tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82054966843146740012024-02-07T14:14:26.204+01:00hausfrau4nowHousewifery on the Edge.Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-72505075521755873162011-06-12T08:17:00.000+02:002011-06-12T08:17:39.365+02:00Selbst Erdbeeren Pflücken!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2YHw6rd9XCYaIdY8nbhYIrd_cy34soK4o9kPyLcVKHioMV66xKm7Ja_m8ZIPDociLFI7KbM-kdWVvVTqohZyplT325koPON23pc1Enz-CX2tbSAPFq2wCkRuhkLvs3rdWn7x3YhedZI/s1600/IMG_4367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2YHw6rd9XCYaIdY8nbhYIrd_cy34soK4o9kPyLcVKHioMV66xKm7Ja_m8ZIPDociLFI7KbM-kdWVvVTqohZyplT325koPON23pc1Enz-CX2tbSAPFq2wCkRuhkLvs3rdWn7x3YhedZI/s400/IMG_4367.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div>Strawberry picking with friends...a lovely way to start a Saturday! The weather was perfect, not too hot, the sun was shining and the sky was blue.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2mlEu5A0kWN4D-Y18byGSvstVWhbBsCy000u_cmv70rmIxS4-TX9bKqgXHlIJREyJZDM7BusApzUA-_V57h29hZh76TQsu1j9RXxJf_6-wTRDcS5CbeVasGPQ7EahTsIWC6aWVkcWr0/s1600/IMG_4350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2mlEu5A0kWN4D-Y18byGSvstVWhbBsCy000u_cmv70rmIxS4-TX9bKqgXHlIJREyJZDM7BusApzUA-_V57h29hZh76TQsu1j9RXxJf_6-wTRDcS5CbeVasGPQ7EahTsIWC6aWVkcWr0/s400/IMG_4350.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We even saw some beautiful horses on the way in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzdqOhOhbFTF0r9dxyiY2MsL1Q5npn_3Ta65kmFNPLLwigiE4qww6NMIMKO93CDA3bAiTDYZiNIi4LZwXWEyc3hl_aOVEZeE-V0TTBm6w9SSnaiLxR8biygmTyPAzVQ20iZLq9241-1w/s1600/IMG_4351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzdqOhOhbFTF0r9dxyiY2MsL1Q5npn_3Ta65kmFNPLLwigiE4qww6NMIMKO93CDA3bAiTDYZiNIi4LZwXWEyc3hl_aOVEZeE-V0TTBm6w9SSnaiLxR8biygmTyPAzVQ20iZLq9241-1w/s400/IMG_4351.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSIYJBTt8POlW-GVdAGdB8LDkKHey-NMT-CtOJHU7OswrYBHMtiOsCJQ_we6lb-q9uB_mJ4xl2HLD7bf5AKJq1ztqwto3H8vxn4zaUVJbVLsP4GgtcPPiWJTwdZiTBP43yhjvvWGHgzH0/s1600/IMG_4356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSIYJBTt8POlW-GVdAGdB8LDkKHey-NMT-CtOJHU7OswrYBHMtiOsCJQ_we6lb-q9uB_mJ4xl2HLD7bf5AKJq1ztqwto3H8vxn4zaUVJbVLsP4GgtcPPiWJTwdZiTBP43yhjvvWGHgzH0/s400/IMG_4356.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDySBP04jvf3dh-Jvv1u37eIe_o8j43cBg3S0vjXh9hkYnd4ylkn22N6UN-VsUs4uJ8eQAVsehKAjPkmepheC-5Kp40-sEQ8ZzKOnNoZQam6-J3cuNYhzUnvGhNJs2Rve347u0d_ZPR0M/s1600/IMG_4358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDySBP04jvf3dh-Jvv1u37eIe_o8j43cBg3S0vjXh9hkYnd4ylkn22N6UN-VsUs4uJ8eQAVsehKAjPkmepheC-5Kp40-sEQ8ZzKOnNoZQam6-J3cuNYhzUnvGhNJs2Rve347u0d_ZPR0M/s400/IMG_4358.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div>First things first, bring your own basket, and have it weighed before you start picking your strawberries.<br />
It was really exciting to spot big, juicy, red berries hiding under the leaves of the plants.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHU1zCrOwea6wOkB0iJVPGKx9ubJTFzWRdkTBOgim_xV537R8ZhXT0mFgJsnGB8YJBEXomiDJqpJHuLJ5RsK7-KJmZ2HE-ZOAJSwizqb0GgwPBz-8oTmEmRGAPurnH506I8CK3ER4jTQo/s1600/IMG_4364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHU1zCrOwea6wOkB0iJVPGKx9ubJTFzWRdkTBOgim_xV537R8ZhXT0mFgJsnGB8YJBEXomiDJqpJHuLJ5RsK7-KJmZ2HE-ZOAJSwizqb0GgwPBz-8oTmEmRGAPurnH506I8CK3ER4jTQo/s400/IMG_4364.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxVCenUr06T6RRvzXZPSBp915qcCaD461lkzNZqoaa1MZTRqv_Ygaw4FsmUM-q7e_uVVo7p6DtHN-98tsXHdCBMfQTdSzm7ceLlx85JBF7Q_O_92wQbX0rIZQFuFSZd-fDKLEGiuv95E/s1600/IMG_4359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxVCenUr06T6RRvzXZPSBp915qcCaD461lkzNZqoaa1MZTRqv_Ygaw4FsmUM-q7e_uVVo7p6DtHN-98tsXHdCBMfQTdSzm7ceLlx85JBF7Q_O_92wQbX0rIZQFuFSZd-fDKLEGiuv95E/s400/IMG_4359.JPG" t8="true" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A few years back, I made the mistake of introducing A.M. to strawberries that were chocolate covered. So now, when I try to serve him strawberries, he always asks, "Where is the chocolate"? I was hopeful this experience in the erdbeeren patch would inspire him to eat the berries naked...um, yeah, not so successful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlXPPd80w4E1T3bXFAdbBDhYCms0aVxMzKIKF_zH407WEYngTlL4-h07nZxHxuUZzqTVojC7Ayp_Fs8Bw39CTbwlu1vJUNnKdapy3jH_yeM_3vrjfrTwSJnOGPwWgomZADruFzwpZO3Q/s1600/IMG_4385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlXPPd80w4E1T3bXFAdbBDhYCms0aVxMzKIKF_zH407WEYngTlL4-h07nZxHxuUZzqTVojC7Ayp_Fs8Bw39CTbwlu1vJUNnKdapy3jH_yeM_3vrjfrTwSJnOGPwWgomZADruFzwpZO3Q/s400/IMG_4385.JPG" t8="true" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My little one preferred playing with hay, to strawberry plucking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWA7zPvcZfj1AAAz00_X2-FMPNoXd1gBqITDTZFeJT-OqHgNjIpaBV3HyWGnZq_a5LK-9SBrzlcdFhDKME5IzpFC5Chlzs7jupcz7lMLUO_yXxq1qTKhd9prsiSjN7PAhla-9PPTjHY8/s1600/IMG_4381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWA7zPvcZfj1AAAz00_X2-FMPNoXd1gBqITDTZFeJT-OqHgNjIpaBV3HyWGnZq_a5LK-9SBrzlcdFhDKME5IzpFC5Chlzs7jupcz7lMLUO_yXxq1qTKhd9prsiSjN7PAhla-9PPTjHY8/s400/IMG_4381.JPG" t8="true" width="300" /></a></div> Which then turned into a messy game. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsehmzOdMFLuzoe4e5A6WJRNcOmwC1yA44Vr_GMc4-AcHyl7fNi6MGiJSCZpkk-8_pk2V8wNUwGaB2JbdcgHK_2GUShNACwHmtCnKgEYdTEkByTFZ7pe3vpGmauZziaR8FKGPWOkPtGBQ/s1600/IMG_4388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsehmzOdMFLuzoe4e5A6WJRNcOmwC1yA44Vr_GMc4-AcHyl7fNi6MGiJSCZpkk-8_pk2V8wNUwGaB2JbdcgHK_2GUShNACwHmtCnKgEYdTEkByTFZ7pe3vpGmauZziaR8FKGPWOkPtGBQ/s400/IMG_4388.JPG" t8="true" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ther Germans take their berry picking VERY seriously. They leave with buckets filled with fruit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXXieNiQVSlG8b_SCYpj5OlC_qOnM__9_cu6ZCQV7_dDlqi6AQ5nTiOr9iT8QThtNjEGAhWaoK1KoPci7vQ21Hpv2tXpyzTAHKgXe3cdY2mJZZUideVMvnjFu6bXGkJkw8euhInVSaHI/s1600/IMG_4391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXXieNiQVSlG8b_SCYpj5OlC_qOnM__9_cu6ZCQV7_dDlqi6AQ5nTiOr9iT8QThtNjEGAhWaoK1KoPci7vQ21Hpv2tXpyzTAHKgXe3cdY2mJZZUideVMvnjFu6bXGkJkw8euhInVSaHI/s320/IMG_4391.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Boys scouting out the best spot for picking!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYURQZr1lG83Cc3-rn2j2MghGv-x4ZIcSrErJ04u-cWzN2Oh21qHCNydUQCNDMUSRk91qCSvybQq7Qap0flUwriQHhGZBmueydE9obMXZ9RhO52iWqzXLshcf5r7WNxBsvcMklH3g2-Kg/s1600/IMG_4399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYURQZr1lG83Cc3-rn2j2MghGv-x4ZIcSrErJ04u-cWzN2Oh21qHCNydUQCNDMUSRk91qCSvybQq7Qap0flUwriQHhGZBmueydE9obMXZ9RhO52iWqzXLshcf5r7WNxBsvcMklH3g2-Kg/s200/IMG_4399.JPG" t8="true" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZrBJVKXmVPeDsqeSc30RaJxc9kfst9JBFl_uMXoWkfe4sSWJbK-Ohw4da4ivalBpLgqxPACKzPzpyz8BqnLUpr3rQET6qW81olshZ2Jcl78i8OReAVkTUqiLgk6nKo2mpx9MVmysqeQ/s1600/IMG_4396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZrBJVKXmVPeDsqeSc30RaJxc9kfst9JBFl_uMXoWkfe4sSWJbK-Ohw4da4ivalBpLgqxPACKzPzpyz8BqnLUpr3rQET6qW81olshZ2Jcl78i8OReAVkTUqiLgk6nKo2mpx9MVmysqeQ/s200/IMG_4396.JPG" t8="true" width="150" /></a><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzJh6hsBC_LlglOifvBDUImJzsQ5ELcxfGQ5jhyphenhyphenM8e93q0N218jXGbFGq38MmfBjcGTbUXsSW76P4jkLajdupvErH6Nd-PxyUxZTkOysUMhS9yw7YNoXSdyau2lSSIXdFtOH_I6qTvAc/s200/IMG_4398.JPG" t8="true" width="150" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When we were finished, F.M. did a celebratory dance on the car.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4a5hDw73qxia0KcIGXv4DKRZlyNgmtoL9H8qbImOZ0umqQ_5q9BWCKjvqedeN5qut12dQdbrSZ2aFXC4rRRXe0kHn4EKv-djaNIPXm6rH4LecQg4qMAowZo4KthyE2Pmi1eUy4lj9RPU/s1600/IMG_4403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4a5hDw73qxia0KcIGXv4DKRZlyNgmtoL9H8qbImOZ0umqQ_5q9BWCKjvqedeN5qut12dQdbrSZ2aFXC4rRRXe0kHn4EKv-djaNIPXm6rH4LecQg4qMAowZo4KthyE2Pmi1eUy4lj9RPU/s400/IMG_4403.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A rare moment of stillness for my Preschooler.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP1RagPXJqd38gmChZFZkPhcVbD6fEk4vYGB627RNbJBVTbTbhVnXbxwvMip-TnAtHzmjPA-AurIne6nGuUBQvhP-a8j282o9SQpf3ji98Yj7UktTEBh7cCbBLGb2USKnp2OA5ZFkaGa8/s1600/IMG_4420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP1RagPXJqd38gmChZFZkPhcVbD6fEk4vYGB627RNbJBVTbTbhVnXbxwvMip-TnAtHzmjPA-AurIne6nGuUBQvhP-a8j282o9SQpf3ji98Yj7UktTEBh7cCbBLGb2USKnp2OA5ZFkaGa8/s400/IMG_4420.JPG" t8="true" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We stopped at a little spielplatz on the way home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpjUW6vvlVRznhpX0sSF3MwxAbMwMu07gR4L3PaaEi9lbPlmjMCNYQQCzw_YHj3enPKWTR_XEQ29lEMgqoyrSSZgifayoAnuUyl43VT7usJyuFXdyWM7E8pCGTnp_8gqE3D6Wk9noLD0/s1600/IMG_4416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMpjUW6vvlVRznhpX0sSF3MwxAbMwMu07gR4L3PaaEi9lbPlmjMCNYQQCzw_YHj3enPKWTR_XEQ29lEMgqoyrSSZgifayoAnuUyl43VT7usJyuFXdyWM7E8pCGTnp_8gqE3D6Wk9noLD0/s400/IMG_4416.JPG" t8="true" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Where the boys were fascinated that the ground was covered in rocks! Not sure why I was surprised when I went to change F. M.'s diaper upon arriving home to find hay & gravel attached to his privates.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJwULCezWyJ8WBulhtSal5B5YzPaET2nJkHrV1BjB1WLpCjKIrSWY2nxY6WvJg3kCatUpBVkzTXznjlL8Db48TTGV4yHcixmXqzzkVNbgWKGl81yoQO8Yj04TriRtH8OGaYU2Zd2pQhgM/s1600/IMG_4411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJwULCezWyJ8WBulhtSal5B5YzPaET2nJkHrV1BjB1WLpCjKIrSWY2nxY6WvJg3kCatUpBVkzTXznjlL8Db48TTGV4yHcixmXqzzkVNbgWKGl81yoQO8Yj04TriRtH8OGaYU2Zd2pQhgM/s320/IMG_4411.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ9NjNpUklPqXj_EKM1GqBQetZVon4wKjl1k_WeDZMZHDFMBaXfhfHNBBIHN5NxyYK8VsBnByZoe8EAHfu6wliYH0K6vomc6Zcj2g_SQ2BtqsPyN6b_FpzePQ-E_tikRXVP7YO9CuxNmc/s1600/IMG_4427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ9NjNpUklPqXj_EKM1GqBQetZVon4wKjl1k_WeDZMZHDFMBaXfhfHNBBIHN5NxyYK8VsBnByZoe8EAHfu6wliYH0K6vomc6Zcj2g_SQ2BtqsPyN6b_FpzePQ-E_tikRXVP7YO9CuxNmc/s320/IMG_4427.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Water play at an interesting fountain at the park.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaAXLHdaFP8kTflMD8HbLqGdJVNy8Haz2bn2zxnKXD4c1h-Wg9is9zhReSBEPZE62YZeQqu-LN1bWlU27IhYSw97a0HVTKmJ4EJ7-wQgD4sxI8VhfifPYWF4WGTcPl-hgNZiH23aVMuQ/s1600/IMG_4433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUaAXLHdaFP8kTflMD8HbLqGdJVNy8Haz2bn2zxnKXD4c1h-Wg9is9zhReSBEPZE62YZeQqu-LN1bWlU27IhYSw97a0HVTKmJ4EJ7-wQgD4sxI8VhfifPYWF4WGTcPl-hgNZiH23aVMuQ/s400/IMG_4433.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A collander full of our berry booty!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2NIa8dLi8xqcOHwL7iiINtINSCXfyXTysY252Jht3Qz7N_-Z9LRpVXatafu9FfOFysa1iBXJS7i3gjjLTG3nzZGLrKI4HpqZnjLczWL1y8OlAmfKnMpQjLxbzvLxopLnCmHtFIOd4fU/s1600/IMG_4444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2NIa8dLi8xqcOHwL7iiINtINSCXfyXTysY252Jht3Qz7N_-Z9LRpVXatafu9FfOFysa1iBXJS7i3gjjLTG3nzZGLrKI4HpqZnjLczWL1y8OlAmfKnMpQjLxbzvLxopLnCmHtFIOd4fU/s400/IMG_4444.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A.M. helped me turn 1/2 of our collection into Strawberry/Lime Popsicles! Perhaps there is a glimmer of hope about getting my guys to eat strawberries in this form!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-63790763203944526082011-04-16T06:58:00.006+02:002011-04-16T07:03:21.922+02:00Blumen Selbstschneiden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXymgYd-rQcakAr8widurJBIn8pzqmmP8e3IlfJ9BeVCbE-kCspY7HnOg8V9p4n-DkK9rEBUGejC6ERvLTgj23AEjL45x0oDpPCvy0CJj2yy7GReGdvESFJx7r8aY535v-gnRCXl_Bu1s/s1600/IMG_3689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXymgYd-rQcakAr8widurJBIn8pzqmmP8e3IlfJ9BeVCbE-kCspY7HnOg8V9p4n-DkK9rEBUGejC6ERvLTgj23AEjL45x0oDpPCvy0CJj2yy7GReGdvESFJx7r8aY535v-gnRCXl_Bu1s/s400/IMG_3689.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
For the first installment of, "These are a Few of Mein Favorit Dinge...about Deutschland", series, I want to tell you about Blumen selbst schneiden. (Flowers you cut yourself).<br />
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Every few villages you can spot an open field with bountiful, vibrant, seasonal, flowers, alongside of the strasse. You cut your own flowers and pay with Euro coins, on the honor system. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GT_PTI8X2SxpD8hnI1KC0mJIVeRIUxqLwJbhvIAKT7QgmJezUneyAqufzP4XXF8SntpO6SFgN3N8eQZNxdGx27WttAE9Ovr1aQYF6viSW-7-_QUZs7ep9qNhyUnlVlG5ooR7sjKrn8I/s1600/IMG_3687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GT_PTI8X2SxpD8hnI1KC0mJIVeRIUxqLwJbhvIAKT7QgmJezUneyAqufzP4XXF8SntpO6SFgN3N8eQZNxdGx27WttAE9Ovr1aQYF6viSW-7-_QUZs7ep9qNhyUnlVlG5ooR7sjKrn8I/s400/IMG_3687.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
