tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20080662273241988272024-03-13T02:37:49.898-04:00The Mom Blog. . . by Suzy A. RichardsonSuzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-9685822720263623812008-10-27T20:54:00.004-04:002008-10-27T21:09:20.012-04:0058: Can I leave you with some chocolate?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWvpepgx5BlkMLKQJVS53r-MPr4SOkTs3KUYXwp5pkneidig555T2fFczb6nPL6B0dqTs8BE1KSoFBc3n_oFpDX2InYpejgGp32WExmKidrVArp9zo14Vhyphenhyphen_u3zHYW0JFJmevuIA0-lM/s1600-h/Chocolate.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWvpepgx5BlkMLKQJVS53r-MPr4SOkTs3KUYXwp5pkneidig555T2fFczb6nPL6B0dqTs8BE1KSoFBc3n_oFpDX2InYpejgGp32WExmKidrVArp9zo14Vhyphenhyphen_u3zHYW0JFJmevuIA0-lM/s320/Chocolate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262005606320920658" border="0" /></a><br />My girlfriend in Ohio sent me a delicious little link today and now, I pass it on to you: (Just click the yum.)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.haydeechocolatier.com/sample.php">Yum.</a><br /><br />So, that brings me to this: I have decided not to blog every day right now. There is so much going on in my life--I am negotiating a book deal with a publishing firm; my husband has just started training to become a fire fighter; I'm working full time; I am planning to launch a Web site in the near future; Oh, yes, and that other thing: I have four kids.<br /><br />And then there's the blog--If I have to take one thing off of my plate right now, it is the blog. Although, I am not abandoning my blog. Oh no. Never that. I will still be blogging--though definitely not daily.<br /><br />Either way, I have to go change my home page blurbs now ... no longer the 365-day journey. You guys understand, right?Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-54751480581936490512008-10-26T21:41:00.007-04:002008-10-26T21:57:47.635-04:0057: Baby, don't go ...Well, tomorrow is the big day--my hubby starts as a recruit firefighter tomorrow. We are thrilled. So, this evening, we are getting things ready for tomorrow: his social security card, clothes ... oh, and the two little ones have their first day of school tomorrow. So, there's a lot to do.<br /><br />But, you wouldn't have known that by the way my hubby was acting.<br /><br />"So, I need the paper work for the day care," I tell him. "I need to get all their stuff ready. I need their list of stuff to bring."<br /><br />"Oh, you just bring them," he tells me.<br /><br />Umm, you do realize that I have done this day care thing so, so many times, right? No, you don't just drop your kids off. They need items, diapers, food, changes of clothing, wipes, already prepared bottles, lunch, snacks, shot records...<br /><br />"Well, they didn't give me a list, so I didn't think we needed to worry about it."<br /><br />Oh, he is such a ... guy.<br /><br />So, I can deal with that. But, what I am having a really hard time with tonight is the thought of leaving my little-bitty baby, Rock. He is so sweet, so nice, so loving and so innocent. And he's never been away from mommy and daddy. He's always been cared for by us.<br /><br />I actually think my 2-year-old needs the experience. He screams when we take him out of Sunday School and the gym nursery. I think he is really craving some more interaction with children in his age group. That, and he's so rough. He just kind of takes care of himself.<br /><br />But, the baby ... he's my little baby. My last. I am really having a hard time leaving him tomorrow. I might just have to shed a tear.<br /><br />ALSO:<br />Please go visit my personal Web site. I just updated it. I wanted everyone to know that no matter where I go online, you can always, always find me at <a href="http://suzyrichardson.com">www.suzyrichardson.com</a>. I have posted quite a few of my clips. Feel free to peruse.Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-82429435713680084652008-10-26T09:17:00.002-04:002008-10-26T09:19:16.560-04:0056: A Freebie!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4veQvsC1fZlMuvZcviNsAddN-Un9e8Pc6hVNYFdO8IRVm18fG7xLec1l-85jUXkerDRB1EWmbPC9TaQg2OvgxsQumS6WD1TWSSLZIP_7I7m4ZM-pIc67z1xIbQQAvV_hbcnuOE_Q_9pI/s1600-h/disney041.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4veQvsC1fZlMuvZcviNsAddN-Un9e8Pc6hVNYFdO8IRVm18fG7xLec1l-85jUXkerDRB1EWmbPC9TaQg2OvgxsQumS6WD1TWSSLZIP_7I7m4ZM-pIc67z1xIbQQAvV_hbcnuOE_Q_9pI/s320/disney041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261451223196506354" border="0" /></a><br />This is just an FYI: <a href="http://disneyparks.disney.go.com/disneyparks/en_US/WhatWillYouCelebrate/index?name=FreeOnYourBirthdayPage">Disney is giving free admissions for birthdays ... </a><br />(You have to register before Dec. 31, 2008)Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-32286425306337367822008-10-25T20:30:00.003-04:002008-10-25T20:36:22.951-04:0055: Pumpkin Day!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6g4hWowuhm6jLJg1lQ83No02Yuua3qKZ1Jd5Cy1EzWylTgl3YZB81-GRsxeD6lRqC9P9GrgpLx4cYxYARRGEiF9IIT5668mO8DsA9jIvPUEX3iVvL6LikA8IBskeaDnwj_2UtbkhK-I/s1600-h/october2008+002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6g4hWowuhm6jLJg1lQ83No02Yuua3qKZ1Jd5Cy1EzWylTgl3YZB81-GRsxeD6lRqC9P9GrgpLx4cYxYARRGEiF9IIT5668mO8DsA9jIvPUEX3iVvL6LikA8IBskeaDnwj_2UtbkhK-I/s320/october2008+002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261254120243931778" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Qk6aBTOeSpVSBg_Ptfz75QDSkkIKZe1X2_doOePYC3TP1s9TbUpDCbxff2t52jiWZBByWngeJ33wgx1e5aHbRZuOdimjhGm5FVW0XYtilqCKhrMouGZ7XFyAb7n8eIH-V5SAVPzuXjY/s1600-h/october2008+003.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Qk6aBTOeSpVSBg_Ptfz75QDSkkIKZe1X2_doOePYC3TP1s9TbUpDCbxff2t52jiWZBByWngeJ33wgx1e5aHbRZuOdimjhGm5FVW0XYtilqCKhrMouGZ7XFyAb7n8eIH-V5SAVPzuXjY/s320/october2008+003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261254665783186674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">This is the pumpkin we picked up at the Seafood Festival last week. We finally got around to carving it.</span><br /></div>Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-31374589514030052462008-10-24T23:58:00.004-04:002008-10-25T00:01:18.928-04:007th Graders Debate Obama vs. McCain<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p><object width="425" height="350"><param value="http://youtube.com/v/Zj5eWRzDhNI" name="movie"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://youtube.com/v/Zj5eWRzDhNI" width="425" height="350"></embed></object></p><p>Check out this video. It is a trip! (I'm digging the white dude!) Oh, and: this song WILL get stuck in your head!<br /></p></div>Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-46653693854880597332008-10-24T23:34:00.004-04:002008-10-24T23:39:58.105-04:0054: Be more specificI had a nice moment to myself earlier. I was sitting on my balcony, all alone. And, I started thinking about direction. That is the word that came to my mind: direction.<br /><br />Direction, direction, direction.<br /><br />Am I going in the right direction?<br />Am I spending my time wisely?<br />Should I keep doing the blog?<br />Should I streamline things a bit?<br />What about my Web site?<br />Should I keep negotiating with the publisher?<br /><br />So much going on in my head. I just had to stop the noise and ask God what I should be focused on. So, there's that one word: direction. And there was His answer to me: focus.