicrecognition.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgCgH7fjsEZlExs8aI42bzWfYteehwtU5C61LlXyS4RuzuzHbD_8YnVt_-aS3_LMWNO4K0BR9hhZpkR5lq1zvCmIUrY8D66S2rjZWo6RRwk8zA3aR3q4HobqRye0UxsgH9sEpwwz5aibYs/s1600/JC-academicrecognition.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998484135300930" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgCgH7fjsEZlExs8aI42bzWfYteehwtU5C61LlXyS4RuzuzHbD_8YnVt_-aS3_LMWNO4K0BR9hhZpkR5lq1zvCmIUrY8D66S2rjZWo6RRwk8zA3aR3q4HobqRye0UxsgH9sEpwwz5aibYs/s200/JC-academicrecognition.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br />These two photos are from Jack, Charlie and Sam's Academic Achievement night. All three boys earned straight A's every grading period, thus landing them Principal's Honor Roll for the year. Sam is in the top photo, standing to the right of his good (and very tall) friend, Deonte. Jack and Charlie are smack-in-the-middle of their group in the bottom photo. They're the two who look like they are carrying on a casual conversation while, say, waiting for the bus. </div><br /><div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6Uz1Qhv8eWhdeZBC3YNIOEsDKaZkLIgs1TK8p8C7NBUrXwEkryuXIpwpCa-pfeP59pL8wdzPjoy8JDN8pLSlErRb_S33doTmi7E8sLEDREEFkciyAdj-RZwFo1idlA1Yrighp4hR0nLP/s1600/flying.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998127201601922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6Uz1Qhv8eWhdeZBC3YNIOEsDKaZkLIgs1TK8p8C7NBUrXwEkryuXIpwpCa-pfeP59pL8wdzPjoy8JDN8pLSlErRb_S33doTmi7E8sLEDREEFkciyAdj-RZwFo1idlA1Yrighp4hR0nLP/s200/flying.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In June, I had the opportunity to travel to my company's office in Greensboro, NC. I got to ride in the company jet. Very nice. After a day at the office in a variety of meetings, I checked in at my hotel and set out to explore the open-air mall across the street. I was delighted to find a nail salon that had walk-in appointments. So,... I walked in. And got a pedicure. It was blissful.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu81UIzXGDD23uL1bq_FRV8Rqs0SZycyWbTgSyDucf8yv64_RMLXTAsMiFkQf9GjLyydRBh7uw1f6pGhs6PuRBTCBbi7yhzE0xawSQPl1Pu_Unm3pGzb0Uvf22l0yYIVcK7SxuBtFOI0VO/s1600/pedi.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998512966757554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu81UIzXGDD23uL1bq_FRV8Rqs0SZycyWbTgSyDucf8yv64_RMLXTAsMiFkQf9GjLyydRBh7uw1f6pGhs6PuRBTCBbi7yhzE0xawSQPl1Pu_Unm3pGzb0Uvf22l0yYIVcK7SxuBtFOI0VO/s200/pedi.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div>Happy, happy feet. :)<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtgSZcol_WfIIb2lt2-15-sUzi_ox26eBhJyO3VEoSUTdhfzDvHUMX3lVLT_egSfpPgCqjeIDqYdb1B5KQU2sSE8vjRhKL_w_oxCiVlLxMHKHdzT6XXzW4h-1YdKI4QyxhrP1zI11RP1W/s1600/CB-ballgame.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998119206587714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtgSZcol_WfIIb2lt2-15-sUzi_ox26eBhJyO3VEoSUTdhfzDvHUMX3lVLT_egSfpPgCqjeIDqYdb1B5KQU2sSE8vjRhKL_w_oxCiVlLxMHKHdzT6XXzW4h-1YdKI4QyxhrP1zI11RP1W/s200/CB-ballgame.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div>Jack, Charlie and Sam started baseball in late April/early May, if memory serves. It is now July, and we're just starting the final tournaments. This is a long, long time to be heading to baseball games -- several times per week. Especially if you are 2 and don't particularly understand the game, other than "<em>swing, batterbatterbatter...SWING!" </em>and "<em>runrunrun...HOMERUN!"</em> It helps to have a big brothers who, when they aren't playing, will sit and play in the dirt with you.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZnR9Uhyh49IOvltmz1djnwQeYdsRSItH5nkfu3nQ4PZtBw8QOdpTl0gIm7Zc4PQzvNBfr2wr7vlIzzWVvBJmcS48nuTDiYYPi9sgIH5Q38DbtjfGeynLUV1_IAKyLfFNHJc8GL8Wb8R4/s1600/cat+storage.