It is a fun thing to do with children, and the photo opportunities are boundless. Unless of course, you are the mother of mein kinder, who like to run away from the lush rows of Tulpen, straight for the dirt.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcHIBeNUj1B3_EkLU6N2mgJmDqGSxrCUZ_SIRb9to8vVrHxPS_T-KPP8cDjvLsjHWn-lxFAwl3H3AFepvUw-iajpGNnWMB1oKs2YcRwq38SVeihZMyzqeF6E_Bc18JzFGtyN5DEa0BXU/s1600/IMG_3690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcHIBeNUj1B3_EkLU6N2mgJmDqGSxrCUZ_SIRb9to8vVrHxPS_T-KPP8cDjvLsjHWn-lxFAwl3H3AFepvUw-iajpGNnWMB1oKs2YcRwq38SVeihZMyzqeF6E_Bc18JzFGtyN5DEa0BXU/s400/IMG_3690.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzC4yN0XZzMM9WQwNFaGTLfv_84DmgHDN-GpCy2PWKVZuoMQn5-XSBsrC8IKe-pZKomS2dr-Q1dHKcq9rfKhn2RYERjuUDps1W3OqH6CXJbAQ_sNARrp5h9aSxRWOVgG-WA1cZMRpQ9I/s1600/IMG_3691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzC4yN0XZzMM9WQwNFaGTLfv_84DmgHDN-GpCy2PWKVZuoMQn5-XSBsrC8IKe-pZKomS2dr-Q1dHKcq9rfKhn2RYERjuUDps1W3OqH6CXJbAQ_sNARrp5h9aSxRWOVgG-WA1cZMRpQ9I/s400/IMG_3691.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or, try their hand at breaking and entering.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikBKDHSKUQyY8hVrNVyMILHxMRshthukHz98TCQal4w-l5xrUEn7M_fLJFK-2X7TfUNz-8TiGBUPgKbypoG1yXmo4b3-35eCv-zlmQOAL_7DMBlr5dhgJ63eb_fWWYHAoE_4moylEtI38/s1600/IMG_3681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikBKDHSKUQyY8hVrNVyMILHxMRshthukHz98TCQal4w-l5xrUEn7M_fLJFK-2X7TfUNz-8TiGBUPgKbypoG1yXmo4b3-35eCv-zlmQOAL_7DMBlr5dhgJ63eb_fWWYHAoE_4moylEtI38/s400/IMG_3681.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The preis is listed on the sign, on the way in. Super-cheap for the freshest flowers you'll ever buy! Knives are provided. Busy bees are doing their job. Did you know killing bees is illegal in Germany?<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQRrV0FUtjLcTzq8ytmJKT5G57jMhYrO1UrWjRWfbP17Eb0NMT7Of598jcHB1RXDcZsQo_CMY4yRSbyPdNWBRJcURy-C5yvVz3RC3o9VfOl92TKoGmMEEuSIPrOT83iOWRuU9muQGOyA/s1600/IMG_3697.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQRrV0FUtjLcTzq8ytmJKT5G57jMhYrO1UrWjRWfbP17Eb0NMT7Of598jcHB1RXDcZsQo_CMY4yRSbyPdNWBRJcURy-C5yvVz3RC3o9VfOl92TKoGmMEEuSIPrOT83iOWRuU9muQGOyA/s400/IMG_3697.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The best part, for this guy, is getting to drop the coins in the slot.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncKi0v9dLqUfjsF-34nPIp_8qe8OQe7hNxZIww4r5bsGNWWH9ZxItdvjq-63UqfGX-RzW3c6jg_6jkLaWc4rSXzqyi10AlDc_63ejJL07rDJWRYci69z_VcUxcGaJ9AF7UhIMyeX0EVg/s1600/IMG_3779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncKi0v9dLqUfjsF-34nPIp_8qe8OQe7hNxZIww4r5bsGNWWH9ZxItdvjq-63UqfGX-RzW3c6jg_6jkLaWc4rSXzqyi10AlDc_63ejJL07rDJWRYci69z_VcUxcGaJ9AF7UhIMyeX0EVg/s400/IMG_3779.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHc4V7ctngSbD0OU0_AD3xLM4ArK995HcD3fplt2yxGhwHQ_T3HXJvuqnyd4uvADBlbrfZAhrp-xrAqwHe2yCu6d08bTeJc3JPqmSAkgEoAdBxw3x7C9BbG951hV6z-EB48Mgalbnoy-A/s1600/IMG_3739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHc4V7ctngSbD0OU0_AD3xLM4ArK995HcD3fplt2yxGhwHQ_T3HXJvuqnyd4uvADBlbrfZAhrp-xrAqwHe2yCu6d08bTeJc3JPqmSAkgEoAdBxw3x7C9BbG951hV6z-EB48Mgalbnoy-A/s400/IMG_3739.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Here is the secret: Cut unopened tulips. Many Americans make the mistake of picking tulips mid-prime, on their first visit. While the open flowers are stunning, they will not last very long. Our tulips opened beautifully the very next day. We have had them for almost a week and they are still going strong. A fresh cut and replacement water helps to extend their life.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Blumen Selbstschneiden - a thoughtful treat for a hostess, a babysitter, a friend or yourself!</div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-39115066739575918642011-03-29T19:54:00.000+02:002011-03-29T19:54:45.906+02:00Messy Monday- Toilet Issues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiahg8wt8wiH4vIeWUwsgeph-7kCQ_KqpqHCN9tILxvmfcLkK8IRIMBoJwU1lsN5FStM2XjiIewySGJEXtuPcZ8RV0MGrPcx7rwf5oKh9LBfL2hiCMc27X1duA6TU75uOOHf-0pU8aMoNE/s1600/IMG_3613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiahg8wt8wiH4vIeWUwsgeph-7kCQ_KqpqHCN9tILxvmfcLkK8IRIMBoJwU1lsN5FStM2XjiIewySGJEXtuPcZ8RV0MGrPcx7rwf5oKh9LBfL2hiCMc27X1duA6TU75uOOHf-0pU8aMoNE/s400/IMG_3613.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">As a courtesy to you, I cleaned the toilet bowl before photographing, because I'm <strike>OCD</strike> classy like that. Ahem.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For this week's mess, I could talk about the toddler running with scissors, or him walking around with my eyebrow brush sticking out of his ear. There were even a few juice box spills down the stairs, and a full-glass of iced tea spilled on my freshly mopped kitchen floor. However, I settled on our toilet dilemmas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzKRFV3D7v0ccn4aPQeNBaFmQ0v-iX_e2pnwgOx2iigupQf28iVYbAXO984HJ8W_hFxYZqnVLnHdhb-B6QH6mEVfWWHqAfRuwpsvCVaJQBTMIRcYrzg5dR0OPP-7lNYrO4k-Nocaj8ZtM/s1600/IMG_3638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzKRFV3D7v0ccn4aPQeNBaFmQ0v-iX_e2pnwgOx2iigupQf28iVYbAXO984HJ8W_hFxYZqnVLnHdhb-B6QH6mEVfWWHqAfRuwpsvCVaJQBTMIRcYrzg5dR0OPP-7lNYrO4k-Nocaj8ZtM/s400/IMG_3638.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Please excuse our laundry. It happens to be great fun throwing it down the stairs).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sunday, the toilet seat pinched my heiney...and Monday morning, it was a full-blown arse avalanche. Before coffee. Yes, that's right, I was sitting on it when it broke. Which made me feel really skinny and awesome.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is the second time I will have replaced this stupid toilet seat. Let me tell you, they do not run cheap in Germany, either. On my last trip to the States I saw a similar model, at a local megastore for the low, low price of $17.99. Daddy War-Bucks and I were afraid that the toilet specs may be different in Europe, so we did not purchase, and mail it back to ourselves in Deutschland. Instead, I paid 28 Euro - which works out to be about $45. Something tells me that my kids slamming the toilet seat down is the reason we need to keep replacing the suckers. This time I will buy plastic. Perhaps the models that trap coins or sand dollars in crystal clear resin. I will keep you posted on this riveting development. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Speaking of toilets - my son recently saw a bidet for the first time at a friends' haus. He proclaimed it to be his most favorite-est toilet he has ever seen in his life. Imagine if I let him give it a whirl. He may have never wanted to leave.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Another potty dilemma in our haus...MY BOY CAN'T AIM. My bathroom always smells like pee. It must be cleaned daily, to keep me from going over the edge. Lysol clean-up wipes have become my new best friend. Once, he was urinating all over the the back of the toilet lid, saying, "Look Mom, I'm painting". Boys, will be boys. Sometimes that means peeing in the waste basket. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My Preschooler turned 4 this week. The very next day, I took him to get his 4 year old vaccinations. Not because I am on top of life like that, but b/c I am desperate to get the kids into Hourly Care, on base for the respite given to me by good old Uncle Sam. Shots must be up-to-date. Well, let's just say, WANTED TO DIE, is an understatement of how embarrassed I felt about what I am going to lay on you. The medic asked that we pull his pants down to his knees, so that they could inject shots in each thigh. Well, low & behold...a poop stain, on the front, side of his little Sponge Bob Square Pants undies. In plain sight, not to be missed by either of the people vaccinating my lovely child. Not even going to delve into how it got there in the first place. Note to self - before anymore injections, ever, I will make my offspring don a fresh pair of undergarments. This too, I shall pass onto my friends, as a sort of public service announcement.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh dear. As I was typing this, he waltzed into the kitchen wearing 9 pairs of underwear...all on top of one another. Too priceless to not share:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1yi1OrQ9aBRc055x6-4lcOCiLM5pjttnUqxf1rAlYwpr_SGPi7nsxsNrjgbuKjnW97GpuuSBdCJ5akOXj-hSclAB2N27ZAHaMRPZZ3SzkLKWpiak-I7-yus_bGE3wttmY-lA9nrobJY/s1600/IMG_3646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1yi1OrQ9aBRc055x6-4lcOCiLM5pjttnUqxf1rAlYwpr_SGPi7nsxsNrjgbuKjnW97GpuuSBdCJ5akOXj-hSclAB2N27ZAHaMRPZZ3SzkLKWpiak-I7-yus_bGE3wttmY-lA9nrobJY/s400/IMG_3646.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The spider web pair are boxers that he creatively fashioned into a bandeau. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-54814902460561248652011-03-24T17:15:00.000+01:002011-03-24T17:15:44.255+01:00Thrifty Thursday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3BfTNqC5xEwnSnf9hfPPzuFRiXLMY9ch5cfQtVcJtaEmN_pzvaSU7D4RxPYhWEPk8uP_phFd3QXZPOXLSlyx3RGwAFOn7ewuQMTzKsP3yykPmhIe6keesTclkl1FjB3m2WdApO_xai8/s1600/IMG_3495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3BfTNqC5xEwnSnf9hfPPzuFRiXLMY9ch5cfQtVcJtaEmN_pzvaSU7D4RxPYhWEPk8uP_phFd3QXZPOXLSlyx3RGwAFOn7ewuQMTzKsP3yykPmhIe6keesTclkl1FjB3m2WdApO_xai8/s400/IMG_3495.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Patchwork Bird - $1.50, Twig Wreath - $2.00, Hanging Glass Star Candle Holder $5.00<br />
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Thrifty Thursdays...a new addition to the blog. Hausfrau is going to focus on Thrift Store Treasures, Flea Market Finds, and my favorite, Street Treats!<br />
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If you ask me about my local thrift shops, I will rattle off their opening days & hours. I was a trash-picker before it was cool. My Dad found it rather embarrassing. He used to claim that it was illegal in our town. Hah! Here are examples why I choose to buy second-hand, upcycled, or repurposed goods.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHeNVs2BbJ20H6dFlf-x6E2JiS7mGYqcucH65NWRHBoA3vto5ghzNnHOkcubLVziB9tYl7RpsqZBBZY7ehX9jyc75yOcdUkQi0m1oUpq8OMNKwgIImaga1ztqTW_hTeoCjFvQKnS_4HM/s1600/IMG_3500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHeNVs2BbJ20H6dFlf-x6E2JiS7mGYqcucH65NWRHBoA3vto5ghzNnHOkcubLVziB9tYl7RpsqZBBZY7ehX9jyc75yOcdUkQi0m1oUpq8OMNKwgIImaga1ztqTW_hTeoCjFvQKnS_4HM/s400/IMG_3500.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Luck come in the house, bad luck, get out"! Translated by my German friend. Ceramic Plaque $10</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Some of the most unique decor in our haus has come rather cheaply, if not free. Not only is it great for my wallet, but it is also good for Mother Earth. Keeping things out of landfills is a wonderful source of inspiration. <br />