<br /><br />I wish it were easier than that. Now, I have to figure out what to focus on. (God, could you be a little more specific, please?)Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-20441817029768084832008-10-23T20:26:00.003-04:002008-10-23T20:29:34.956-04:0053: This is how my day went:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIV-eOcpZCvAkG0RbnF50ZhMUnwwyA_S4dm7ioouIqxC8FX69XwYuP-7hHh45s19YBseaEg9DGqfa2c1m1nb-201Tw5D9_vPNrqayEuGj6Lp9ZMWhq1exXd9xIFMX_trUgpk8-uAAmODs/s1600-h/dwight.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIV-eOcpZCvAkG0RbnF50ZhMUnwwyA_S4dm7ioouIqxC8FX69XwYuP-7hHh45s19YBseaEg9DGqfa2c1m1nb-201Tw5D9_vPNrqayEuGj6Lp9ZMWhq1exXd9xIFMX_trUgpk8-uAAmODs/s320/dwight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260510776988793698" border="0" /></a><br />But, it's going to end with a good laugh. Thank God for The Office.Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-46810080260050290552008-10-22T21:51:00.002-04:002008-10-22T22:08:01.960-04:0052: Waiting ...So, I haven't heard anything back about the book contract, yet. It's cool--I need time to breathe. And at work, things are hectic. This is my company's busiest time of year. Which means that I am crazy busy right now at work. I actually love, love, love being busy. My days absolutely fly by.<br /><br />But, hubby is also supposed to begin training with the Fire Department in less than a week. So, yeah, things are hectic. My prayer with the contract is that I get a deal that is good for my family and I. I mean, my time is spread so thinly these days that I really have to think about how I am getting paid for my time. And, so, if it's not a good deal, I will have to talk away--with my family in mind, of course.Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-5534459164628813422008-10-21T20:41:00.001-04:002008-10-21T20:44:59.329-04:0051: Re-negotiating ...a contract tonight. I actually have to go through this thing carefully and make some revisions. Oh, and be willing to walk away if it's not a good deal for me. Yeah, that might be the hard part. But, either way ... if God means it to be. Okay, so I'll keep you posted on the deal--I'll say what I am able to say. You know ...Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-9093260956218448402008-10-20T20:15:00.013-04:002008-10-20T20:59:46.954-04:0050: Bats and boxingThis morning was cool, which made me realize that summer is now officially behind me ... always a bittersweet reality for me.<br /><br />I walked through the brisk breeze and into the office before 9 a.m. this morning. Just moments later, I was happily sipping a mug of hot chocolate, in-between bites of home-made gingerbread cookies. Makes me long for the cool winds that wintertime blows through--though briefly--in Florida. So, this morning, Star Bucks was on the company and a co-worker brought some homemade treats.<br /><br />Since this is our busy season, I think they're spoiling us a little. We had Happy Hour on them last Friday and this Friday, were having a cookout at the office.<br /><br />Yummy days.<br /><br />But, yummy days also mean forcing myself to work out and burn off those "yummy" days.<br /><br />So, let me just tell you about my jog on Friday ... that ended with me dodging live, little flying bats! So, I was running about an hour late to J's house for our usual three-mile walk. But, I stopped by Happy Hour that evening for a drink with the co-workers.<br /><br />By the time J and I actually started our walk, which was to be our fist "jog", the sun was setting and the sky's warm colors were quickly become chilly, darker ones. We jogged--walked--jogged--walked--ran!<br /><br />It all started out smoothly. We had planned to jog--walk--jog--walk ... the entire three miles. It all began with a spider web--I stepped right into it and felt something on my arm. Egh! And this dog started barking at us and running right into our direction. He was in someone's yard with a wide-open gate.<br /><br />So, we escaped the wrath of Fido and we started heading back. At that point, J and I saw these tiny little black things dive almost all the way to the ground and swoop back up. At first, we noticed two, maybe three. And then there were 20, maybe 30. "Run!" I said. And we did ... we ran until we got "through" the bats.<br /><br />That was a bit much. "It's a whole different walk at night," J said. She was absolutely right.<br /><br />So, that was my Friday evening scare. My Monday morning scare came in the form of an e-mail from L, a fellow editor, who is also a sports columnist. See, on Friday evening, my hubby had gone over to his house (although they had never met before then) so that he could watch a boxing match on TV.<br /><br />I saw the subject line: "Odd question."<br /><br />And then it started out somewhat like this: "So, your husband is a good man and his friend was cool, too. But, I have a weird question to ask you."<br /><br />I was immediately thinking ... "Oh no, what did hubby do? What's this guy about to ask me ..."<br /><br />"So, can you tell me how to spell his name."<br /><br />Oh, whew. He wanted to get his name right because he was using him as a source in his column. Cool. A little while later, he had sent me a link, and then another and another. He writes a column that is picked up by multiple outlets. It was nice to read about someone other than me writing about him:-)<br /><br />Here's the link if you want to read: Oh, it's about boxing because you'll be confused if you don't know it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.miamiherald.com/sports/boxing/story/733700.html">http://www.miamiherald.com/sports/boxing/story/733700.html</a>Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-15443740194342544022008-10-19T20:15:00.013-04:002008-10-19T21:17:08.174-04:0049: Picture Sunday!You know I love to pull a Picture Sunday when I have eventful pictures to post. And don't forget: I am working with a terrible camera that I despise these days. But anyway, here goes ... Picture Sunday:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsf1eB-sMXBZT_Skg3c9STJeXLNOmZHYxyOSJPd-P6ww77xcXw2XEMltZbp9eT0Q_M1ntXtO0N0QdFQpbaPSiip8qR7JOenG4-07BirTj0KU-8uI1HC93ZbGxE318BHQS8SAZpBRq57k/s1600-h/blog+001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsf1eB-sMXBZT_Skg3c9STJeXLNOmZHYxyOSJPd-P6ww77xcXw2XEMltZbp9eT0Q_M1ntXtO0N0QdFQpbaPSiip8qR7JOenG4-07BirTj0KU-8uI1HC93ZbGxE318BHQS8SAZpBRq57k/s320/blog+001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259025153380541378" border="0" /></a>The baby is getting so big! He has such a sweet disposition. We just all love him so much. We call him our "special baby" since he is the last. (The kids actually came up with that.)<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvglJLca2vrcUQPG-6tdnxWrdKKmbqQAT2aW4zpdxY3gTojCa7MkK7srRFhqn4xrHgOA8PESy8Xufgm0EQodpi17wkYlMIC6eLTPvwCfNdtj7VZKmx9yUcdkvv-nJd0DWU8BfOlsR1P_0/s1600-h/blog+012.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvglJLca2vrcUQPG-6tdnxWrdKKmbqQAT2aW4zpdxY3gTojCa7MkK7srRFhqn4xrHgOA8PESy8Xufgm0EQodpi17wkYlMIC6eLTPvwCfNdtj7VZKmx9yUcdkvv-nJd0DWU8BfOlsR1P_0/s320/blog+012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259025799355141010" border="0" /></a>When I take pictures like these, I cannot wait to get my new camera! But, anyway, this was at the Cedar Key Seafood Festival that my family and I attend every year. We went Saturday just after my daughter and I participated in the Heart Walk, a local walk for charity. It was so much fun doing something with my daughter.