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998110051912226" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZnR9Uhyh49IOvltmz1djnwQeYdsRSItH5nkfu3nQ4PZtBw8QOdpTl0gIm7Zc4PQzvNBfr2wr7vlIzzWVvBJmcS48nuTDiYYPi9sgIH5Q38DbtjfGeynLUV1_IAKyLfFNHJc8GL8Wb8R4/s200/cat+storage.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div>I saw this somewhere on the Internet and it totally cracked me up. It was titled, "<em>Cat Storage</em>." How can you NOT laugh?!?!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvvo1afFx_q-JxegLSZDEVlSwsgbfPYOkrZoE1Eyeg343Fuf46fDQcKR3mq58e9P6Ul9tTMN5kwhbqoCLUNfiDblYiVK09Z4m3u6ucOs7IPFV0uk2rEz9uOWGWXNLDNCdAr9XlqMreIfy/s1600/MommyBobby6-14-11.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998510068288066" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvvo1afFx_q-JxegLSZDEVlSwsgbfPYOkrZoE1Eyeg343Fuf46fDQcKR3mq58e9P6Ul9tTMN5kwhbqoCLUNfiDblYiVK09Z4m3u6ucOs7IPFV0uk2rEz9uOWGWXNLDNCdAr9XlqMreIfy/s200/MommyBobby6-14-11.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />June 14, 2011. Jeff and I celebrated three years of wedded bliss and happiness. We shared our celebration with our "honeymoon baby." Seemed appropriate enough.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicL7SIZJYmADBGU7YQbyk5QmvJKTwSBQ2RHxHzHntmZiq_Kcyqc8pQmibq_fkdlmleiOjBB2Bgy8yxrbn9tMV2QaIxvtYM2KQuJie8SHRofopfrwe1-6Ta9I8OuoNDXHqfx8XQHCQKH0ji/s1600/BS-goat.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998106561080002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicL7SIZJYmADBGU7YQbyk5QmvJKTwSBQ2RHxHzHntmZiq_Kcyqc8pQmibq_fkdlmleiOjBB2Bgy8yxrbn9tMV2QaIxvtYM2KQuJie8SHRofopfrwe1-6Ta9I8OuoNDXHqfx8XQHCQKH0ji/s200/BS-goat.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div>Bobby and Sam brushing a goat at the zoo. You don't even want to know how much hand gel I made them use afterward.</div><br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhImkEGKYWyV0kwkq8o0-we6niA-HuGqT0oc_c-hnACv_e_CbuMnitEcO3xNDO3-PqLbZDmV_NmTytZjnW1erC4-fWe0mLLUXsVcdqaUzm8kA2Wo9r1FLN9yI0MFREZTZJgAAK7EDQyF4/s1600/jeffbobby+bike.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998497089100770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 120px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhImkEGKYWyV0kwkq8o0-we6niA-HuGqT0oc_c-hnACv_e_CbuMnitEcO3xNDO3-PqLbZDmV_NmTytZjnW1erC4-fWe0mLLUXsVcdqaUzm8kA2Wo9r1FLN9yI0MFREZTZJgAAK7EDQyF4/s200/jeffbobby+bike.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Jeff and Bobby on a bike ride. This was Bobby's first experience doing so, and you can totally tell by the expression on his face. This may very well be my new favorite picture of them.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvmgZXrWMoS8zjngtjkWgoUx3d2W1Msbwe86sRBCG5PE6PJzNBI6XqwHvUBEYw5gZHtqluE64xwWAa2IwZzaINJKHZtstotT-gX_8dExqvoNuwcNJm26thhSdrcUkpLl75p-lfBOxc-98/s1600/bee-knees.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626998096728783970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvmgZXrWMoS8zjngtjkWgoUx3d2W1Msbwe86sRBCG5PE6PJzNBI6XqwHvUBEYw5gZHtqluE64xwWAa2IwZzaINJKHZtstotT-gX_8dExqvoNuwcNJm26thhSdrcUkpLl75p-lfBOxc-98/s200/bee-knees.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Lastly, I took up knitting this year, and have settled into a niche of baby beanies. I love making them, and am tinkering with the idea of selling them online. In the meantime... if you need a baby gift, just let me know!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6861838369816800607.post-9959462359230890732011-07-05T22:53:00.002-04:002011-07-05T23:27:36.089-04:00Today...