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Here is a collection of recent scores:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTmGelUngfXK2zVBvL-EU83k9GarNnnC_c8i62jtUO7O-5eiWp-2ouW4SffWbBbv5_olACZrl4yjLj4px6pypmz4NsQPGpPSkaQpj_lDFVDiZCWicfYCcd2uyQvmSI-QCgXTcVPjPmrg/s1600/IMG_3406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTmGelUngfXK2zVBvL-EU83k9GarNnnC_c8i62jtUO7O-5eiWp-2ouW4SffWbBbv5_olACZrl4yjLj4px6pypmz4NsQPGpPSkaQpj_lDFVDiZCWicfYCcd2uyQvmSI-QCgXTcVPjPmrg/s400/IMG_3406.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Milk Glass Easter Chick Cup - 25 cents, Yellow Doily 50 cents</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierkbUfs0u_cNBdDOh5kMrWoKUxhta-E9eQDLGo8bpQvxnWNci-NLRPxK3mhqt6Rf1HC1wW3Lom255BKLmmRdYQ6eVWFIE6fnMxjmql2nMKygvGD0JxqHok9FjqdfeBobqBf8LSiBiwGY/s1600/IMG_3091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierkbUfs0u_cNBdDOh5kMrWoKUxhta-E9eQDLGo8bpQvxnWNci-NLRPxK3mhqt6Rf1HC1wW3Lom255BKLmmRdYQ6eVWFIE6fnMxjmql2nMKygvGD0JxqHok9FjqdfeBobqBf8LSiBiwGY/s400/IMG_3091.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Nepalese Wool Rug $20</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbjvF_c4lzsC6z-a4wfHEzh__lBQUWIeWTaUptQf7tpbbHAAsIuLNd-ykI1iodmWHC1h3z9Wsti7P7jk_oXvcAlvdKIYxB36Ks3B-u5GlBjrn036WNvVBf70j1zKB66cWaB87fQ0esJw/s1600/IMG_3497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbjvF_c4lzsC6z-a4wfHEzh__lBQUWIeWTaUptQf7tpbbHAAsIuLNd-ykI1iodmWHC1h3z9Wsti7P7jk_oXvcAlvdKIYxB36Ks3B-u5GlBjrn036WNvVBf70j1zKB66cWaB87fQ0esJw/s400/IMG_3497.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">European Farmhouse Ladder - a little pricy at $35, but I LOVE it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGniTBE68K0CJdE2ObUkNeNEOWWpumCMvjzTbPQO2gqbEzpWAckpQmyCutwjEC1XpdSje_ctUg6U4lg6PQtXtwuECgxZ-1ehEFucid7laDguNzfgtHKfa3hyphenhyphenthQjN0WMV2ZMUUqN2sZg4/s1600/IMG_3404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGniTBE68K0CJdE2ObUkNeNEOWWpumCMvjzTbPQO2gqbEzpWAckpQmyCutwjEC1XpdSje_ctUg6U4lg6PQtXtwuECgxZ-1ehEFucid7laDguNzfgtHKfa3hyphenhyphenthQjN0WMV2ZMUUqN2sZg4/s400/IMG_3404.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Newest Funky chair addition to my Dining room table - 20Euro, (also a bit high).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVEuN7hHmcFkF7kHpChDUuGxRSohsySYIlXgMOSuN0xQ3hiDXkOyIeNsFujl7J12nOrVJKYeflMv5NpOxTCWvrUPQhieeGl3oLOX09rnb71UMmu2VS6_OCabSOkeGWdN121bdKkfpLvo/s1600/IMG_3486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVEuN7hHmcFkF7kHpChDUuGxRSohsySYIlXgMOSuN0xQ3hiDXkOyIeNsFujl7J12nOrVJKYeflMv5NpOxTCWvrUPQhieeGl3oLOX09rnb71UMmu2VS6_OCabSOkeGWdN121bdKkfpLvo/s400/IMG_3486.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Entire collection of German Wooden Hearts $1.00</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7VI5otb9niw4d-o_tUnkoDyiy6MPHArNQTK1G51sHk4HDtwD4qLoc3DxzUsQ7Zk-2r1ssYPPBQhCSrc7wA6TEKurvgL5FOQYuNVzMLEkXnyqOvgRWm3yim5Fr2Xcs7pk5t_0Udf6tg4/s1600/IMG_2901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7VI5otb9niw4d-o_tUnkoDyiy6MPHArNQTK1G51sHk4HDtwD4qLoc3DxzUsQ7Zk-2r1ssYPPBQhCSrc7wA6TEKurvgL5FOQYuNVzMLEkXnyqOvgRWm3yim5Fr2Xcs7pk5t_0Udf6tg4/s400/IMG_2901.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">60's School Desk $10.00</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDOwYviUzTE7TKg7RDhjfBZ8HLg0viOuhSCnmTZEBPUqX1iQgl0pb3QK8yw99s4w8BmT6R5GZGBs0G-Wkrgk6pLMV9asUlPtAmquLx_7zCqh6oqAZE7D2lvd7sDA4nLjJMocDft-QM7yA/s1600/IMG_3496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDOwYviUzTE7TKg7RDhjfBZ8HLg0viOuhSCnmTZEBPUqX1iQgl0pb3QK8yw99s4w8BmT6R5GZGBs0G-Wkrgk6pLMV9asUlPtAmquLx_7zCqh6oqAZE7D2lvd7sDA4nLjJMocDft-QM7yA/s400/IMG_3496.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I cannot remember the price of either the wall-hanging or the iron candle stand, but they sure make me happy, and fit right in with the wild bathroom we have!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The wonderful thing about Flea Markets - especially in Deutschland, is the photo opportunities. Wonderful scenes appear, everywhere you look. It is a Photographer's Dream!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSbzI5tEUPgkyJX6QXx2T9xU0fMe0H82iN7WG64rW2Ya8Ga5l0L__YpFfc-Jms5KYxMdeZG0u8TRk-3sJpFtgy6QK8Cn_oc6e6iid4LA0Gd8r8HVjvjCHd88wWBOz1WZ0mfRdLfdLREQ/s1600/IMG_3372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSbzI5tEUPgkyJX6QXx2T9xU0fMe0H82iN7WG64rW2Ya8Ga5l0L__YpFfc-Jms5KYxMdeZG0u8TRk-3sJpFtgy6QK8Cn_oc6e6iid4LA0Gd8r8HVjvjCHd88wWBOz1WZ0mfRdLfdLREQ/s400/IMG_3372.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">LOOK! My chair made an appearance in the far right of the frame.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_Lt1KtLdXXGtDALynMrUAHKi0jfnE0Pw2VjoTGycWvAJpOdODqnyx6Gr72-ZDHg2_Cc-zc5hfe9lwzgfHKy3YsypeU8IITLklTRf4NDbTmEJtAK4qDrpHwhsKzI0NipoSDHTj6dY7AI/s1600/IMG_3388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_Lt1KtLdXXGtDALynMrUAHKi0jfnE0Pw2VjoTGycWvAJpOdODqnyx6Gr72-ZDHg2_Cc-zc5hfe9lwzgfHKy3YsypeU8IITLklTRf4NDbTmEJtAK4qDrpHwhsKzI0NipoSDHTj6dY7AI/s400/IMG_3388.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBs3EZHnSBdZ7x-4eoB-J2TYHG0MN8_JtPZH65V7h1kFBxUKXIBlo_cmriiWcxopvewz5TEQpf3r46QyciAvHAGX75fgYkpmyacLmocbI-ds2aFwh0RXEuMcFMeFy1-WM4iomAXoOzi5s/s1600/IMG_3374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBs3EZHnSBdZ7x-4eoB-J2TYHG0MN8_JtPZH65V7h1kFBxUKXIBlo_cmriiWcxopvewz5TEQpf3r46QyciAvHAGX75fgYkpmyacLmocbI-ds2aFwh0RXEuMcFMeFy1-WM4iomAXoOzi5s/s400/IMG_3374.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNgOVcRA1XbuFEHY_d359_p4IUph2DS8D7lbZio655rZasgG_6v6C-Bw3WGckHlJN9OeHInFgW1iQnqNRjuSs4a7DrqF4VMG2jxT7m1jwa-4gAAF5iH1UYXQyMKA_Uq1x6AdvGTISwJs/s1600/IMG_3365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNgOVcRA1XbuFEHY_d359_p4IUph2DS8D7lbZio655rZasgG_6v6C-Bw3WGckHlJN9OeHInFgW1iQnqNRjuSs4a7DrqF4VMG2jxT7m1jwa-4gAAF5iH1UYXQyMKA_Uq1x6AdvGTISwJs/s400/IMG_3365.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUTNlB26mQCpVE6N4EXFiLaLvxada0Kz7ayO6ikQVXhTOmb5oTI0RYRVsyARw0d5Vr5X8ilngzJOX8ERETVFSVG4crkVOolEYlHGVyU4vOhxXHMdwiyGpEQ-JjV6gSIi3HquJ_kKnohPw/s1600/IMG_3370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUTNlB26mQCpVE6N4EXFiLaLvxada0Kz7ayO6ikQVXhTOmb5oTI0RYRVsyARw0d5Vr5X8ilngzJOX8ERETVFSVG4crkVOolEYlHGVyU4vOhxXHMdwiyGpEQ-JjV6gSIi3HquJ_kKnohPw/s320/IMG_3370.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpTaoXAcM6YZHQeSbuuWfjBV5Tw7GtyXe8KWPSEyNKaumFRi-YUaMCOogfyue0yEEKUqR2YHyaRaCMF_FCmIY513UCPMso5o__VVsHD9g91vJ0sXbQ-XTm9NG7UwSgouD9Q2m9ZxYW16o/s1600/IMG_3362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpTaoXAcM6YZHQeSbuuWfjBV5Tw7GtyXe8KWPSEyNKaumFRi-YUaMCOogfyue0yEEKUqR2YHyaRaCMF_FCmIY513UCPMso5o__VVsHD9g91vJ0sXbQ-XTm9NG7UwSgouD9Q2m9ZxYW16o/s400/IMG_3362.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That yellow chair in the front is calling out my name!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-6631993124025840042011-03-23T09:59:00.000+01:002011-03-23T09:59:44.016+01:00Fun With Cheerios <img height="292" src="http://lets-explore.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/cheerio_treats.JPG" width="400" /><br />
<a href="http://lets-explore.net/blog/2008/11/cheerio-marshmallow-treats/">http://lets-explore.net/blog/2008/11/cheerio-marshmallow-treats/</a><br />
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Some families do really lovely things with <a href="http://www.cheerios.com/">Cheerios</a>. For instance, they make treats as an alternative to Rice Crispies:<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lonbinder/3121985076/" title="cheerio marshmallow treats by L Bo Dee, on Flickr"><img alt="cheerio marshmallow treats" height="267" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3089/3121985076_9c00090eda.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.foodmayhem.com/2008/12/cheerios-marshmallow-treats.html">http://www.foodmayhem.com/2008/12/cheerios-marshmallow-treats.html</a><br />
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Or, they recycle the boxes for nifty crafts, like these beads to make an eco-friendly necklace.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491122593072437730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsn6Y_Iiglk72TTfqNaZWabyvd7I5ReJXp6S_NFexIVODzLTrfyJNdJ8cotEQnn7DLn6mw4-lQ5flBu1fOzu2cTtBj_YWShCijRB69KGPZn_923XWJ_s5n-xZEcNp0rk1YCa38jjR7zE/s320/01.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491122599838999298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dEELpX9N1_Q4vA1vUMvvoCCqEvHUB2UTEigFHdmkAkTcDb1zvt7thpvqYwssBsDLLZxuv4mY6srI0KJto7qY9gPNR1b0arJ_k2PCysrqtmeGJ_OYrKYxxX_2wNibvdm9_wdxAvfk2zo/s320/03.jpg" style="display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491124087737046466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-05q2s3qsXsmbeDs0YwtCNAcVnMhOHhlQPqMM2MP7WzeIaAkJji35Nvxg-3ES1Dpn61k6xhyphenhyphenIQye_Ki7pLTIeDJTM7lBkS9sG8Jw3po9_mrChaq6Zw6LlzvB6z6dxKFuq6UOBjWxfKg/s320/04.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><br />
<a href="http://jayfajewellery.blogspot.com/2010/07/recycled-cheerios-box-necklace.html">http://jayfajewellery.blogspot.com/2010/07/recycled-cheerios-box-necklace.html</a><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Not my family. We, and by we, I mean, mein kinder, play games like stick the Apple Cheerio to the scrotum, for fun.<br />
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Two years ago, my husband and I removed several Cheerios from A.M.'s nose, until one was stuck, and irretrievable with tweezers. Much crying ensued, and nose blowing, and that took care of that annoying habit. <br />
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Lately, the game of choice has become, "put-a-Cheerio-between-each-toe-on-each-foot". Since my boys are perpetually naked, and since Cheerios are readily available, at any given time on the carpet, the game has evolved. If I don't vacuum daily, I am afraid that people think I am offering them, or their children a floor snack. Currently, the copious amount of Cheerios residing in the backseat of my car, is enough to feed a small family in Africa. Facepalm.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">At first glance, I was worried that the Cheerios were entering an orphus. Luckily, that was not the case. It would not have been a surprise, as, once, I had to explain to my 3 year old why it was NEVER a good idea to put marbles in one's butt. <a href="http://hausfrau4now.blogspot.com/2011/03/messy-monday-mr-potatoe-head-style.html">Mr. Potatoe Head</a> is allowed to use his arse as a stowaway compartment, not my boys. <br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-86303784177839992542011-03-16T08:48:00.000+01:002011-03-16T08:48:26.241+01:00Herzlich Geburtstag!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSrs4xfNLyGArbcb4VFr5tILZDqVytSL8YeIrwA3PBwTCICsMnwtde_oBnRLxrHz1UkmH_1UQzXkwcMjkNhVc57uIsbib5yqBgXHlWzyfqRcx4kgTDBciNFEZxYqJg51yi3fdYloS8t0/s1600/DSC05615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSrs4xfNLyGArbcb4VFr5tILZDqVytSL8YeIrwA3PBwTCICsMnwtde_oBnRLxrHz1UkmH_1UQzXkwcMjkNhVc57uIsbib5yqBgXHlWzyfqRcx4kgTDBciNFEZxYqJg51yi3fdYloS8t0/s400/DSC05615.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Happy Birthday, to my stepson, who, today, becomes a teenager. (Gasp). It is official, I have known you longer than half of your life, now. We met, the same day I met your father...a day that changed my life, for the best, forever! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTczaxMOJYU3dZ0WuuGGBJKTezsLT3C8ScrkVyVXiHHZYzwjBggj-uXsIfvhPsxAAg5sPXxI6QTYJGepZ1OV_ysVTolvAlJoTOLzGs-ZHFQwkah779fEr2XwwrulYY8_TanTEKhmtsS2E/s1600/IMG_1084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTczaxMOJYU3dZ0WuuGGBJKTezsLT3C8ScrkVyVXiHHZYzwjBggj-uXsIfvhPsxAAg5sPXxI6QTYJGepZ1OV_ysVTolvAlJoTOLzGs-ZHFQwkah779fEr2XwwrulYY8_TanTEKhmtsS2E/s400/IMG_1084.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
One of my favorite memories from that summer, was when we were all swimming in Grandmom's pool, and you told Daddy that he was too old to go on dates. "Dates, were for 17 and 19 year olds". That he needed a wife, and that, "Rachel, looked good". My heart melted that I met your approval.<br />
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We do not get to spend nearly as much time together as family should, but you are always in our hearts and thoughts. Watching you grow has been fascinating. One summer you borrowed my flip-flops, the next, you borrowed your Dad's! By the next time I see you, you will most likely tower over me. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf05DpzxN3r_GFrKG3GDcOn_eVEs4vbuXbo64E-970sELJ7_i2tO2JCqq6Im1ReaEb-GuOGzbElckKo4FfoCDTw9cqfwjkZgxQhyphenhyphenssw8BKoJiGqLWaIqVIouWPlCdf7jEEPFWu_Rg1CSg/s1600/Bailey+videogame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf05DpzxN3r_GFrKG3GDcOn_eVEs4vbuXbo64E-970sELJ7_i2tO2JCqq6Im1ReaEb-GuOGzbElckKo4FfoCDTw9cqfwjkZgxQhyphenhyphenssw8BKoJiGqLWaIqVIouWPlCdf7jEEPFWu_Rg1CSg/s400/Bailey+videogame.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>When I spoke of an eye twitch that had been aggravating me, for over a week, you informed me that there was no such thing as an iTwitch...iPod, iPad, iTouch, but no iTwitch...I thought you were telling a hilarious joke. Until I realized that you were serious, which made it even funnier.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbSIBZHjVgDGIQTB6Xi11b09JYvVoxvf_yioqhb_DEWFfJVAfb3L5tP06XfWCpN6a6httwCDhMHxkksYxNtjl6VqXAsHLElmAc-47OnT_gFd__zMp-s7jB6OVaJoqtkLj37vbp8fvsXY/s1600/IMG_1402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbSIBZHjVgDGIQTB6Xi11b09JYvVoxvf_yioqhb_DEWFfJVAfb3L5tP06XfWCpN6a6httwCDhMHxkksYxNtjl6VqXAsHLElmAc-47OnT_gFd__zMp-s7jB6OVaJoqtkLj37vbp8fvsXY/s400/IMG_1402.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Flabergasted by the whipped cream that came on the plate with his, "Rahm Schnitzel".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZJKIfsHxYa2xlKbSmIMad9UImKzlg2EusBqhmY45oeu5wMt1CJYRgosxsO_2_ZSXPbW-qn8NFoNPF7n8Sli1WgcR9yIoG7e4u-JGVjXaz0mXxGt39B0IQiJDWU9c-OAh0g_NNULbw5E/s1600/IMG_1051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZJKIfsHxYa2xlKbSmIMad9UImKzlg2EusBqhmY45oeu5wMt1CJYRgosxsO_2_ZSXPbW-qn8NFoNPF7n8Sli1WgcR9yIoG7e4u-JGVjXaz0mXxGt39B0IQiJDWU9c-OAh0g_NNULbw5E/s400/IMG_1051.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Now I see where your brothers get their, "Danger Boy", antics from. Awesome.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopga5P9YSmmyHqS9a4-xamnR3CVJCPRnC3EMCbM5Rglw_ya_m3hMb8cW5hMA985k79jt9KI5JVo4jQn6Q8LfRf5RgHdJboieDXQ8UKdGD-N4gl_o_IAdvwEFKUeZC0D0aHuZ9Jx-Xpls/s1600/IMG_1446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopga5P9YSmmyHqS9a4-xamnR3CVJCPRnC3EMCbM5Rglw_ya_m3hMb8cW5hMA985k79jt9KI5JVo4jQn6Q8LfRf5RgHdJboieDXQ8UKdGD-N4gl_o_IAdvwEFKUeZC0D0aHuZ9Jx-Xpls/s320/IMG_1446.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Thanks for being you.<br />