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">We took the 50-something-mile drive to Cedar Key and guess what happened?! We got totally rained out. And then, we got kicked out of a restaurant. Well sort of--they said we couldn't bring the (honking-big) double stroller in. And so we had to leave? Where were we going to put the thing?<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Xr7moc5Qcdev-m0jHcH52I4Rqj8GT1qIzndHQL86tX7rjIn0SKYsFQK02PAJMJoNWFigEi8iXOn0fi-MJ3nyPMsOGgH4DxbWRDg9qGRuDU0QqaEc1bYkOmyB6-0liUppH9Xls0RSL-I/s1600-h/blog+014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Xr7moc5Qcdev-m0jHcH52I4Rqj8GT1qIzndHQL86tX7rjIn0SKYsFQK02PAJMJoNWFigEi8iXOn0fi-MJ3nyPMsOGgH4DxbWRDg9qGRuDU0QqaEc1bYkOmyB6-0liUppH9Xls0RSL-I/s320/blog+014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259026939185594898" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Yeah, Cedar Key was ... kind of wet and mopey this year. Just before we left, though, we picked up a perfect-looking pumpkin from a local church's 'pumpkin patch'. We also bought some of their homemade pumpkin cookies and pumpkin fudge! It was the best. I might go back <span style="font-style: italic;">just</span> for that. But, other than that, we didn't even get to eat lunch there because of the terribly long lines--not to mention those "stroller" rules.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRhX9DUJ-co726yqOaGn5Scg01NckB1gGJTTvOncoe_WCbWQA1wxEa0SvxAjjX5Fa_pketpRtMynDP_gZIGrZs3WDdYQuTwLoFPi-KnW7Kxi_adkk_Aue_Mci8qe_xoY2KoO68T6xVKl4/s1600-h/blog+020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRhX9DUJ-co726yqOaGn5Scg01NckB1gGJTTvOncoe_WCbWQA1wxEa0SvxAjjX5Fa_pketpRtMynDP_gZIGrZs3WDdYQuTwLoFPi-KnW7Kxi_adkk_Aue_Mci8qe_xoY2KoO68T6xVKl4/s320/blog+020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259027980050512690" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Although, on the way home, the kids told me over and over again that they had so much fun. "Why?" I asked. Because really ... we got rained out, no food, etc. "Because we spent time as a family," my son replied--as if I should totally know that already. (Like, duh, mom.) It <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> really sweet though.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtx3wex0Ysnl3MTdjVQ1cw9S7ziFaVWxit2DxBgc-j5xGqwP79E6vtIaBYTCean69LLVZWAelRb3eWl1kzXk65M6fqLvZBSzLJdax93YbrRqFq3xrJdo1pDfiYCJuB4Ov_87vpF-2o4nc/s1600-h/blog+047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtx3wex0Ysnl3MTdjVQ1cw9S7ziFaVWxit2DxBgc-j5xGqwP79E6vtIaBYTCean69LLVZWAelRb3eWl1kzXk65M6fqLvZBSzLJdax93YbrRqFq3xrJdo1pDfiYCJuB4Ov_87vpF-2o4nc/s320/blog+047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259028848898756242" border="0" /></a>Today, we celebrated Oktoberfest at my mother's church, the Catholic church down the street. Um, I still don't know what I was "celebrating," but it was a good one: free beer and wine (although, I don't drink either--can't stand the taste of most alcohol), all the free food you wanted, interesting entertainment. Sure, I could do a quick Google search, but I'd rather ask you. What exactly is Oktoberfest? Anyone?<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQwDze_ys_K_U3AHw2labZntL0UrCEj6Kbe7RIqIp194YIjz672Sv6QnQALosZzLlYgx1XII3GXQoBCh68xelOhhrrMH8kwWx4T1ficYErQJkUwqnodRn7jOovbtpVJbVj_hIHVhNqVk/s1600-h/blog+044.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQwDze_ys_K_U3AHw2labZntL0UrCEj6Kbe7RIqIp194YIjz672Sv6QnQALosZzLlYgx1XII3GXQoBCh68xelOhhrrMH8kwWx4T1ficYErQJkUwqnodRn7jOovbtpVJbVj_hIHVhNqVk/s320/blog+044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259029890743952642" border="0" /></a>But, what I loved about the atmosphere was that everyone seemingly wanted to simply eat, drink and be happy.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYl6LXR99uLlhUGjRXYpTD3WQakzoea84InoI_4XzwqLy8pgmKvUkOLeG7HUqVltcz-NaGipIc-2pX2Om4YtROe6rzE8qoAuvqpGsZ_ushEQAOYA3sipPaE1R2stlGuqyjx_-G1xILDSI/s1600-h/blog+043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYl6LXR99uLlhUGjRXYpTD3WQakzoea84InoI_4XzwqLy8pgmKvUkOLeG7HUqVltcz-NaGipIc-2pX2Om4YtROe6rzE8qoAuvqpGsZ_ushEQAOYA3sipPaE1R2stlGuqyjx_-G1xILDSI/s320/blog+043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259030550950712338" border="0" /></a>... so who was trying to rebel? Eat, drink and be happy it was!<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-alvXiUM52kg-1rf2sFqwcU0gX9HInffdmU28COqm9CTgCnakFPWlHKJcg9E5iEqkviIP5yLYbeovtBdD94NbpRuMnBuLc-CvKwhvsYMeHMtzTlMpPdOZhhHxYoJAoTlm-rplZKSkMk/s1600-h/blog+050.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-alvXiUM52kg-1rf2sFqwcU0gX9HInffdmU28COqm9CTgCnakFPWlHKJcg9E5iEqkviIP5yLYbeovtBdD94NbpRuMnBuLc-CvKwhvsYMeHMtzTlMpPdOZhhHxYoJAoTlm-rplZKSkMk/s320/blog+050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259031104891340850" border="0" /></a>My dear daughter even got to go rock climbing! And she made it to the top. Go, N!<br /><br /><a href="http://daisypath.com"><img src="http://dv.daisypath.com/FMcbm4.png" alt="Daisypath Vacation Ticker" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-29369466560215808792008-10-18T21:08:00.012-04:002008-10-18T21:33:30.677-04:0048: "The meeting" becomes "the deal"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgArDGDHunxMeiyvNzA0Lb9DMUs9iXRS_eB2siTYle_RS27YmMIQtMHu2O35n1Uw_V14H26WdGgawCOWB8j8-iu78QZMjaCfrX_T8I3bVEfD4-XNG09KmZ_1wL2Ej5gRuEi06uNOj2V-JQ/s1600-h/bookdeal.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgArDGDHunxMeiyvNzA0Lb9DMUs9iXRS_eB2siTYle_RS27YmMIQtMHu2O35n1Uw_V14H26WdGgawCOWB8j8-iu78QZMjaCfrX_T8I3bVEfD4-XNG09KmZ_1wL2Ej5gRuEi06uNOj2V-JQ/s320/bookdeal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258672077955703106" border="0" /></a><br />So, remember that I was uber nervous about the meeting with the book publisher--until I prayed my way out of that, realizing that God, ultimately, is in control? Oh yeah, and He is bigger than all of us so who is there to be nervous in front of? No one.<br /><br />I told God a long time ago that the only way I wanted to write a book was if it found me. In other words, it couldn't be <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> doing <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> thing. I want to do His thing and I always have wanted that.<br /><br />So, on the day of my meeting, I pulled into the Red Lobster parking lot and as soon as I made it to the front door, I was greeted by three people from the publishing firm. I was immediately comfortable--and I even sat on the inside. Any one who knows me knows that I am a bit claustrophobic, which always leaves me forcing myself to sit on the outside of any aisle or seating arrangement.<br /><br />But, even on the inside, I was comfortable. (And that can be taken two ways.) So, long story short, they offered me a book deal, with a manuscript deadline of April 1, which means I would be--if I sign the contract--writing and <span style="font-style: italic;">completing</span> my first book in just six months.<br /><br />There is even an option to do a second book if this first one sells well.<br /><br />Wow. I am trying to wrap my mind around this. I have just been offered a book deal--the very thing that I have been praying about for a few years now. I currently have my brother, the lawyer, who also doubles as my legal counsel, combing over the contract this weekend. As soon as I hear from him, I can move forward.<br /><br />But ... yeah ... exciting times around the corner ... no, wait, not around the corner--in my face right now!Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-17021266542297872402008-10-17T23:32:00.006-04:002008-10-17T23:41:37.534-04:0047: "Get over here, now, E-mail!"Um, I just called my kid "E-mail".<br /><br />So, I was sitting at my computer, checking me e-mail, as my 2-year-old, Eli, was running around making this high-pitch sound that should be banned in all 50 states.<br /><br />I knew that I needed to get my message across to him loud and clear ... and immediatley. So, with a stern voice, I said "Get over here now, E-mail."<br /><br />He stopped what he was doing and imitated me--but with a question in his voice. "E-mail?"Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-65985529899243912182008-10-16T21:36:00.014-04:002008-10-16T21:54:13.338-04:0046: Meet my bossHow fitting that today was National Boss' Day. (You know, since today is Thursday and Thursdays are my <span style="font-style: italic;">Office </span>days!) So, yesterday, my co-worker, R, and I, waited for our boss to leave the office. We snuck into his office and swiped his stapler so that we could give him the best Boss' Day gift ever -- what else? But, stapler in Jell-O, <span style="font-style: italic;">Office</span> style.<br /><br />And if you didn't know, I have my own version of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Office</span> going on at work--I am not kidding you.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1vNJGWvxs9AFre3EuYVxJZGc4uXCJ0X5Dnb1ejkzv3ch401gyl3CT12-gbpqdYa9h_1R78vNzIOdejrZ82GOAzyEMYXtygyG0pAsZFogHaejgtoaOMjOhDaPfW3lZoEqIKaLZ5N2ONu8/s1600-h/scott.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1vNJGWvxs9AFre3EuYVxJZGc4uXCJ0X5Dnb1ejkzv3ch401gyl3CT12-gbpqdYa9h_1R78vNzIOdejrZ82GOAzyEMYXtygyG0pAsZFogHaejgtoaOMjOhDaPfW3lZoEqIKaLZ5N2ONu8/s320/scott.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257931420846058498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The Office's "Michael S." </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_LBvOzZMBOJ2Ix0lXrTPyEzr8TNELRiLCnI_6ok_kKbDK3g2A7ndHDAxlUqSW0UbYuQqziGKa4W-PKk_d-h_WLiAFVMfmLU0XXaXyXkIi16Fo7iFoa_aniEsIqpK4xwO-ZRk1Anjq5M/s1600-h/jello.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_LBvOzZMBOJ2Ix0lXrTPyEzr8TNELRiLCnI_6ok_kKbDK3g2A7ndHDAxlUqSW0UbYuQqziGKa4W-PKk_d-h_WLiAFVMfmLU0XXaXyXkIi16Fo7iFoa_aniEsIqpK4xwO-ZRk1Anjq5M/s320/jello.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257931529806263346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">My "Michael S."<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span>So, </span>Michael was so touched by our Jell-o gift that he kept that blue glob on his desk all day long. By the end of the day, the Jell-o had turned into a syrupy, soupy mess. He said he didn't want to move it because he liked the smell of the blue raspberry Jell-O. Sounds like something the other Michael S. might say. We all got a good laugh out of it.<br /></div> </div>Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-81702068592153699362008-10-15T22:10:00.005-04:002008-10-15T22:35:19.758-04:0045: Romantic dinner, tattoo parlor?Today was special to me.<br /><br />Just before noon, I stopped by Pizza Hut and picked up two mini-me pizzas--one: no sauce, with pineapples; the other: good old cheese and pepperoni. Think you know me. Guess which was mine? No, really, guess:-)<br /><br />Just after noon, I was sitting at a lunch table packed with fourth graders. My niece, D, was thrilled to see me. She's always kind of quiet, but with me, a grown-up, sitting at the table, she was being extra shy ... and so were all of the other children. That lasted until I asked one question: "Who is the oldest kid in the class?" And they were off--chit-chatting about birthdays, whose was in the summer time and whose was ... not. It was totally cute and we spent the entire (brief) lunch break talking about everyone's birthdays.<br /><br />Back at work--in front of a magazine--I remembered that I was in for a special treat tonight: my mother had volunteered to take the kids--ALL of the kids--to church with her. That meant...hubby and I would have a one-on-one date--something that rarely happens.<br /><br />"What do you want to do for our hot date?" I e-mailed him.<br /><br />As I typed those three, little letters, I envisioned ... romance over a candlelit dinner. And you want to know what he thought when I typed those three, little letters? Well, he was thinking about three other little (many-times annoying) letters.<br /><br />Can you guess what they are?<br /><br />I just laughed. I laughed because ... yeah right, I am going to stay home and have hot sex with you instead of going out on a kid-free date. Yeah. right. It was rather comical, and when I didn't respond, he knew what the deal was.<br /><br />Which is why ... when I walked in the door from worked, he asked where we were going to do <span style="font-style: italic;">it</span>. And by <span style="font-style: italic;">it</span>, I mean dinner! (Too much sex-talk in this post!)<br /><br />I was hungry, but not famished. That greasy, cheesy mini-me pizza had me feeling yucky. We went for a small side dish of bang-bang shrimp and then we did something really romantic: we hit the tattoo parlor.<br /><br />We walked in to a little joint called Anthem, just off of University Avenue. Hubby talked to a burly, tattoo-covered guy about getting a cross. "Hey, where's the um, Jesus book?" the guys asked his co-workers. I thought that was so cute.<br /><br />"Yeah, let's see the Jesus book!"<br /><br />We found a cross that hubby liked and I began looking through books for a dove, which I want to represent my sister and at the same time, the Holy Spirit, who keeps me in line on a daily basis. *I love you*<br /><br />And the really cool thing is that these guys draw their tats; no off-the-wall flash tattoos. Mine is so special to my heart that no one else in the world can have it.<br /><br />So, that's how I spent my day and night--with people I love dearly.<br /><br />Now, tomorrow, I meet with the book publisher at 11:30 a.m. We are set to meet at Red Lobster. Why am I so nervous? It's mainly because I don't even really understand what this meeting is about. I know he wants to talk to me about Tebow. But, can I deliver Tebow? I don't really think so, because of legalities with UF.<br /><br />Maybe I can deliver something else. You know what? No. No, I am not going to be nervous. He's just a guy; just like I'm just a girl. And God is bigger than the both of us.Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-52283630202359045562008-10-14T20:01:00.006-04:002008-10-14T22:50:29.756-04:0044: Slipping ...I was sitting on the couch just a few moments ago, thinking about getting a part-time job. I was envisioning that I'd be an editor during the day and a waitress during the night. My thoughts can be so dramatic some times. But, hubby and I were going back and forth, back and forth--about the Web site that I have a specific vision for; that I have been praying about; that I have been wanting so badly that I can taste it.<br /><br />"It's just not going to happen," I finally said.<br /><br />Moonlighting as a waitress is not going to make my dream come true, because oh--reality check--I can't even do that because of my four children.<br /><br />I'm just really, really down tonight. I was so stressed that I went jogging today! That--and I barely touched my dinner. Hmmm ... maybe I need to stressed out a little more.