<br />Jeff left for his usual 24-hr. shift at 6:30am. I got up, got ready for work, woke Bobby and got him ready to go to daycare. Dropped him off and talked him out of a crying fit because he didn't want me to leave him. Wanted to cry as I left daycare because I <em>had</em> to leave him there. Went to work and tried to shift my focus to two hefty-sized projects that need to keep moving forward. Ran errands at lunchtime, dealing with a temperamental van that only offers air conditioning on a whim -- usually NOT when it's sunny and hell-hot outside... like today. Arrived back at my office (a sweaty mess) and ate lunch at my desk. Happened to catch CNN at 2:12pm, seeing that the Casey Anthony verdict would be read at 2:15pm. Sat stunned in my chair from 2:16pm until, roughly, 3pm. I have wanted to cry since the moment I heard the words "not guilty" spoken from the clerk of the court. And I'm not talking tears of joy, either. Left work, drove to daycare (in my "Chevy Oven") to fetch Bobby. Got home long enough to change clothes, re-pack his backpack and fill water bottles with ice water. Headed to Sam's baseball game where we sweated ourselves into silly puddles in the late afternoon heat. Watched as they lost a close one, simply because they ran out their 1 hr, 50 min time allotment. Packed Sam and Bobby into the (still) hot van and we ran a couple of errands, picked up a modest fast-food dinner and went to the station to visit Jeff. Wolfed down said food as I tried to help Jeff corral Bobby, who was in FULL OUT RUN mode everywhere he went. Piled back into the van and drove Sam to get picked up by his dad. (Jack and Charlie were at a baseball game tonight, otherwise they'd have played into the mix as well.) Made the final drive toward home. On the way -- at precisely 9:21pm -- Bobby completely lost his shit when he realized Jeff still had the two pieces of "I-made-this" (artwork)we brought from school (a.k.a., daycare) today. He wanted those two papers back. Immediately. I tried to tell him in between his screaming sobs that Daddy wanted to put his artwork in his locker so he could think about Bobby while he was away tonight. Ummm... no. This kid was having none of that. So, we rolled into our neighborhood with the windows pretty much up, but not all the way (because it's still HOT in there, remember?). I had to do something to keep the evening walkers/runners from hearing his hysterical screaming fit. We pulled into the driveway and I carried a still-sobbing Bobby into the house, directly upstairs and got him ready for bed. He managed to pull himself together for a brief phone call to Jeff, where we asked him to please bring the drawings home in the morning. Bobby was still doing the staggered-breathing thing that kids usually do following a knock-down, drag-out, holy hell's bells fit. We sat and looked through one book before I put him into bed, gave him a kiss goodnight and told him how much I loved him.<br /><br />Throughout my day... the entire crazy, busy, run-here, run-there, no time to sit down and relax day... especially with the tail end of said day punctuated by a 2-yr old's hysterical screaming fit over a paper plate on which he sponge-painted... NOT. ONCE. DID. CHLOROFORM. OR. DUCT. TAPE. ENTER. MY. FRAZZLED. MIND.<br /><br />And when I bent down to kiss Bobby goodnight, I paused -- wondering how anyone, especially a mother, could ever fathom the thought of willfully harming a child. I looked at him laying with his bear and still couldn't wrap my mind around how a mother could not know where her baby is for a month, as she goes out drinking, dancing and getting tattooed. I lose my mind when I don't know where my keys are, or an important piece of paper. I left Bobby's room tonight, listening to the sound of his breathing -- and said a small prayer for Caylee Anthony, wishing her mother could have seen or felt all I was feeling for my own child at that moment.Rebecca Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09031768351478418177noreply@blogger.com0