Love, <br />
Your Step-Mom,<br />
RachelRachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-41270986752663503552011-03-14T20:07:00.000+01:002011-03-14T20:07:11.842+01:00MESSY MONDAY - Mr. Potatoe Head Style<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZ1b2hgEJOr3vItqwK5cFOg1z_apQGxQZxHieZ3NjQdyTuiIkvn7qzx9tsO_C84DmIzqK57yuIWYj4JabJeng_CFRUinJoliLKamZJLKS-ORzKlXrWOEPRtJnks-pfL7Hi803mmYhcGs/s1600/170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZ1b2hgEJOr3vItqwK5cFOg1z_apQGxQZxHieZ3NjQdyTuiIkvn7qzx9tsO_C84DmIzqK57yuIWYj4JabJeng_CFRUinJoliLKamZJLKS-ORzKlXrWOEPRtJnks-pfL7Hi803mmYhcGs/s400/170.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Mess should be a middle name in our family...rather than Michael, Mary, Mathias, or Macon. It seems as though we have mastered the art of making a mess. As best as I can, I try to stifle my inner control freak, and embrace the mess. We make HUGE messes, (when no one else is looking). Thank goodness we live in Germany, so we aren't getting a lot of drop-in guests. Often I look around, and think, "WOW! If anyone saw this haus right now, they would call Child Protective Services on me". </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvNP6PB9T3BCSoRjvXNgOSVk3xMiPYeaYeC606AM7vRMGgXMDzzn41UiGA0jej2X8QoM3TKUi_p59mLathynmW5nRbkPmrPlqGpTXI3YKi8qNNCPxNaSjNafDS7siFgS6J-Ts2_Cj2Io/s1600/IMG_3213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvNP6PB9T3BCSoRjvXNgOSVk3xMiPYeaYeC606AM7vRMGgXMDzzn41UiGA0jej2X8QoM3TKUi_p59mLathynmW5nRbkPmrPlqGpTXI3YKi8qNNCPxNaSjNafDS7siFgS6J-Ts2_Cj2Io/s400/IMG_3213.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">This week, I chose to focus on Mr. Potatoe Head, because he spent the most time on our carpet. Repeatedly, he was found on the floor, nanoseconds after he had been put away. My children love <strike>dumping</strike> playing with him. Besides, I did not document the questionably colored poop on my Preschooler's foot and the foot stool this morning, because I was too busy <strike>throwing up in my mouth a little</strike> cleaning up.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77iK714muEvRsT7K4MG65gld33la19nB8xxQmDWirVM1vsOfUZ8ZAdFIbM5a5J8-elPYm3gNhdY23ToQAEhUf9oJDt6GICEvrAiuakTE59wgYVfIRsESf6rtRVRS_RcwiBHRz-xu9TF4/s1600/IMG_3205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77iK714muEvRsT7K4MG65gld33la19nB8xxQmDWirVM1vsOfUZ8ZAdFIbM5a5J8-elPYm3gNhdY23ToQAEhUf9oJDt6GICEvrAiuakTE59wgYVfIRsESf6rtRVRS_RcwiBHRz-xu9TF4/s320/IMG_3205.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">When we owned one Mr. Potatoe Head, I would go insane looking for a missing arm, in a crowded apartment...for days on end. When I found the missing piece, I felt empowered. Seriously. Sick, right? Don't even get me started on puzzles. In an attempt to cure myself of this twisted fanaticism, aka - OCD, I purchased an alphabet puzzle from the thrift store with a missing Z. What was I thinking? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My MIL went to Disney World, and filled a box, (that wouldn't shut), with Mr. Potatoe Head parts for $20. That night, when she went to play with him in the privacy of her hotel room, she realized that she did not buy any shoes or hats. So she went back the next day and filled another box. Thanks to her, I have 9874162783641829374 limbs, noses, feet, mouths, eyes, ears & accessories. So I no longer need to obsess about a missing purse or mustache. Now, I can spend my time obsessing about more important things, like my childrens' boogers. Wait, I just noticed that we only have one green Mrs. Potatoe Head earring.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeRKBm8R7VlAL4J_I7a0-FFjfmjNFNT3c11N6eWdP7X8I8NORLwk6NqcSR-RiUIsx9uud7vA2lsJMW1Bj6EKzZBG0l05IN50HZtyEpPecxm1rHOqMNoduonVcYsy6GgrS_437rfPjg3Y0/s1600/IMG_3212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeRKBm8R7VlAL4J_I7a0-FFjfmjNFNT3c11N6eWdP7X8I8NORLwk6NqcSR-RiUIsx9uud7vA2lsJMW1Bj6EKzZBG0l05IN50HZtyEpPecxm1rHOqMNoduonVcYsy6GgrS_437rfPjg3Y0/s400/IMG_3212.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One more thing...everytime my 3 year old tells me he is going to stuff a lot of things into Mr. Potatoe Head's heiney, it makes the 47 times I picked up each and every single piece soooooooooooooo worth it. Heehee.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-9212342982253978472011-03-13T08:27:00.000+01:002011-03-13T08:27:03.600+01:00Hand Stamped Tea Towels Craft<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZYs7lH8Ro_FpWmRowog4ane8j7afWKnPLCPBRBPsTpzBXxEfTbri1-pcthofpEhQb9Hi-7oySRBF0x6h4OqUvVM1mb7Hko_rFFPOc3OLAK2ODLl2ah4XmagVXgvQ8LKC7zhOvxtzPvo0/s1600/IMG_3117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZYs7lH8Ro_FpWmRowog4ane8j7afWKnPLCPBRBPsTpzBXxEfTbri1-pcthofpEhQb9Hi-7oySRBF0x6h4OqUvVM1mb7Hko_rFFPOc3OLAK2ODLl2ah4XmagVXgvQ8LKC7zhOvxtzPvo0/s400/IMG_3117.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<strong><u>Hand-Stamped Tea Towels</u></strong> - a fun, simple, & inexpensive craft, for Moms & Preschoolers to create together.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFamcnGtwKdwyp70kNfft8n8isEM-zLD_DdZj_u7ZLKw15WWei98Kr4kMMC5owyi5AXPJs9uIiFaq_VlM_3olAcX1-LPp8riOCfutxHmJ1BcMKBMJd_ts-h6kWCau63hCaRRYOi6MtqY/s1600/IMG_3129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFamcnGtwKdwyp70kNfft8n8isEM-zLD_DdZj_u7ZLKw15WWei98Kr4kMMC5owyi5AXPJs9uIiFaq_VlM_3olAcX1-LPp8riOCfutxHmJ1BcMKBMJd_ts-h6kWCau63hCaRRYOi6MtqY/s400/IMG_3129.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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Take a tea towel, stamp with fruit, stamps, hands, whatever you desire. I use acrylic paint rather than fabric paint. Acrylic paint is cheaper, and frankly, I have an abundance of it. The way to make it permanent is to heat set it before washing. This can be done by either ironing it, (under a protective piece of fabric or towel), or to throw it in the dryer for 10 minutes on high heat...(my preferred method)!<br />
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Squeeze out a generous amount of paint onto a plate, wax paper, or a piece of acrylic. Spread the paint out a bit, creating an even stamping surface. Use a protective barrier underneath, as some paint may soak through the towel, onto your surface. Cardboard, newspaper, wax paper are all suitable options. Be sure to adequately & evenly cover the surface of your stamp with paint. Foam stamps work particularly well. Press firmly, and gently peel the stamp away from the fabric for a clean image. If you aren't pleased with the coverage...or one of your stamps turns out to be a doozy...you can go back in with a paint brush and touch up any problem areas.<br />
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The sky is the limit, you can decorate clothing, curtains, pillow cases, aprons...your options are unlimited. We have an apron that I started collecting hand prints on. It is a fun place to capture the size of their growing hands. Their name is written along with their age & the date, in permanent marker. When they are men, and I am a Grandmother, (hopefully), I can show my grandbabies that their Daddies were once little boys while I am wearing my special apron.<br />
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Note: Do not turn your back for a minute, especially after Preschooler has already had a bath for putting paint in his hair. Be sure your camera is handy!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBBfKpTYqb_A7I5kzX6lK6E6uJhvqfpB10ZG6xwTn1umBxhE4RU-Sh391biXN_Hsbv9V66M1wtsg-ume-2Jmk6sbACdhJOGvhEeTDb6-F3J5Wk4puAUoYJWSMwOsZRLIZ4U2wDeiEIM0/s1600/IMG_3100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBBfKpTYqb_A7I5kzX6lK6E6uJhvqfpB10ZG6xwTn1umBxhE4RU-Sh391biXN_Hsbv9V66M1wtsg-ume-2Jmk6sbACdhJOGvhEeTDb6-F3J5Wk4puAUoYJWSMwOsZRLIZ4U2wDeiEIM0/s320/IMG_3100.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-37240821631262664852010-07-14T16:07:00.000+02:002010-07-14T16:07:46.021+02:00Bad InfluenceWhat kind of mother am I? I took my kids to a bar one spring morning. It wasn't even noon, and we were whooping it up in a small, stale-cigarette-smelling-old-German-man-bar. Except that the Germans don't say the word bar, they say pub - apparently, bar means strip club, my husband (an MP), once informed me. Although, there WAS, some table dancing, going on, and I am <strike>embarrassed</strike> proud to say, that both of my boys put on a fine show for the barmaid. They remained standing on their chairs, shaking their stuff, rather than on top of the tables, and no tips were exchanged...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We were quite the spectacle...double stroller and all. At a certain point, A.M.'s shirt came off, (surprise), and I thought one of the Herren was going to have a heart attack. There were weiswurst (white sausages), soft-pretzels, french fries, loud music, coca-cola, and apple spritzers. A.M. wanted chips, that is where I drew the line, "No potatoe crisps for breakfast".<br />
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F.M. was trying to give one of the old men some pointers, on the lotto slot machine that he was playing...the man was trying to give him a sip of beer in exchange. A.M. managed to dismantle a set of blinds, and all ashtrays and candles were removed from the tables, so that F.M. would stop using them as percussion instruments. A.M. spotted a fake, mounted deer's head on the wall, and proudly stated, "Mommy, look at the puppy". Everything my boys did seemed to amuse the Frau of the house. She spoke excellent English, and told me that she couldn't even imagine a life with so much ACTION in it, all day long, everyday...her exact words...my exact life, in a nutshell. <br />
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</div>I didn't understand a lick of what any of the 5 old men were chuckling about, but I think it is fairly safe to assume that the toddler set are not regulars at this hole-in-the-wall-bier-joint. I wished that I had brought my camera, because A.M., demanded to sit at his own table, (already embarrassed by being with his Mom, I suppose), was a real hoot drinking Apfel Schorle out of a large glass, (no sippy cups available), without spilling. He liked it so much, that he wanted to take the half-full glass and the soggy paper coaster, home to his haus. One of my little cleptomaniacs managed to pilfer a set of forged, rather rustic and heavy, cutlery into the diaper bag. This was not discovered until we arrived at home. I thought about keeping it as a funny souvenir, or for Hubby to use at work...but then that would be stealing, and what would I be teaching my children? Taking them to a bar is one thing, swiping silverware is quite another!<br />
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At this point in the story, you may be wondering why, exactly, I took them to this watering hole in the first place. It's down the street from the Auspuff Stein, (mechanic), and we had a 3 hour wait, and their lobby had a lit fireplace, and a pond...yes, a pond, in it. I figured the bar was the safer option of the two, considering A.M. came dangerously close to falling in/jumping in, to their rather large OUTDOOR pond. I was busy fiddling with something when the receptionist pointed that out to me. "Danke", I replied, "I really don't feel like fishing him out of the freezing cold water", "NOR I", stated the Frau. Much to my dismay, my boys are always flirting with disaster. Keeps it real I suppose.<br />