<br /><br />The original plan was to launch the *secret* Web site in January. And part of the original plan was to use my freelance check from the Tebow issue to pay the down payment--right around $1,600. Oh, that figure has left me lightheaded tonight.<br /><br />Nothing is happening the way it should be; I had to walk away from a business partner; two different checks that were both set aside for the Web site had to go towards bills. And tonight, it feels like my dream, my vision is slipping through my fingers.<br /><br />And, there is nothing more frustrating when it comes down to just money.<br /><br />I have been faithful with the site; I walked away from my partner when I specifically heard God tell me to. I am doing everything I am supposed to be doing. But, ahhh, the money keeps slipping through my tired fingers.<br /><br />I don't know ... does anyone have any money-raising tips? Has anyone ever needed to scramble for some money--and fast--to get something done?<br /><br />You know, I feel like there is such a small window of opportunity here that if it doesn't happen by January, I will reluctantly throw in the towel.<br /><br />So, I am just praying that what I read in the Bible tonight with my hubby will happen--that He will turn water into wine.<br /><br />Tomorrow, I am going to have lunch with my niece (my sister's baby girl) for her birthday. Think of us as you're eating lunch!<br /><br />*Thank you, God, for my visions; Thank you for it all. Thank you ... just, Thank you!*Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-13965796989318642122008-10-13T21:10:00.010-04:002008-10-13T21:35:08.183-04:0043: Two messes, one day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mkRWvbI-DdVrDmKW6S7Fe5TzwIQGfFAUrtZT54ZW1Sd7LEbeU15tvJ9QdGQY9AXz0JkS3RVwoDIcBBwbGZdJJw29Gb0nPoE0dXOwxWMogPMXb1HD58OTwUcrJI5B9OGOT8OGEr81y-A/s1600-h/toenails-main_Full.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mkRWvbI-DdVrDmKW6S7Fe5TzwIQGfFAUrtZT54ZW1Sd7LEbeU15tvJ9QdGQY9AXz0JkS3RVwoDIcBBwbGZdJJw29Gb0nPoE0dXOwxWMogPMXb1HD58OTwUcrJI5B9OGOT8OGEr81y-A/s200/toenails-main_Full.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256815745746873746" border="0" /></a><br />My facebook status today makes me giggle like a little girl:<br /><br />"My hubby is so sweet for painting my toenails. And, I am trying to be sweet back by not grabbing the nail-polish remover. My toes are a mess:-)"<br /><br />***<br /><br />But, moving onto other things. I dealt with something this morning that absolutely broke my heart, and I am hoping to get some advice from you guys.<br /><br />This morning, just after 7:30 a.m., I was pulling up to the kids' school. My son hopped out of the car, followed by my daughter, who is in the 2nd grade. She hesitated as she stepped out and just started crying ... no, sobbing.<br /><br />"What's wrong?" I asked.<br /><br />"I left my homework on my desk. Me teacher's going to get mad at me!"<br /><br />Her face was bright red and she was trying to catch her breath between words. "Why would she be mad?" I asked her.<br /><br />"Because she always gets mad when kids forget their homework. She always gets mad."<br /><br />"Why would she get mad? Does she get mad a lot?"<br /><br />"Yes ... when kids don't do what they're supposed to."<br /><br />"Well, I have to go to work. Tell her you'll bring it tomorrow."<br /><br />I thought that would do the trick. But, she wouldn't stop. She was crying profusely ... incessantly.<br /><br />"She's going to be ... mad ... at ... me," she said again, stammering her words.<br /><br />"Well, I'll have daddy bring it, okay?"<br /><br />I watched as she walked away, with her purple floral backpack draping over her shoulder. It broke my heart. And I remembered the first time I met her teacher. I mean, how could I forget? I was scared to leave her classroom (early) during our open house. I remember the looks I got from the others--we were all seemingly intimidated by her.<br /><br />And then ... remember that newsletter that came home that started out this way: "<span style="font-style: italic;">Most </span>of your children are a delight to teach"<br /><br />And it bothered me at first, but then my daughter kind of became one of her favorite pupils, so I figured that all was well in the classroom. And I'd ask her every day: How was school? Is your teacher a nice lady?<br /><br />You know ... things like that.<br /><br />So, what do I do? My first inclination was to call the principal and demand to have my child moved to another class room. But, what lesson would that be teaching her? To run when things get tough. But, on the other hand, what if the environment is too stressful for learning? I want her to be comfortable in her class room.<br /><br />Today, when she came home, she told me that her teacher was a little "disappointed" about the homework. Not upset; just disappointed.<br /><br />Any advice? Do I do anything else? Do I let it go? Do I say anything to the teacher? What ... exactly ... do I do? I understand that kids can make things seem worse than they are; but I also understand that sometimes we, as parents, brush things off when we shouldn't.<br /><br />... help?Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-22296594734734139352008-10-12T21:17:00.009-04:002008-10-12T21:27:08.688-04:0042: Heavy, happy birthday.Today, we celebrated my niece's 10th birthday.<br /><br />I was feeling a little bittersweet because today should have been my sister's day with my daughter. I was feeling rather solemn--happy, peaceful and quietly reflecting.<br /><br />Hubby and I started our day by visiting a church down the street. We had driven by it countless times, and today, we decided we'd visit. It was perfect. We were greeted warmly, with OJ, coffee and cookies. The children were whisked away to children's church and we were able to settle comfortably in the soft, plush seats--and in worship.<br /><br />About half-way into service, the pastor invited a guest speaker to step onto the stage. She was a young mother--maybe in her late 20s. She was from a small town and her southern twang gave it away. She was--you could tell--a good-ole' country girl.<br /><br />As she spoke about her life and how she was raised, she fought the tears back. Just above her, the overhead screen displayed pictures of her former life--before Christ. There she was, with bear bottle in hand, and boyfriend on her arm. She had a little girl when she was just 17. And the child's father was in prison shortly after she became pregnant.<br /><br />Some time in 2006, she was in a severe car accident. The pictures--flashing on the screen--were brutal. The car was mangled and unrecognizable. She--not wearing a seatbelt--had been thrown from the back window. She doesn't remember that day, or the month that followed it. In fact, she was pronounced dead at one moment. But, paramedics were able to regain a pulse and she remained comatose for months following the accident.<br /><br />I was captivated, listening to her. And then, another picture. I gasped. I audibly gasped and had to run out of the sanctuary. I hit the door and the tears were already pouring down my cheeks. "What the hell, Suzy?!" I was saying to myself in the back corner of a bathroom. I found a little chair and sat there quietly and just cried.<br /><br />I was so mad at myself. What can't I control my emotions?! I should be okay by now. It's been 4 years!