Trampolining and such

One kid got baptized, one designed her own t-shirt, and one stuffed her face in a cake.

On the new trampoline:

Zoe made a cake at a party and decided the best use of it would be sticking her face in it:

Isabella went to Brent's work to job shadow him. She got to design and print her own t-shirt:

Noah was baptized by Uncle Matt:

What a handsome boy.

Twenty

Internet, I've been sick most of the month of March. I'm just now beginning to emerge from an ibuprofen popping, oozing, aching, constantly feeling like a two year old is squeezing my tonsils in his or her strong, tiny fist stupor. So I've been in bed as much as humanly possible learning how to redo my neighbor's bathroom with fabulous glass tile and carrara marble flooring courtesy of the kind givers of knowledge over at the DIY network. I'll have to do my neighbors bathroom because I simply don't care enough to do my own. Bathrooms aren't my top priority. It could use a coat of paint though. So my neighbors have really lucked out this time. Kudos to them.

Prior to being stricken with walking pneumonia/the plague/throat, lung and bone cancer (strangely not the flu though, I went to the doctor and got a couple of swabs stuffed up my nose that was all at once invasive and cleansing but came back with negative results) I was getting in shape. Working out like a mad woman. I spent the whole month of January successfully achieving results with my new years resolution: workout at least five days a week and eat good 5 out of 7 days each week. I even broke the birthday cake curse: When you make a resolution to eat healthy FROM NOW ON! at the beginning of January but you forget that two of your kids have birthdays in the first two weeks of the year and you're a big sucker for a good birthday cake.

So, now I'm on the road to recovery (fingers crossed). I need to get back with it. I'm taking it to the internets. Which means this here blog. I want to lose twenty pounds. My only goal is to eat all the healthy/whole foods I can and workout as much as I can (which will probably translate into about 4-6 times per week). I don't do calorie counting, that's for schmucks (unless you count calories, I would never call you a schmuck). Today I have begun my journey with my own Power Breakfast (plain yogurt, blueberries, sliced oranges, ground flax seed, oats, stir it all together and enjoy) and a good stretch (never underestimate the importance of stretching) followed by a walk to the elementary school to volunteer and back. I'm still kind of sick, so let's not get too crazy.

Here is my before picture, which I really don't like much, but in my defense it was the day I really started getting sick and wound up with a 102 fever that night. You try looking good doing yoga with a fever of 102.

The Dumbest of The Smart

If I ever write a memoir it will be called The Dumbest of The Smart....a Memoir. It's almost as cool as the name of Brent's future memoir, In The Shadow of The Squeegee. Very mysterious I know. These names are copyrighted of course. Sorry, you can't have them. I've always felt that way, dumbest of the smart. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. There's always room for improvement. If I were smartest of the dumb, well then I would have peaked. I'd have to say, this is as good as it gets. In high school I was in honors classes...just barely. I should write a memoir just to save all the timeless tales of my childhood for my children and my children's children to read someday. I think about it then I think, could I ever really put my most embarrassing moment on paper? Or on the internet? Or even in microsoft word? I've had the same most embarrassing moment of my life since I was 19 years old. So for twenty years. It was so embarrassing it has been difficult if not impossible to surpass. There I was, waiting for my date to pick me up in the afternoon. We were going over to the community college to play raquetball. There was a knock and Chuck (my step dad) told him to come in... Nope. That's as far as I can get. I've only told this story to two, maybe three people. Maybe it's not that bad, I just embarrass easily. Still. Some things are better left unsaid.

I could just start my memoir by telling how I got my name. Why did my parents name me Cindy? I'm not a Cindy in the '70's sense of the name. Cindy was always a dumb blond with a big chest on TV when I was growing up. I guess that is sort of appropriate. I am blond but anatomically I don't fit the bill. My dad had what I would guess was a small crush on a coworker. Why did he have a crush on this woman? Well, she'd had surgical augmentation, if you know what I mean. So yes, there you have it. My parents named me after a woman named Cindy who had a boob job. So glad I got that off my chest. Pun intended? I think my slight white trash upbringing streak is showing through. So back to my most embarrassing story. Could it really be worse than the story of how I got my name? I'm afraid so. It's funny if delivered properly. Funny and horrifying all at once. No, not yet. We'll save horrifying for later.

Quotes

"I brought food to the hungry and people called me a saint. I asked why people were hungry and people called me a communist."-Dom Helder Camara

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers." -M. Scott Peck
 
A couple of quotes I've read recently that I really love.