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We wrapped things up at the pub, and I made sure to leave an abundant tip. We did drive back a few days later to return the stolen goods. They were not open, so I "planted" the knife and fork upright in the flower box, perched on the window sill, directly next to the door. I figured that might add a little spice or bewilderment, to someone's morning, upon opening the joint. Similar to the morning a mutter (mother)brought her 2 kinder in for some softdrinks and sausages!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-5185201685035956112010-07-13T07:19:00.000+02:002010-07-13T07:19:17.235+02:00You scream, I scream, we all scream for ice cream!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfjBAtALzdC5aN3G9zcrQs0dBJ-MN00DnGlpcD3DzWvCzjQR39RP7Ps2oVRCv7L7l_CwPaQyHpfZ1HMW8FiWASuj7n2gQ7PXG7-nufUz041MaZD0dH7Pz9REeijKtE7UEXCn-NM4lvWys/s1600/IMG_1266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfjBAtALzdC5aN3G9zcrQs0dBJ-MN00DnGlpcD3DzWvCzjQR39RP7Ps2oVRCv7L7l_CwPaQyHpfZ1HMW8FiWASuj7n2gQ7PXG7-nufUz041MaZD0dH7Pz9REeijKtE7UEXCn-NM4lvWys/s400/IMG_1266.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Ridiculously fun summertime, family activity...making homemade ice cream. Several Christmases ago we purchased ice cream making balls for 2 families that were on our list. L.L. Bean sells ice cream making balls in a variety of bright colors, in their camping gear. I wanted to purchase one for our family, but at $49.99 plus shipping, I couldn't justify the expense. Recently, I came across a barely used hot pink, "Happy Camper", ice cream making ball at the thrift store for 4 bucks! Talk about a steal. LOVE thrift shopping!</div>We are spending our vacation at home sharing quality time with husband's 12 year old son, from a previous marriage. This was the perfect vehicle for creating gobs of fun, as well as scrumptious ice cream, inexpensively, in the comfort of our own home! YAY!<br />
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We decided to start out simple, with a basic vanilla ice cream, to go with our freshly baked apple crisp for dessert. First step was to fill the one end with ice cubes and rock salt. We live in Germany, and do not have much freezer space...so sadly, we filled it up about halfway. Next, we were instructed to fill the innermost compartment on the opposite end, with tasty ingredients listed in the recipe book, such as cream, sugar, and vanilla extract.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0TxwQYgzRHE0MFRLyEUewiSKXoRk-vIIi9RC_d0_61dr45zosv9jFyQ2W79zN-gpHE5BomSEpYv10JXP0BpMDJzXlZIk4y-7S6xkOWqvI0SO6aEL6vYPBGOguYI9-8wP3GZiDrJua4c/s1600/IMG_1181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0TxwQYgzRHE0MFRLyEUewiSKXoRk-vIIi9RC_d0_61dr45zosv9jFyQ2W79zN-gpHE5BomSEpYv10JXP0BpMDJzXlZIk4y-7S6xkOWqvI0SO6aEL6vYPBGOguYI9-8wP3GZiDrJua4c/s400/IMG_1181.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">U.S. Forces Dairy Products...the only heavy cream the Military Commissary sells...cracks me up.</div><br />
Beforehand, I measured out some of the ingredients for 3 year old to pour in to the ball himself. Then I taught 12 year old how to properly measure out liquid ingredients, as well as dry ingredients with measuring cups and spoons. He has taken a real interest in cooking this summer, so this was a fantastic way to involve him in the process. A.M., our 3 year old, was giddy with enthusiasm, shouting, "making ice cream, we're making ice cream", all the while...except that he pronounces it "I Cream", which makes it even cuter.<br />
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On to the shaking! The recipe required us to, "have a ball", for 15 minutes. Shaking, rolling, tossing, running, etc, then to open up the ice cream chamber to check the progress, and push the already frozen ice cream that clung to the sides, down into the center, with a wooden spoon....check. Dump out any water and reload with fresh ice and a wee bit more ice cream salt. Yeah, well more ice was going to be a little bit of a problem, being that we had used up all of our measly 2 trays of ice cubes. Hubby and I both thought at the same time to substitute broken up popsicles. Frankly, I was thrilled to do that, because the dang popsicles have been taking up prime real estate in the freezer, and toddler obsesses about them on a daily basis, wanting them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hbMGKJ82aZpsgKBk9TX5T77onFLnejiBE7JfiVuMes_jlCejKp8Go2Ex9Gg9KCbpSPvnqY7NZoviLTZ-uTe84H2ahE9sb0YjIlznmm9xxqH5wEbrzSiQDfGzTEpR0TOVpnNuRITK5Bg/s1600/IMG_1225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hbMGKJ82aZpsgKBk9TX5T77onFLnejiBE7JfiVuMes_jlCejKp8Go2Ex9Gg9KCbpSPvnqY7NZoviLTZ-uTe84H2ahE9sb0YjIlznmm9xxqH5wEbrzSiQDfGzTEpR0TOVpnNuRITK5Bg/s400/IMG_1225.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A.M. aggravated that we are using "his" popsicles as ice cubes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Now for 15 more minutes of craziness with the ball. We spent the majority of the time chasing each other in laps around the couch. This is a nightly event that happens after bath, before bed. Everyone gets involved, including the baby, (who is no longer a baby, but a waddling toddler), and the dog, who playfully nips at your heels or your bum to let you know you are not running fast enough for her standards! It always comes as a shock when she bites one of us, but it doesn't hurt too much, and we usually have a good laugh over it. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGx9K7UA0O7tGDbSM_F2pSIYVwbAppt0EYFgD0I8f4teEz56cCspCbi35X2OASmoWcRkfeNOV8w-kYCzfUcURpZTmS93A8hCpmj7YcAY5LzdobmBVMfbB2xSWtcRFsuPPckPmWapHCbx8/s1600/IMG_1212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGx9K7UA0O7tGDbSM_F2pSIYVwbAppt0EYFgD0I8f4teEz56cCspCbi35X2OASmoWcRkfeNOV8w-kYCzfUcURpZTmS93A8hCpmj7YcAY5LzdobmBVMfbB2xSWtcRFsuPPckPmWapHCbx8/s320/IMG_1212.JPG" /></a></div>Please excuse the missing drawer knob, and laundry on the table. Things like that drive me bonkers.<br />
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Hubby will tell you that he had to do all of the work himself. In reality, he hogged the ball. He claims that no one was being active enough. I would finally get a chance with the ball, and then, one of the kids would steal it from me. The kids would get a little lazy with it after awhile, then Daddy would take over again.<br />
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</div>At the end of the 30 active minutes, we were delighted to crack open the ball, and discover homemade vanilla ice cream, the consistency of soft serve. We spooned it onto our apple crisp, took one bite, and were sold. It was divine, and fun, and simple. <br />
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S.B., (12 year old), asked if we could make ice cream every night. We took this as a huge compliment, as he is a tough critic.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Next up...cherry ice cream with hunks of fresh, sweet, black cherries, and Kirsch, (a German cherry liqueur that goes into many desserts). Did you know it is illegal in Germany to call a dessert Black Forest Cake if it has no kirsch in it? Crazy Germans have rules for everything! We will not scrounge for ice this time. Instead, we will buy a bag, so we have more than enough!<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Don't fret if you do not have access to one of these fancy-schmancy ice cream making balls. You can achieve the same delicious results with 2 coffee cans, or even 2 ziplock bags! Your kids will think you are not only the smartest, but the coolest if you include this in your repertoire of fun! Happy shaking!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-53219478215044119842010-02-18T16:44:00.002+01:002010-02-19T20:56:21.440+01:00A Letter to My Angel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZsz2hoCEA9I9QIF2LpehhnR21UqZOrDiAKTSF66V6ina0clh88B-QRM05wT1HsePjtbkj16Onh8syzl4FoOp_2jkzibu1S7L-7UA7JeJ1Ss-Hl5XH07y_PJt_9j8EOQJgq900fH_Tj4/s1600-h/Angel+Boy+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZsz2hoCEA9I9QIF2LpehhnR21UqZOrDiAKTSF66V6ina0clh88B-QRM05wT1HsePjtbkj16Onh8syzl4FoOp_2jkzibu1S7L-7UA7JeJ1Ss-Hl5XH07y_PJt_9j8EOQJgq900fH_Tj4/s400/Angel+Boy+2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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The other day, my little cherub, as you were ripping the miniature feathers out of our angel halo, I calmly told you to stop destoying it. "Give it to Mommy", "<strong>NO, I ANGEL</strong>", you shouted, as you put the bent, half-wrecked, halo on your head. That cracked me up. There are times when I feel like I am seriously on the brink of insanity, and then you make me laugh. Thank you for that.<br />
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While I am thinking of it, thank you for pulling the curtains, with rod, plumb off the wall yesterday. I have been meaning to take them down to clean them. If it wasn't for you, those curtains would have remained on the wall for at least another month, or so. The bottoms have been looking like a used tissue, lately. That reminds me, honey, when you need a tissue, just ask Mommy, I would be happy to get you one. The air-hanky thing really skeeves me out. The curtains are in the washer, and it will be thrilling to have squeaky clean curtains again. It's the little things in a hausfrau's life that make her happy.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After having fished some lime green Play Doh out of my dusty breast pump, it occurred to me that you were trying to tell me something. You are absolutely right, it IS time to start pumping my milk, and work on weaning your 16 month old brother. While I am proud to say that my relationship with Play Doh HAS evolved, I would still like to have a few words with the inventor - who I swear must not be a parent.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTDUbAom9Cwq4cIf9pEc_wOK9Bexo6L3AnOXQ_UppmuhTDxRWL84LuK1eZTNnPTgKEPAnrJCvIJXQvtvcBOfRAlBUfBPbQzkeMsseZiVZadicxrG9DHMfTtUif4CVGic4-SsAXnDLLao/s1600-h/feb+2010+325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTDUbAom9Cwq4cIf9pEc_wOK9Bexo6L3AnOXQ_UppmuhTDxRWL84LuK1eZTNnPTgKEPAnrJCvIJXQvtvcBOfRAlBUfBPbQzkeMsseZiVZadicxrG9DHMfTtUif4CVGic4-SsAXnDLLao/s400/feb+2010+325.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The Crispix cereal in the mini suitcase was a laugh riot. Afterall, it WAS stale, so it helped me make the decision to put it in the compost bin. Some lucky worms will have a nice snack, thanks to your thoughtfulness.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_MEz5DV5lghKMK7K_T3S66t690sNoTkgEsJ-xLSlLhZXbZYiymAOmXSbUZcAd3z89itzqFqVg3pG16f4eQnhPDbQ0dqOaiw5fJBEbZ0eGTYMRlm9MCqYEG9PqgaSE4pk77fsz1EylVc/s1600-h/feb+2010+314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_MEz5DV5lghKMK7K_T3S66t690sNoTkgEsJ-xLSlLhZXbZYiymAOmXSbUZcAd3z89itzqFqVg3pG16f4eQnhPDbQ0dqOaiw5fJBEbZ0eGTYMRlm9MCqYEG9PqgaSE4pk77fsz1EylVc/s400/feb+2010+314.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Thank you for helping Mommy vaccum yesterday. When I said, "Pick up your shirt", I didn't mean with the vaccum. Although, what a good idea. How wonderful it would be to just vaccum things up that you'd rather not see lying on the floor. How relieved I was that it ruined the vaccum, rather that your Thomas The Tank Engine T-shirt, being that it is the only item of clothing that you will actually wear these days. What a blessing that it started smoking, and didn't stop for a good, ten, smelly, minutes. That vaccum came with the haus, and it has been the bane of my existence since we moved in 6 months ago. Your father believed that it worked just fine, in all of it's non-sucking, (literally, not figuratively), glory. I do want to mention that I am glad that it did not suck up those 2 little diamonds that we discovered embedded in our god-awful-used-to-be-a-shag-36-years-ago-carpet. That is a good reminder to take them to the jeweler to have them appraised. Who knows, they may actually finance a small European vacation.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WT93vJ5gRtSYTmLapk5gqpYUnpKhaoTNgxKNHE5tXhMwtwiXuFb9KAQCkTC17g3UfU2BcxPJyw2BljSRSC77WRpBae7yGy9TEws1SVk16OiVihiDm5eTT74uWI-Mo5hJ8-JvddDYWTQ/s1600-h/IMG_8648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WT93vJ5gRtSYTmLapk5gqpYUnpKhaoTNgxKNHE5tXhMwtwiXuFb9KAQCkTC17g3UfU2BcxPJyw2BljSRSC77WRpBae7yGy9TEws1SVk16OiVihiDm5eTT74uWI-Mo5hJ8-JvddDYWTQ/s400/IMG_8648.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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Yesterday, when you locked yourself in that room we call your bedroom, (although you have never actually slept in there, despite the cool race car bed that we purchased for you) - the first time you caused me quite a panic. The second time, I was less concerned, knowing that you knew how to insert the skeleton key into it's keyhole and open the door all by yourself. I was very thankful to enjoy a sip of HOT coffee, for once. The screams tipped me off, that it might be a good idea to check in on you. Good thing, because you managed to slide the key under the door to Mommy this time. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When I am at my wit's end, I will read this letter that I have written to you. Hopefully, it will serve as a gentle reminder that you always mean well. I may not be able to find a reason to thank you for ripping the wallpaper off of the wall, or coloring on it for that matter...but I will continue to search my brain for the lesson that I was supposed to learn from it. Thank you.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCusC8jcnlgGc70joEJHoM8EupFShDZavLsKtdaFIp9PldlwhY3XEh-9slqZ3nMd_5EgzcEFw92GeB665J2OBPZYKTuFNRQm9m0TT977VpVzSkVUOggEk5I8KRugB6EuulC916yo7sK8/s1600-h/Angel+Boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCusC8jcnlgGc70joEJHoM8EupFShDZavLsKtdaFIp9PldlwhY3XEh-9slqZ3nMd_5EgzcEFw92GeB665J2OBPZYKTuFNRQm9m0TT977VpVzSkVUOggEk5I8KRugB6EuulC916yo7sK8/s400/Angel+Boy.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-80074929952186469842010-02-14T07:58:00.003+01:002010-02-15T03:09:09.880+01:00The Writing's On The Wall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsmGqRZvCPw2hQ5IybMof661_ZSevmspRcC4T8QZvIWdaGr_WuZ3YB5Gx157w8hITuD1d4hJyJ6ayM-ahzOqmBYftlX3-3SVC8UzVKAX3qGpXfp-kDdRA-In0rdvkd9vNT5Eq8wcr96k/s1600-h/Proud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsmGqRZvCPw2hQ5IybMof661_ZSevmspRcC4T8QZvIWdaGr_WuZ3YB5Gx157w8hITuD1d4hJyJ6ayM-ahzOqmBYftlX3-3SVC8UzVKAX3qGpXfp-kDdRA-In0rdvkd9vNT5Eq8wcr96k/s400/Proud.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The inevitable happened yesterday - My older toddler drew on the walls with crayon, (black), for the first time.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSx5V_Ov7UeMvwDCma9FqRly6o0hXQIyxvFu8fmNL1e6dsC6CW0S8gFe40oLy2Y3Ey09XfySUtjv5XnzkQYojc8tmAC6vCGSbgE2SEQPIFCHXWvwbdBcywosvV08RvlUErpLRsheYYNxM/s1600-h/Artist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSx5V_Ov7UeMvwDCma9FqRly6o0hXQIyxvFu8fmNL1e6dsC6CW0S8gFe40oLy2Y3Ey09XfySUtjv5XnzkQYojc8tmAC6vCGSbgE2SEQPIFCHXWvwbdBcywosvV08RvlUErpLRsheYYNxM/s400/Artist.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Another inevitable happened today. Same toddler cursed in front of his Speech Therapist (of all people).<br />
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She visits our home to work with him once every 2 weeks. She was putting her high heel boots on, (despite a recent broken ankle, and...um, hello, GOBS OF SNOW ON THE GROUND...but who am I to judge?), getting ready to leave our haus. Heels are just not a part of this momma's wardrobe these days. Unless of course they are a chunky wedge, which are comfy, and only worn on the rare occasion, so they don't really count. Anyway, A.M. proceeds to unlock the gate, and go downstairs to retrieve a few trains, that little brother (F.M.), threw down there earlier. He stops dead in his tracks on the stairs to admire his black-crayon-on-the-wall-artwork that he colored yesterday. Then he starts saying, "Damn it, damn it, damn it....", you get the picture, about 13 more times. UUUUGH! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywBGuZqzM7f_WrzyNzW39_m9Vgjt_Nh8n0LkaOjqZC15pviPg2DbC4Bm5-Igxz5GCHqKUwDVH11yOjagQxjMnwLhp4VPQg3QWeoeP900_YMUWjGo4jKzaLdExSWyE4ZIQJmo9nPB3-JU/s1600-h/Nemo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywBGuZqzM7f_WrzyNzW39_m9Vgjt_Nh8n0LkaOjqZC15pviPg2DbC4Bm5-Igxz5GCHqKUwDVH11yOjagQxjMnwLhp4VPQg3QWeoeP900_YMUWjGo4jKzaLdExSWyE4ZIQJmo9nPB3-JU/s400/Nemo.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A.M. pointing to the "Nemo" that he drew. I was shocked at how much it resembles a fish.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>It isn't as if we run around the haus talking like sailors. Ok, well my husband IS a soldier, and he IS responsible for my son learning this word. He will swear to you up and down that this is not his fault. He stopped saying this word months ago, after he heard, finally, with his own ears, our son repeating it, in the appropriate, (if there is one), context. Part of the problem is, hubby isn't around during the day when all the uber emabarrassing events occur. Like when our son is picking hot-fresh-boogies and handing them to his Educational Specialist, or cursing in front of the Speech Therapist, or removing ALL of his clothes at his own Valentine party, and then putting on a naughty show, that I am not going to get in to at this time. Mommy is the one left blushing, feeling like a crappy parent.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzJuTbYVr8FHdRlwTGVG7jXOGMMBsmdoQIbAKY2rjcchQE7spYDnzSga4Fx129SN-DJ5f_35KDgbNO4PywmsAsVcEfZ31FqaaLL4k9AX7WZOrFywiT38s3o6sLIdBOKIj6FOGqoCi9Z0/s1600-h/feb+2010+509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzJuTbYVr8FHdRlwTGVG7jXOGMMBsmdoQIbAKY2rjcchQE7spYDnzSga4Fx129SN-DJ5f_35KDgbNO4PywmsAsVcEfZ31FqaaLL4k9AX7WZOrFywiT38s3o6sLIdBOKIj6FOGqoCi9Z0/s400/feb+2010+509.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
So, this tells me that this word is burned into his little 35 month old brain. What to do? How do I erase it? I've tried reasoning with him, I have tried explaining that it is not a nice word, I have even tried ignoring it - with hopes that it would just go away...sigh. He is to start school in about a month, it's bad enough that I have to worry about him beating on the other children, let alone sass-talking the teacher. Perhaps he will learn SO MUCH in school, that he will forget all about this pesky word. That's my theory, and I am sticking to it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjrf2RGQLdZQvuyTxEu3_LZDco4sdh7kkpHktIVjm0n4Lzf_j__gosXr9GGaxbTArCil0UWje59Ml81Pig806QwThfkXKlJzJf9wySwzjWUiw5UX1bx0yP-ulgNCZ3bM4wKkLWQWA_DY/s1600-h/feb+2010+511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjrf2RGQLdZQvuyTxEu3_LZDco4sdh7kkpHktIVjm0n4Lzf_j__gosXr9GGaxbTArCil0UWje59Ml81Pig806QwThfkXKlJzJf9wySwzjWUiw5UX1bx0yP-ulgNCZ3bM4wKkLWQWA_DY/s400/feb+2010+511.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Artist with his work.</div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-61938360039986130972010-02-11T16:44:00.001+01:002010-02-11T19:06:20.138+01:00Dermatology 101Every dermatologist that I have ever visited takes one look at me and comments about the amount of skin damage I have. In my teenage years, (aka - Wildwood Days), I was extremely careless about getting sunburnt. Instead of sunscreen I lathered on baby oil...I know, it's appalling. I definitely had my fair share of sun poisoning, and I imagine that my future will be filled with repeat visits to the dermatologist's office to have various things removed from my body. <br />
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The Doctor asks me if I have been staying out of the sun. "Of course I'm staying out of the sun, I live in Germany", is always my response. That seems to be the theme of my week...depressing German weather. Lately, I am not sure if I live in Seattle or Germany. The weather has been so dreary and depressing, and damp, that the sun coming out feels like reason for celebration. Staying cooped up in the haus (no matter how big), is making me feel totally insane. <br />
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Getting back to the Dermatologist - So, as luck would have it, I happen to meet the only Dermatologist in the world that does not derive some sadistic pleasure from removing growths from patient's bodies. Isn't that why they go into that field in the first place? Who knows. Pregnancy graced me with some bizarre skin troubles. I even grew a penis. OK, well, not really, but who knew that skin tags can grow really long, and plump from filling with blood, and in the pubic region of all places. That is a story for another time. Believe me, it's a good one. This man identified all of my skin tags and moles as being non-cancerous, therefore, not necessary for removal. Gotta love these Military Doctors. I tried to explain that they get irratated and itchy, because they are along my bra line. His response, "They can itch, and they can be uncomfortable". He also deemed an ugly, hard, shiny, red bump (compliments of my first pregancy), on my leg, as a benign tumor. He informed me that he has the same thing, and even lifted his pant leg to show me the spot on his knee where it resides. <br />
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This reminds me of a story a former co-worker of mine once told me. As an infant his mother was overly concerned that this child had an extra set of nipples. The Doc assured her that it was actually quite common, and proceeded to unbutton his shirt to show her just how common. How's that for freaky?<br />
Getting back, I can never stay on track. In the end, Doc sent me on my way with said skin tags, moles, and tumor still attached to my person. He gave instructions to have my birthday suit looked over by a dermatologist once a year. I still need to have my 37 year old birthday suit looked at. The horror - having someone other than my husband look at my naked body post 2 babies, (again). While I am thrilled that none of my gazillion moles/freckles are cancerous, I would really like the scary ones removed, please. Is that really too much to ask?Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-19997115898263990952010-02-03T07:17:00.003+01:002010-02-20T08:06:55.218+01:00Penis Issues<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROog5A4WPrenmRxE6h1iGTqWKTAzTq4uSzfcOZYfqPVqANQzF-zCVU1xJ_FXrFTiirXuSthYfVCm6jarjaqmf5NeRZq8m4nmkyIggEPRiPJUjAqqruEZCLY_VmCBTqr3LKayopy4Ndv0/s1600-h/underwear+shower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROog5A4WPrenmRxE6h1iGTqWKTAzTq4uSzfcOZYfqPVqANQzF-zCVU1xJ_FXrFTiirXuSthYfVCm6jarjaqmf5NeRZq8m4nmkyIggEPRiPJUjAqqruEZCLY_VmCBTqr3LKayopy4Ndv0/s400/underwear+shower.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Penis Issues...yep, I got 'em, and I don't even have a penis to call my own. I am the mother to 2 little boys and the Step-Mom to a tween boy. Never in my life did I ever imagine I would be surrounded by this much testosterone without being at a gay bar. My husband thinks I am destined to only conceive the male species due to some karmic debt he thinks I am paying, for being mean to boys as a teenager. My Scottish friend Lindsey thinks I only make boys because, (before becoming a parent), I told her that I could never get a male dog because their, "lipsticks", freak me out too much. So here I am surrounded by men. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When we first found out that I was carrying a boy, I was freaked out that there was a penis growing inside of my belly. I am not sure if this thought crosses every preggers-with-a-boy Mom's mind or not - but I have heard at least one other friend express this emotion to me. I convinced myself that I vomited for the entire pregnancy (except for a 2 week reprieve at around the 6 month mark), because my body wasn't used to the male hormones that were invading my system. I puked in every square inch of our rented townhouse, on my husband, the dog, (just as she came out of the groomer, of all times), restaurants, in the car, in my Mother-in-Law's passenger seat, in the grocery store; I even vomited en route to the Operating Room. </div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So, I TOLD my husband that he was in responsible for handling all PENIS ISSUES. After all, he is a man, and that is his turf. Little did I know that these said issues would ARISE (pun intended), so early in my little human's life. So here I am finding myself faced with penis issues (literally) nearly every day with my 2.75 year old, and Daddy is conveniently at work. Out of necessity, I needed to start getting comfortable talking to my son about his penis. Otherwise, I would have a little boy proudly displaying his member in the Post Office (true story). I finally got to use my favorite line of all time from a commercial, "BIG BOYS DON'T PULL THEIR PANTS DOWN IN PUBLIC". I wish I could remember what that commercial was for - I think it should be required viewing for all Mommies of little boys. A fruit snack spot, I think, anywhooooo....