<br /><br />Well, the picture I had just seen was one of the girl laying in a hospital bed. She was comatose and the tubes, they were proof that her breath was not her own, but that of a machine.<br /><br />The last time I had seen anything like that--I was standing beside my sister as a machine pumped the last few breaths of life through her failing lungs. I was not ready to see what my mind had pushed so far to the back. I was not ready.<br /><br />But, sheesh, shouldn't I be?!<br /><br />After I dried my eyes, I came out of the bathroom to find my hubby waiting for me. "Are you okay?" he asked.<br /><br />And, I was honest. "No. Not really."<br /><br />After church, we were headed to our favorite Sunday spot for lunch (Texas Roadhouse because kids eat for .99 cents on Sunday!) when I asked my husband this:<br /><br />"Why does God let some people live and not others?" My voice was shaky.<br /><br />"We don't know. Our minds can't understand His ways," he replied.<br /><br />"I know, but it seems--and it feels--so unfair," I said.<br /><br />***<br /><br />(Birthday pictures tomorrow. I am not a fan of crammed posts. Hubby is going to paint my toenails for me in a minute, so I must leave you all. I think he's feeling a little sad for me or else I'd be on my own with my nail polish!)Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-35198800538142903562008-10-11T20:30:00.011-04:002008-10-11T22:00:46.778-04:0041: FireproofToday was the perfect Saturday. I was on the phone with my mother when she mentioned that my brother had gone to see the movie Fireproof. "We need to go see that," I said. And that little comment lead to a picture-perfect Saturday afternoon date with just me and the hubby.<br /><br />Grandma came to the house and agreed to watch the kids for a little over three hours. Hubby and I went to see the matinee of Fireproof--I had heard a little bit about this movie, but I had no idea what I was in store for. IF YOU ARE MARRIED, YOU MUST SEE THIS MOVIE--WITH YOUR HONEY. It will make you re-evaluate your relationship with your honey--and with God.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lvLwcOPQQaDzHpYOdw7RKGpOsTL1RfJ-2SJ2zxAqIFqNxhe94cwpWd-YLnazpiI03Q2ISi0e4J9fTZR1E7tLQAlBsqsS03r7BYG2rJ2Ip9gSXnRg4R26o4M5DHG1OoyS7hfPTBDY82Y/s1600-h/fireproofimage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lvLwcOPQQaDzHpYOdw7RKGpOsTL1RfJ-2SJ2zxAqIFqNxhe94cwpWd-YLnazpiI03Q2ISi0e4J9fTZR1E7tLQAlBsqsS03r7BYG2rJ2Ip9gSXnRg4R26o4M5DHG1OoyS7hfPTBDY82Y/s320/fireproofimage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256077331720642178" border="0" /></a>My favorite line of the movie is this: "Never leave your partner in a fire." And though Kirk Cameron says this line to one of his fire fighters in the beginning of the movie, by the middle of the movie ... that line applies to he and his spouse.<br /><br />And here's an FYI: In the movie, there was a kissing scene between Kirk Cameron's character, Caleb and his wife, Catherine. Did you know that Kirk Cameron did that scene with his real-life wife? He said that if there was a kissing scene, his wife would have to be the double because he would not kiss another woman.<br /><br />The other really cool thing was that this movie was about a fireman. And since my hubby has just signed on with the fire department, it made it that much more interesting.<br /><br />So, since hubby and I had just sat through Fireproof--clearly a movie that will make you think about how much your spouse means to you--we were being extra sweet to each other. We decided we'd stop at this new little, colorful Mexican joint down the street ...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr43vyaS1pGRA_JoWDZaUKCM9wff9AZdgiXpMDFJg-DfRgB22j8MZccRZB-lPW9w3CGsgN2ZK2Pvpd7DBhMZZVbEusVT0AJqujL9J1A7eBfoeOLnkzyvLv22tzpETXOSoH9ZEMHVzOCZo/s1600-h/blog+004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr43vyaS1pGRA_JoWDZaUKCM9wff9AZdgiXpMDFJg-DfRgB22j8MZccRZB-lPW9w3CGsgN2ZK2Pvpd7DBhMZZVbEusVT0AJqujL9J1A7eBfoeOLnkzyvLv22tzpETXOSoH9ZEMHVzOCZo/s320/blog+004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256066344046479858" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LAlkcELwKRYA4TWmBvtkT5O3USYBw5ZoQmHPNhF4q96hiv0ObMszHVsWWumfcmKto-jurr9_fmtuuPiu2otfVmdjqszT2tGkIpnT8TlCrfyHzIihOh8zB5L7msV98ODpCyv4b1Hp4Fs/s1600-h/blog+006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LAlkcELwKRYA4TWmBvtkT5O3USYBw5ZoQmHPNhF4q96hiv0ObMszHVsWWumfcmKto-jurr9_fmtuuPiu2otfVmdjqszT2tGkIpnT8TlCrfyHzIihOh8zB5L7msV98ODpCyv4b1Hp4Fs/s320/blog+006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256065748734125890" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tkcoXXKy5sS30yoH7UCQgcFi9t17BorZlcdBC4F1EXlmG9B0YwUUbbi-QLfylIdmoj56G-ue7zHc1LyxzuDgN5eg2pjtfC15HD4r4dpMs3xelAyrTw48JJXC2GJL6f2mRJSf3jAj7DY/s1600-h/blog+003.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tkcoXXKy5sS30yoH7UCQgcFi9t17BorZlcdBC4F1EXlmG9B0YwUUbbi-QLfylIdmoj56G-ue7zHc1LyxzuDgN5eg2pjtfC15HD4r4dpMs3xelAyrTw48JJXC2GJL6f2mRJSf3jAj7DY/s320/blog+003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256065462172901650" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8wZf27Ge_IFiBVEweAWEdBksudKkFHFlR3Q5t3kOT9oDhIoX5M79NUrR6BaOrpjgLvLez-srwOUFfzYkjTkDRZKDNKbftox0bQz8SY8ENs37aQaYnUSa3Zhpiz-dX04s728vWBpI4QC8/s1600-h/blog+002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8wZf27Ge_IFiBVEweAWEdBksudKkFHFlR3Q5t3kOT9oDhIoX5M79NUrR6BaOrpjgLvLez-srwOUFfzYkjTkDRZKDNKbftox0bQz8SY8ENs37aQaYnUSa3Zhpiz-dX04s728vWBpI4QC8/s320/blog+002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256065161161241954" border="0" /></a><br />So, I think I just found my favorite new Mexican spot. It was sparkling clean, colorful, delicious and reasonably priced. If you are in Gainesville, you must visit Mexico Lindo. And if any of you are up for a Moms' Night Out, let me know. We should start doing them! This would definitely have to be a venue.<br /><br />A few hours after me and hubby's Saturday afternoon date, I was taking the kids to the mall to pick up my niece's birthday gift. We headed to Limited 2, every little girl's favorite spot. I found the perfect gift, on sale and as I was headed out, I saw a little furry paw sticking out of the stroller.<br /><br />You will NOT believe what was hiding in my stroller. (Okay, okay, it's not what you're thinking.) It was actually a little stuffed animal. Apparently, my toddler decided that he wanted to take it home with him. And so I pulled it out of the stroller and then another and another and another. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I pulled exactly 19 stuffed animals out of the bottom of the stroller.<br /><br />19!<br /><br />As in, he managed to take every single one of these furry little creatures off of their sparkly little shelves. I guess he thought that he had struck gold, huh?<br /><br />Oh, and tomorrow, I have a juicy Sunday confession to make. It will be in the form of a photo, so don't miss it.Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-78281305579603691152008-10-10T23:51:00.003-04:002008-10-15T22:38:59.646-04:0040: With 9 minutes to go ...So, I just walked in the house, ready to hit the bed, and realized that ... I hadn't blogged yet. And so here I am, with just 9 minutes to go of today. "I have to do my blog!" I told my hubby. "I have like 9 minutes before today is tomorrow. I can't miss a day, remember?"<br /><br />Yes, he remembers. How could he not? Although, I am the one who has committed to blog every day for 365 days, he is the one who gets to hear about it every day. Oh, and he gets to hear all of the comments I read to him every day. He just loves it, I'm sure.