</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It innocently began when he discovered his penis ala bathtub. It made me feel strange when he found it, over and over again. But I like to think that I am a progressive parent, so we teach him that it is ok to touch himself (in the privacy of his own home, of course). Sex is not dirty, it is perfectly natural. We made an active choice to teach him the anatomical name (penis) for his genitalia. We're still working on testicles - as does not roll off the tongue as easily. </div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Side story (I apologize for getting off track, but this cracks me up) - When I was teaching Art to 6th Graders (oh, the hormones, and the overwhelming scent of Axe body spray)...the wise-beyond-her-years daughter, of an editor at the Washington Post, told a fellow student that his drawing of a shoe looked like a penis. Talk about the chaos that erupted. My entire class was ready to stone her for saying a word, which is the technical term for this particular organ! I distinctly remember one young man saying, "My Daddy would whoop my behind if he ever heard me say that word". I gently reminded the class that penis is not a bad word; it is the correct name for male parts, but that this was not a discussion that we needed to have in Art class.</div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Getting back, my son has trouble keeping his pants on. I hope that I will not find myself saying this during his teenage years. My Mom keeps telling me that I am going to need to keep a close eye on him, because he likes to "make-out", with the ladies. He really likes kissing, he is very passionate, and it scares the heck out of me. The minute he gets an erection - he swiftly removes his diaper and tells me that his penis is "stuck", and that it hurts. No book on toddlerhood could have ever prepared me for the first time this happened. That is why I consider it my civic duty to Mothers everywhere to educate them in the realness of these matters. A good laugh was shared when an acquaintance told me that when her little boy was almost a year old, she called Pediatrics because his penis was hard and red. She remembered that after his circumcision, she was given explicit instructions to call immediately if these conditions presented themselves. This was almost 12 months later, so the office informed her that it was an erection, and that it was normal. She was embarrassed and is quite sure that they had fun retelling her story. Forgive me if you are a seasoned Mother of boys, and this is all old hat to you. You may have teenagers and be dealing with (gasp) sex…</div><br />
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Good thing none of this occurred while the teenage, German babysitter that we decided to try out was at our haus. Her Mother informed me, over coffee, that her daughter would not change boy diapers...besides, she has never seen a penis, and she wouldn't even know what to do with one. Too tempting, I am not even going to go there. Needless to say, THAT relationship did not work out. My boys would have scarred her for life.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgmaeVzn95wfXcNsxYT_JnPyVUQr5EL2mmQBVe1gib54xh0L7voOlevD_HL_dL46HqmWCA1YNBG4wttqC-U8qnVe_higbro3gDetiRBCU4h9pD6FNn9OhxyKeR-3GIZjjF_Z9IinKdKg/s1600-h/Boys+in+the+Bath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgmaeVzn95wfXcNsxYT_JnPyVUQr5EL2mmQBVe1gib54xh0L7voOlevD_HL_dL46HqmWCA1YNBG4wttqC-U8qnVe_higbro3gDetiRBCU4h9pD6FNn9OhxyKeR-3GIZjjF_Z9IinKdKg/s400/Boys+in+the+Bath.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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"Your penis is just saying good morning to you, it's ok", is my response for erections. Personally, I think it is brilliant. Now if I could just tackle the pesky problem of him stripping down and urinating in the Entertainment Center cabinet, I would be a happy frau.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxKPWJryAsWmeQ1-ITPaLE_zH7Ujo4czMBG1U4FtPjkK5evgGc1EkX6lQnoitTzuC-jIhiiEuayMsjMfJfYR5xcCl46oMEThI5NQNSvN32zEYW1QbBEIxA22K3NX_JBTsALAu1W8-2cw/s1600-h/underwear+hat2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxKPWJryAsWmeQ1-ITPaLE_zH7Ujo4czMBG1U4FtPjkK5evgGc1EkX6lQnoitTzuC-jIhiiEuayMsjMfJfYR5xcCl46oMEThI5NQNSvN32zEYW1QbBEIxA22K3NX_JBTsALAu1W8-2cw/s400/underwear+hat2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-20342555947395755852010-01-25T18:34:00.002+01:002010-02-11T07:47:40.864+01:00I Am Committing Myself!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbO-hd4Ywre3z3a49ZpXj905a9KpcWc-Oul8pBnasS2oplyClbBb0CiBfKPBuiKnLs9P9wvrQp5CLvhMA73-KMEm93TuqnZGDA1dCwQnBxgqR8O6l1E3dTKfyv3ra50o8ZRceGRJ8Nic/s1600-h/Hearts+In+A+Row.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbO-hd4Ywre3z3a49ZpXj905a9KpcWc-Oul8pBnasS2oplyClbBb0CiBfKPBuiKnLs9P9wvrQp5CLvhMA73-KMEm93TuqnZGDA1dCwQnBxgqR8O6l1E3dTKfyv3ra50o8ZRceGRJ8Nic/s320/Hearts+In+A+Row.jpg" /></a></div><br />
It has snowed again in our little part of Germany! Hooray! <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It's funny - since Hubby has been using my car, (his little Nissan Micra refuses to start), I have felt uber trapped in the house. Frankly, this has made me a bit of a crabby mommy...and no one likes a crabby mommy. It snowed, the road conditions were dangerous, so the meeting that I was scheduled to deliver a craft tutorial on <strong>HERBAL EYE PILLOWS</strong> was cancelled. Normally, this would really bum me out. However, today was the perfect day to be snowed in, because I am truly exhausted. Bundling the kids up in their snowsuits is such a task. First, I suit up my almost 3 year old. Then, on to the the 15 month old...only he is making it extremely difficult for mommy by writhing his miniature body, thrashing this way and that way in an attempt to make it all go away! He is screaming bloody murder (he hates feeling like the powder puff blue version of the Sta-Puff Marshmallow man)...and hats - forget it, he simply won't wear 'em. I turn around and the older toddler is already out of his coat...sigh.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>My friend Teresa and I recently discussed how wonderful it can be, "committing", to the idea of staying at home . The best example of this is snow days. On an average day, at home with the kids, with nothing special planned, you can easily become bored or irratable. If it is a snow day, on the other hand, suddenly it is a reason to celebrate. We believe that it is because you are COMMITTED to staying home and determined to make it a fun day. It is all about your outlook. <br />
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This leads me to MY new and improved outlook on stay-at-home-motherhood. <strong>I am committing myself</strong> to the idea of being at home, changing my frame of mind to a more positive one - despite Germany's dreary, gray weather, and planning on having more fun everyday. In order to accomplish this feat, I am trying to tackle new projects, crafts, and activities that will really engage my little boys.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Today, for our exciting project, we made red, heart ice-cubes and set them in the brilliant, white, snow.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wP7hdq72cfyVT_2JSzisNBI_ar67_MKLXGQ1oaQZwtmmD5s07N7yRuUREBQn8TkykytVp1LP591MgrQKaL3uhgSsUxNDmqvzsN2ZclChkfSDB5Y8QKF2KdaP_Z_CECumiwXL7b12Cak/s1600-h/You+Melt+My+Heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wP7hdq72cfyVT_2JSzisNBI_ar67_MKLXGQ1oaQZwtmmD5s07N7yRuUREBQn8TkykytVp1LP591MgrQKaL3uhgSsUxNDmqvzsN2ZclChkfSDB5Y8QKF2KdaP_Z_CECumiwXL7b12Cak/s400/You+Melt+My+Heart.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This project was adapted from an idea that a friend, who was a school teacher before becoming a Mom, passed on to me. She used cookie cutters, rather than ice cube trays. This method will create a bigger frozen shape. She used an old aluminum pie tin, molded to snugly fit the cookie cutter, to hold the water in. I think aluminum foil would probably work just as well. Before freezing - she would place dental floss in the water at the top. When frozen, the hearts could be hung from trees, railings, etc. outside! What fun!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxMwhKCBJz2qxBupNpV6UajcG6CSlGzzKxIDv3GsISxSgdRE_YrQ7Zsx9nd0qDBThUNtfKgOdPVaV0NTm5RmfOi8v1yvXZbAkue2G_8qStErgX3eg_6i2rwK-SFjs2ULYcFmGWNBd7wk/s1600-h/Close+Hearts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxMwhKCBJz2qxBupNpV6UajcG6CSlGzzKxIDv3GsISxSgdRE_YrQ7Zsx9nd0qDBThUNtfKgOdPVaV0NTm5RmfOi8v1yvXZbAkue2G_8qStErgX3eg_6i2rwK-SFjs2ULYcFmGWNBd7wk/s400/Close+Hearts.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> We did not go through the hassle of putting our coats on. We ran outside, and plopped our craft in the snow, and ran back in the house. I can't wait until my husband comes home, to see these sweet, little, decorations sprinkled on our snow-covered lawn. They are sure to make him smile. My older toddler LOVES eating ice - so I gave him half of the cubes that we froze to eat. He munched away, happy as a clam, telling me they were delicious! Heeeheeee...a little food coloring and some dollar store , novelty, ice cube trays can score you some major points with the toddler set!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4AzxhuS7DzOrLupc1RPt49-9fHjAxdO0EeVtco9qiijShM0NCT4pA-HBquWa4QJhE5k2_DufOHCykH2uPgTgqCYaNsLhCMxCFNN9bAGAyXyM8mU22uD-yHsZpb2RBeQ21zuj0Mo34aDo/s1600-h/Eat+Your+Hearts+Out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4AzxhuS7DzOrLupc1RPt49-9fHjAxdO0EeVtco9qiijShM0NCT4pA-HBquWa4QJhE5k2_DufOHCykH2uPgTgqCYaNsLhCMxCFNN9bAGAyXyM8mU22uD-yHsZpb2RBeQ21zuj0Mo34aDo/s400/Eat+Your+Hearts+Out.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Now I need to start thinking about what fun is in store for us tomorrow!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-87137935587375338052010-01-22T15:18:00.003+01:002010-02-19T07:48:31.436+01:00Soft-Pretzel Envy<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ49swbxqJgJdGgglp0cQd3mlW3PI9yrcf1qDIK2ZhyphenhyphencpJFE2khCdrHfCFOnPtYjyzoVoJIwD2KL4SH0TFMHFMoV5mGIZDrewZICMsCngiOacmMl9u4a7u4nTqSpWvWdGLaI7YBlGtfU/s1600-h/Pretzel+Basket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ49swbxqJgJdGgglp0cQd3mlW3PI9yrcf1qDIK2ZhyphenhyphencpJFE2khCdrHfCFOnPtYjyzoVoJIwD2KL4SH0TFMHFMoV5mGIZDrewZICMsCngiOacmMl9u4a7u4nTqSpWvWdGLaI7YBlGtfU/s400/Pretzel+Basket.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">What do you do when your toddler has a melt-down, because his friend has a soft-pretzel and he doesn't? Imagine the scene - an almost 3 year old playing tug of war over a bakery bag, that is not his, with a 7 year old girl. How embarrassing, but really, can you blame him? Isn't everyone willing to put up a good fight for a soft-pretzel? I know I am. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You think, no biggie, we'll go to the bakery and buy some. </div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Then you remember that you are not only without a car this week, but since your double-stroller is in the trunk of that car, you are also stroller-less. This does not make a trip down to the village bakery very easy.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Older toddler, (2.75 years), would refuse to hold my hand, run out into the street, laugh, and think it is a game of, "catch me if you can". All the while, I, Mommy, would go into full-blown panic mode. I envision myself charging down the hill after him, giving whiplash to the 15 month old strapped to my chest, in an infant carrier, that he outgrew about 6 months ago. All the while, German onlookers would shake their heads in disgust, thinking to themselves, "Why can't those Americans control their children"? I know these looks firsthand.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Then I thought, let's bake our own soft-pretzels! What fun! I have been wanting to try my hand at baking pretzels, lately. This was the perfect opportunity. A recipe for <strong><a href="http://www.rachaelraymag.com/Recipes/rachael-ray-magazine-recipes/on-hand-ingredients-recipes/Giant-Bavarian-Pretzels">Bavarian Style Pretzels</a></strong> had been floating around my kitchen for a least the last month or so. Good thing a fresh package of dry-active yeast was purchased on my last commissary run. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPg7y9eKumnTmi2EIamI9ENearB0U1Jb_RNF9DLFkaLwPFRxdNXFD7FqSXwe4M7DqTOc00y6GEQTJnC65lhFunVZ5W6KyuO7AkpFHi6GGzdq6ZXsCE2ktCJLk3dtG9DEyb9uGuTqfoSik/s1600-h/Pretzel+Quartet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPg7y9eKumnTmi2EIamI9ENearB0U1Jb_RNF9DLFkaLwPFRxdNXFD7FqSXwe4M7DqTOc00y6GEQTJnC65lhFunVZ5W6KyuO7AkpFHi6GGzdq6ZXsCE2ktCJLk3dtG9DEyb9uGuTqfoSik/s400/Pretzel+Quartet.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The ingredients were measured, mixed, rested, kneaded, divided, rolled, bathed, salted, and finally, baked. The aroma that permeated my haus... WOW! It smelled like a bakery in my very own, funky, little kitchen. I should have started baking my own pretzels eons ago. Oh well, now I know how easy and quick (sort of), it is to enjoy delicious, warm, soft-pretzels in the comfort of your own home! My little boys were VERY happy...and that makes this Mommy, ecstatic.</div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ8xoWBdK_UXU5Y07Tvom4mI_bu8MTOKfmyAVcKpvDyS56T1aw253jd8VmUSWKwRhwydKdvyAX1GvsSDWmT2g0Z0-RK3FNjnbiqHKjEmkbZxA3u9gKzfFUNIIoZdY3oT9ULr8RDHtjfcs/s1600-h/jan+2010+079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ8xoWBdK_UXU5Y07Tvom4mI_bu8MTOKfmyAVcKpvDyS56T1aw253jd8VmUSWKwRhwydKdvyAX1GvsSDWmT2g0Z0-RK3FNjnbiqHKjEmkbZxA3u9gKzfFUNIIoZdY3oT9ULr8RDHtjfcs/s400/jan+2010+079.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JPmlDeUOshO7JdmfCB-6T7UQJb3ZbyD8tRsFehuNQeMYU4Z6Snw1Xr5CLZ4EKyo4OOd6-qjLbfoP4T-Ob5paXGwYd4usJoFHxo0WejqyyitQUa3WpkaB3Em_MUZz_QMGjTcI4KVQ-nQ/s1600-h/Toddler+Pretzel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JPmlDeUOshO7JdmfCB-6T7UQJb3ZbyD8tRsFehuNQeMYU4Z6Snw1Xr5CLZ4EKyo4OOd6-qjLbfoP4T-Ob5paXGwYd4usJoFHxo0WejqyyitQUa3WpkaB3Em_MUZz_QMGjTcI4KVQ-nQ/s400/Toddler+Pretzel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-16766187842911025202010-01-09T10:42:00.003+01:002010-01-22T17:09:42.403+01:00Yummy Weekend!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Vr74ow8O_5I_DU9gPRdJN5MZhztp6pA0eB-kq75FYCz8yQGKFrF-Onlkpf61i4aYtfEn3266Tw-MrvmNLRXClR_7i9qwRZrC7e9TuIPubM-1gskjmkG4KoM1JUotJYa0OCHpcShlTNY/s1600-h/Brothers+Playing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Vr74ow8O_5I_DU9gPRdJN5MZhztp6pA0eB-kq75FYCz8yQGKFrF-Onlkpf61i4aYtfEn3266Tw-MrvmNLRXClR_7i9qwRZrC7e9TuIPubM-1gskjmkG4KoM1JUotJYa0OCHpcShlTNY/s640/Brothers+Playing.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
</div>It has snowed several inches in our part of Germany and we are committed to staying at home all weekend! Also, we are BROKE from ordering oil for our heater, so it helps that we enjoy spending the weekend cooking, baking, playing, snuggling, and movie watching! On the agenda this weekend: snowman building - with our new Snowman kit - (what fun!), White Wine Cheese soup cooking, Kalamata Oregano Bread baking, movie-watching, Pumpkin Pie baking (hubby's fave), a bit of sewing (curtains for the kitchen, and MOPS craft preparation), and a teensy bit of knitting (finishing up baby booties for a new baby gift)!<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This is my idea of a dreamy weekend at home. Since we moved off-base into a quaint village named Weilerbach - we have the space to really stretch out and be ourselves. This makes us want to stay home, instead of run out the door!<br />
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</div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-22256482849727107432009-11-15T08:50:00.003+01:002010-02-19T08:58:43.110+01:00Poop and Chocolate Cake.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrV5nJxmK_ailXnTKbYORIjADBsppEfzuZRfgIsPA6f6ZGyvbipIu1ocFa1zZHAT1PuswmeERS_opV5sqnuwwHdNeVr0Yu7ssU1d3ObSQjU8bNVK-j7TUGZA0Hj8uTVrGplHN02QwdVA/s1600-h/choc+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrV5nJxmK_ailXnTKbYORIjADBsppEfzuZRfgIsPA6f6ZGyvbipIu1ocFa1zZHAT1PuswmeERS_opV5sqnuwwHdNeVr0Yu7ssU1d3ObSQjU8bNVK-j7TUGZA0Hj8uTVrGplHN02QwdVA/s400/choc+cake.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Being a parent requires that you become familiar with other people's poop. VERY familiar. Once my husband actually had to help one along from an extremely constipated toddler. He will probably die of embarrassment when he reads that I am posting this on the internet. Sorry dear, I love you.<br />
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Why do I feel compelled to tell these tales of feces? Because frankly, they make life hilarious, sorta. Usually, they are not funny in the moment, but become hysterical with the passage of time! Everytime I fart, my 2 year old asks me if I pooped. "Mommy poop"? "No dear, Mommy just farted". A typical exchange in our household. I began thinking a lot about just how prevalent poo is a part of our everyday dialog last night when I was baking our 1 year old's first birthday cake. Why? I'll get to that. The Birthday cake was 18 days belated, I know, some Mom. I told you I don't have much time! This was my second attempt at baking this cake. Funny, I baked this same cake multiple times last year - and never had a problem. Suddenly, I have a second child, and BAM!, I suck as a baker. Such is life.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJsOGEx8GM4tD4vi8RFrB3iZhcNvz6orCHrsneeotFHC5zMaxM0YIYbFgTQyEeeca4FZkvxOq6FYhdZapj1CRlEIrOJsMdco1r5sFhKWJhOCnmoFiU4Fiz04R97ybveClxWNlXpbz33A/s1600-h/IMG_8018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJsOGEx8GM4tD4vi8RFrB3iZhcNvz6orCHrsneeotFHC5zMaxM0YIYbFgTQyEeeca4FZkvxOq6FYhdZapj1CRlEIrOJsMdco1r5sFhKWJhOCnmoFiU4Fiz04R97ybveClxWNlXpbz33A/s400/IMG_8018.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<strong>First attempt at <a href="http://www.bhg.com/recipe/chocolate-cakes/chocolate-harvest-cake/">Chocolate Birthday Cake</a> (only 2 days belated):</strong><br />
We had a kid's Halloween party to go to the morning before Halloween. I was feeling fairly unstoppable - so I thought, "I will bake a Ruby Red Plum Upside Down Cake to take to the party, and since I have time I will bake the chocolate layers for Baby's birthday cake too"! The Plum cake was a disaster - which I didn't discover until I took a bite of it at the party. The horror! Toting a failed culinary experiment to a party, with real live humans there to taste! Before I left the party, best believe, I dumped it in the trash. Hazardous waste - as far as the Germans are concerned. My thoughts exactly.<br />
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Moving on. Baked the chocolate cake before going to the party. Each layer separately, because that is all my tiny German convection oven will accomodate. Everything seemed to be going well. However, I think I left them in the pans too long to cool. Because when I flipped them to remove from the pans, they wouldn't come out. I even tried coaxing them out with a sharp knife along the edge. The cake decided it was in love with the pan - and was never leaving it. Despite the greasing with butter, and dusting it, ever so lovingly with flour. UUUGH, why? Why I ask you, did I not line the bottom with Parchment paper? I have no idea, perhaps I was feeling a bit cocky. The cake was a failure. It tasted delicious, stuck to the bottom of the pan in all of it's glory. Would have made an excellent parfait, but I couldn't bear to look at it any longer.<br />
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<strong>Second attempt at baking birthday cake (18 days belated):</strong><br />
This time I was sure to use Parchment paper. First layer was a dream. Second layer sure to be the same. But then I got caught up on the phone w/Mom. I didn't set a timer. Dummy, tempting fate. DH opened the oven, and smoke billowed out. Yep, burnt to a crisp. How irratating. Made a new batch of cake batter. This time I was going to bake one big replacement layer, and 2 small heart shaped cakes. One for each of my offspring. Well, the heart pans were new, springform pans. They leaked all over the bottom of the oven. I smelled something burning, and thought, "No way, those cakes have not been in long enough to burn". I saw the chocolate mess on the oven floor, that would continue to be a menace if I did not swiftly remove. So, I scraped the burnt chocolate cake bits onto the floor, as they were piping hot. Toddler walks in to kitchen, and very nonchalantly asks me if I pooped on the floor. Oh, if it were only that simple!<br />
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As much as I do not want to bore you with elaborations on some of our other "crappy" stories. I can't possibly leave this one out. One extremely challenging day, Aidan's bowel movement made it's way out of his diaper. He is really in to taking off his diaper the minute it is soiled as of late. Potty training is imminent, we're working on it. I took notice of this as a log was flying through the air. Most of the time I can intercept this action, but 4 whatever reason, on this particular day, I could not. Sophie (the dog) ate it....YUCK, YUCK, TRIPLE YUCK! She is 6 years old, and has never done that before. While I was trying to do damage control with some butt wipes, 2 year old was brushing my hair with the used toilet wand that came with our German Haus...and we all know where that has been. <br />
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Getting your hands dirty, (or carpet, or hair), comes with the territory. I have embraced this. File away these stories until they become funny, and tell myself that I will not be wiping other people's asses 4ever.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8205496684314674001.post-58113333989443122742009-11-14T07:17:00.003+01:002010-01-22T17:14:48.587+01:00A Happy Home Isn't Always a Clean Home!<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVtGmga8kxa7pdlYVCKui4XpZN8Ir3ffWEBXN2F0DxYpZmqHoBbtiwUbODf_Vf0rmhaAeKW_ZdxenGi1eWv1z5COvgseg6mHydWaJdqodcrUSMrWHn6rVGnozDsVt2p0SpOPxYgklW6DE/s1600-h/Ut+Oh+Spaghettio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVtGmga8kxa7pdlYVCKui4XpZN8Ir3ffWEBXN2F0DxYpZmqHoBbtiwUbODf_Vf0rmhaAeKW_ZdxenGi1eWv1z5COvgseg6mHydWaJdqodcrUSMrWHn6rVGnozDsVt2p0SpOPxYgklW6DE/s640/Ut+Oh+Spaghettio.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">My house (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">haus</span>) is trashed.</span> </span><br />
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<div><span style="font-family: arial;">There probably isn't a word for a messy house in the German language. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I get the feeling that the Germans just don't make messes. They sweep their sidewalks...<strong>DAILY</strong>!!! When we moved in - my husband and I joked that all of our German neighbors were saying, "Americans just moved in - there goes the village".</span><br />
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<div><span style="font-family: arial;">This leaves me feeling like the lazy American neighbor that does not have the time to rake the insane amount of leaves that are taking up residence in the public alley/walkway next to our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">haus</span>. The German Frau that lives on the other side of the alley actually sweeps only her side of the alley. Hilarious. She also tries to peddle her homemade candles and cards on me - that are quite pricey for the old lady set...but that is beside the point. There simply isn't enough time in the day for daily raking between the diaper changing, mountains of laundry, kid-friendly meals, Play Do<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">h</span> sessions, crafting, cleaning, etc.</span><br />
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<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqolFDAnITef4B68iRNpENYeCeE53DJwEphC72iDJ3OK-wLaqdtswsEI_LZ0UVx9iEdxmEFovEGCvMCa_OKYbbbzeWDmZE9rFT0YXylZ6HYXh2jSV8_8n167jcqxPREAsHN6FzYKjlvNY/s1600-h/Bean-Bin+Gone+Wrong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqolFDAnITef4B68iRNpENYeCeE53DJwEphC72iDJ3OK-wLaqdtswsEI_LZ0UVx9iEdxmEFovEGCvMCa_OKYbbbzeWDmZE9rFT0YXylZ6HYXh2jSV8_8n167jcqxPREAsHN6FzYKjlvNY/s640/Bean-Bin+Gone+Wrong.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Arial;">Basically I am a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hausfrau</span> (housewife in German), stay-at-home-Mom (SAHM), Army wife, living in Germany, that has difficulty keeping it all together. I know, you think to yourself, (unless of course, you are also a <span style="background-color: yellow;">SAHM</span>)...how can a woman who stays home all day long not have any time? I often ask myself the same question. Some nights, I don't even get dinner on the table. I don't mean to complain. Really, I don't. I am a very happy woman, wife, mother. I guess, the big issue, the reason for this blog - is that I have never been unemployed until these gestational and child-rearing years, and that makes me a little uneasy. I like working. I miss working. Working gives women like myself a sense of purpose. The grass is always greener, I know. I just need to remind myself that I cannot ever get these early years back with my children. As hectic as it may feel at times, I love being home, watching them grow. They, along with my husband, are the best things that ever could have happened to my life. </span><br />
</div>Rachel S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07904556945045368338noreply@blogger.com2