<br /><br />So, this is how I spent my Friday evening. I'm trying to type fast, with five minutes now to go! Woo hoo! I am going to make it. So, my boss let me leave early because my computer crashed. I almost crashed my car driving home when a huge stink bug flew in my window and began randomly flying around my face. I met my walking buddy for our 3-mile Friday walk.<br /><br />Oh, and I stopped drinking soda. So, today, I was so proud of myself--I had a ice cold drink in my hand, filled with ice cubes and water. I had just finished walking and was headed home. I set my drink down and as I reached over to grab my purse, ice-cold, freezing water poured all over me. The entire cup of water was in my lap!<br /><br />And, I had no choice. With soaking wet pants, I had to stop and get gas because I was running on fumes only and knew I would not make it home. But, I only had cash. So, you can imagine how thrilled I was to stop and get gas and have to walk into the gas station in my soaking wet grey sweat pants. And you know, it bothered me for about 2.5 seconds until I thought "You know ... this is better than being soaking wet and stuck on the side of the road. So, I'll take it."<br /><br />See everyone tomorrow. Any fun weekend plans?<br /><br />(Oh, and p.s. to Seyi: I ran into your mom at Moe's today!)Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-63902442234084928782008-10-09T20:00:00.000-04:002008-10-09T21:58:02.028-04:0039: Read me:-)Oh, I am too tired to even sit up right now. The couch is calling--along with Jim, Dwight, Pam and Michael. I have to go. But, before I do, I wanted to leave you with this. Happy reading:<br /><br />(P.S. I tried to post this as one PDF, but blogger does not have the capability--from what they told me. So, it's in pieces as jpegs.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2F65YIHTfArPzbD1Wz_Lazo99SRqwxkwezo16V1l9NVw_ZopHZR_WL9RgeYgI2uH2Pklo5Wk9pKYMQWI9P_dy6Z2VzeZd012Dsgx5Ro8csh9U-J4VqfvvxBOW2CrFuTUHiy2KmxAo67I/s1600-h/tebow1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2F65YIHTfArPzbD1Wz_Lazo99SRqwxkwezo16V1l9NVw_ZopHZR_WL9RgeYgI2uH2Pklo5Wk9pKYMQWI9P_dy6Z2VzeZd012Dsgx5Ro8csh9U-J4VqfvvxBOW2CrFuTUHiy2KmxAo67I/s320/tebow1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255336678213214642" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAE9xJfjdGf7E79nPkQml-7xMo5JJLhlWF2I5K03ekcSgscjFD7CH5UaQnNqFQykwPy9K49qcXeZQgXV0X4lpCQtnG7AfxOtx93AwxqNpezfu1T6tyvfHUbCc6-8Nsx-5F2DJPhdz1ck/s1600-h/tebow2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAE9xJfjdGf7E79nPkQml-7xMo5JJLhlWF2I5K03ekcSgscjFD7CH5UaQnNqFQykwPy9K49qcXeZQgXV0X4lpCQtnG7AfxOtx93AwxqNpezfu1T6tyvfHUbCc6-8Nsx-5F2DJPhdz1ck/s320/tebow2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255337370783019794" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYQviSM6ckUwt3zuU2JnR3XV3KUVpfcRjSdgXxGcJJYiOyPz5x5bDKXt_f_pnpbJrUu0C94FZAvQnI_TSudIjdURwY4MWeRDPRj-wd3Fv0rttIKE8qAFpUthhXiX2oDhGihgMICgj_fg/s1600-h/tebow3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYQviSM6ckUwt3zuU2JnR3XV3KUVpfcRjSdgXxGcJJYiOyPz5x5bDKXt_f_pnpbJrUu0C94FZAvQnI_TSudIjdURwY4MWeRDPRj-wd3Fv0rttIKE8qAFpUthhXiX2oDhGihgMICgj_fg/s320/tebow3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255337490634174002" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdWhdsQfh2CGfkMbh2BBfVzbQ08Z8Bl7OZGNzlw1HudGesmmFdYiVfJwDZvkxh8VW3Nk4uQBh1BCVIR66bo5kyRxsQ9PEbC3a3pDv6Fbzmh726V832MbIgFqH5vk0T6FVVzLYEhXM0OY/s1600-h/tebow4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdWhdsQfh2CGfkMbh2BBfVzbQ08Z8Bl7OZGNzlw1HudGesmmFdYiVfJwDZvkxh8VW3Nk4uQBh1BCVIR66bo5kyRxsQ9PEbC3a3pDv6Fbzmh726V832MbIgFqH5vk0T6FVVzLYEhXM0OY/s320/tebow4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255337684481004594" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBAistFzFq6yWjWoNXZMhoH408Hjrl9K3ilrFO-zuqTBmvgqe8sEPaV8hVJg-xwwUNciubCdwSN33uzfO7B4toGM7XpXA9ZjDjLmzTSbKGywpGJ0D7Ba4whnf5Rmwn8TpNL5_Hh3M7_I/s1600-h/tebow5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBAistFzFq6yWjWoNXZMhoH408Hjrl9K3ilrFO-zuqTBmvgqe8sEPaV8hVJg-xwwUNciubCdwSN33uzfO7B4toGM7XpXA9ZjDjLmzTSbKGywpGJ0D7Ba4whnf5Rmwn8TpNL5_Hh3M7_I/s320/tebow5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255337859742498210" border="0" /></a></div><a href="http://docs.google.com/fileview?id=F.c832104f-3866-4f69-ab01-1c74e57eed85" target="_blank"><wbr><wbr></a>Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-54941665769731374742008-10-08T21:15:00.000-04:002008-10-08T22:00:14.468-04:0038: Celebrate Good Times ...I spent a peaceful day at work; with no serious deadlines this week, I spent much of my day organizing many of my projects. I was in such a groove that I took a late lunch--I stepped out around 1:30. I came home and ate a modest turkey-and-cheese sandwich.<br /><br />Back at work, I was happily sailing through a smooth day, and before I knew it, I was headed out.<br /><br />I figured we'd do something quick and easy for dinner. Usually when hubby cooks, he tells me ahead of time. I stepped in the house and was--as usual--tackled by my children. Hubby greeted me with a warm and happy hug. "Guess what?" he asked me.<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"Your story came," he said.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8DkTKgpQ9wsfFTgvXC9XjL663YgBnfuzOAf2LnBy_p7K2txA9EmDCH-d8IRwtjSJoHHEjmTiyOiBbpwzJY3la69u5vYkObPyi57kXcEMnH_D30dvMrD6VItRgrEnfGo7l6pctp5QbZ8/s1600-h/blog+017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8DkTKgpQ9wsfFTgvXC9XjL663YgBnfuzOAf2LnBy_p7K2txA9EmDCH-d8IRwtjSJoHHEjmTiyOiBbpwzJY3la69u5vYkObPyi57kXcEMnH_D30dvMrD6VItRgrEnfGo7l6pctp5QbZ8/s320/blog+017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254964300752722338" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was thrilled. I had been waiting for a few weeks to see it. My favorite part of writing is seeing the final product--not necessarily seeing my words in print; but seeing what production has done with the layout. It's always a nice surprise. What's funny is that I was more excited about the font they used for the deck (in the title) than I was about anything else. I guess this editor stuff is really rubbing off on me:-)<br /><br />He handed me the magazine and I quickly flipped through the pages until I reached my story. "This looks SO GOOD!" I said to hubby. "They did such a great job!"<br /><br />I was pleased. So--the first thing I always do is look at the overall package of my pieces. And the other thing I do--or don't do--is I never read my stories. Isn't that funny? I usually read the final copy before it goes to press. But, I never read the actual story in print.<br /><br />"The check was $300 more than we expected, though. What's up with that?"<br /><br />I flipped through a few more pages and figured out what had happened: "They ran that other story ... that one they had to hold (almost a full year ago). Yes!" This meant that we could have that "celebration" dinner we had promised we would have if hubby got "the call."<br /><br />We called grandma and she was available to watch the three oldest kids. (Not the baby because there was no nursery at her church.)<br /><br />So, tonight, instead of eating a can of soup (my original dinner plans), hubby and I went to Bonefish, where we celebrated "the call", my Tebow piece in print, a fat check ... and each other.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSckEA0U-G8hFMFrPUYL6TofmVQNyu9QSqrE4P34hqzpWW9MfGK3m7g4q-3enMb3GwzS3R_PWfRLynwtdOk-CEtqZHCOJkhAqF1GJD1OGfPzbyyWOi2P3DBA3RNFtJakwTLTll6WABY4/s1600-h/blog+010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSckEA0U-G8hFMFrPUYL6TofmVQNyu9QSqrE4P34hqzpWW9MfGK3m7g4q-3enMb3GwzS3R_PWfRLynwtdOk-CEtqZHCOJkhAqF1GJD1OGfPzbyyWOi2P3DBA3RNFtJakwTLTll6WABY4/s320/blog+010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254962211747772274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hubby and I split a dish of shrimp fettuccine ...<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyhQuvSXgWsClV2owNiO81TvLHWvDcfgYW18iNfoRzuERY4izADIFCqvicHtHnMNocAgG3UGhA-bpYihcKyX2HjDuVbCUiSW57S1MPcMVWrX13xuB3yKDTwKvgSiPNBo84Jj4cOdXNrA/s1600-h/blog+007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyhQuvSXgWsClV2owNiO81TvLHWvDcfgYW18iNfoRzuERY4izADIFCqvicHtHnMNocAgG3UGhA-bpYihcKyX2HjDuVbCUiSW57S1MPcMVWrX13xuB3yKDTwKvgSiPNBo84Jj4cOdXNrA/s320/blog+007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254963528007003746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Baby R. was such a good boy! Quiet the whole time. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CIoHctzlq4gUl7gP63QVnAiGgql-IBCQ5EdofIti_K7Ovo_Pwx6pnQCKFAtm385V4AE94x90nXSX3IRUjrFsNk52_TlxGrBd_s2OORPw4zOYz3ekI8bidK1aW18sESWK8tu659ic_SM/s1600-h/blog+014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CIoHctzlq4gUl7gP63QVnAiGgql-IBCQ5EdofIti_K7Ovo_Pwx6pnQCKFAtm385V4AE94x90nXSX3IRUjrFsNk52_TlxGrBd_s2OORPw4zOYz3ekI8bidK1aW18sESWK8tu659ic_SM/s320/blog+014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254967626314152962" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />Good times ... celebrating ... together.<br /><br />Oh, and the cell phones are back on. Woo-hoo for freelance checks!Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-73460063341631051222008-10-07T20:57:00.000-04:002008-10-07T22:04:44.774-04:0037: The answer is:<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKcIHLRbs5XpbM1-cly1vjPfKXQfEyeRokM-a_2TFy4De4P5Cnq0n9oTeIoYNRXDuah1V0DSsoQADHsVSQhrCXAtVz3Goz6W1ro9AxqMXXxOOqUklAUK0fW8jNM89aYahJLoqv-UTpm0/s1600-h/fireman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKcIHLRbs5XpbM1-cly1vjPfKXQfEyeRokM-a_2TFy4De4P5Cnq0n9oTeIoYNRXDuah1V0DSsoQADHsVSQhrCXAtVz3Goz6W1ro9AxqMXXxOOqUklAUK0fW8jNM89aYahJLoqv-UTpm0/s320/fireman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254595548327948210" border="0" /></a>Congratulations to my honey! I am so proud of you! (A man in uniform--God has certainly answered a prayer!)<br /><br />Also: A special thank you to everyone for your prayers. Seyi: thank you for thinking of and praying for us!<br /></div>Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-36783690814375665432008-10-06T21:07:00.000-04:002008-10-06T22:41:43.358-04:0036: The Call!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOknz1z3WEb2Nqeyv99JT4VN7KGc06PXrP_z-ihq58S3WAiS1O32CtXEnA9RIZoDL5v3JRQ6L0To6DFCWouk4IA9obWBicqsIKRx6ZtwTjcqAchCHhODCgmjjJajdhiA2POiL6ersJpVA/s1600-h/phone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOknz1z3WEb2Nqeyv99JT4VN7KGc06PXrP_z-ihq58S3WAiS1O32CtXEnA9RIZoDL5v3JRQ6L0To6DFCWouk4IA9obWBicqsIKRx6ZtwTjcqAchCHhODCgmjjJajdhiA2POiL6ersJpVA/s320/phone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254220107791587282" border="0" /></a><br />The call came today!<br /><br />My hubby got the call ... they offered him the position! Yippee. I am so, so happy and excited for him. Today, we told the kids that daddy is going to be a __________! They were thrilled--although I think my daughter had already figured it out.<br /><br />So, I was sitting at my desk just after 10 a.m. when I got an e-mail from hubby. "I got it. Call me."<br /><br />Well, we had been talking about "it" for so long. "It" was always "the call." So, when he said "it," I was going crazy ... "It what?! The job?! The call?! The offer call or the rejection call?!" I couldn't stand it anymore and I called.<br /><br />"What happened?!"<br /><br />"They offered me the position!" I could hear him smiling. "I start in three weeks. October 27."<br /><br />"Yay! That is so great! I am so happy for you ... We'll talk on my lunch break."<br /><br />I rushed home on my lunch break, where he gave me all of the details ... when the call came, how it came, what he said, what she said. We celebrated, hi-fived each other, hugged. We were sooooo happy. And then, that other thing hit us:<br /><br />"Oh yeah ... day care," he said to me.<br /><br />We spent my lunch break together in front of the computer and on the phone. We called our local Child Care Resources agency to see if they could help--because that's what they are there for ... to help struggling families with child care options.<br /><br />But, we had quickly discovered again what I had already known--that they are there for single moms ... and they foster an environment of settling for less ... they encourage people to cheat the system through an all-or-nothing mentality. I know quite a few women who have done that -- and, for years.<br /><br />Okay, so we weren't going to get any help from them. I got in my car to drive back to work and I was doing the math in my head. For two children to go to child care and for the two older ones to go to after care, this is what it looks like:<br /><br />• $700 for the baby<br />• $600 for the toddler<br />• $300 in "Aftercare" fees for my oldest son.<br />• $300 in "Aftercare" fees for N, my daughter.<br /><br />Grand total=$1,900 per month.<br /><br />My husband, as a recruit, is going to bring in a little over minimum wage. They are going to send him to school and only after he graduates and gets a position will he start getting paid for real with a decent salary.<br /><br />Okay, so let's do the math: I will be paying just under 50 percent of our entire income towards day care. I just do not know how we are going to manage. I just know that somehow we will.<br /><br />But, I refuse to stress over the seemingly impossible day care bill. I simply refuse. Instead, I will finish the night out ... celebrating the good news of today.<br /><br />And since I always say it out loud: "Thank you, God. We are so grateful for who you are and everything you give us."<br /><br />So, any guesses on the job title?Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2008066227324198827.post-63273194433191336262008-10-05T20:55:00.001-04:002008-10-05T21:34:55.818-04:0035: Picture Sunday!<span style="font-size:180%;">S</span>o, here are some random pictures from my weekend ... very random!!!<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-TvYLurXhF8oeh_85Y16vFdM50LUsDJveAdZylN04bvcTqSZI7n6xChl3SWkV4Hf0tKZ1YTq0BlL1D4qStiVrm1uZ5QwGe9pLSGB52OCACC_HUJ12QaxeoF_GwDatTLccojhzslTygLw/s1600-h/germanshepherd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-TvYLurXhF8oeh_85Y16vFdM50LUsDJveAdZylN04bvcTqSZI7n6xChl3SWkV4Hf0tKZ1YTq0BlL1D4qStiVrm1uZ5QwGe9pLSGB52OCACC_HUJ12QaxeoF_GwDatTLccojhzslTygLw/s320/germanshepherd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253838566463033426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">This afternoon, I helped my son with a school project about dogs and their "professions." We glued this picture to a white poster board for his presentation tomorrow. I wanted to share this just because I loved it so much. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYtkTbg6jpKrLaR-mqOckZOBELvMkdsMfhjZfz0QDor00kvztHf_1aKVnWRK8jogFvYVr_TmFpcVUlnskJsM58USYeBeEwa1nlV_BDg5LbB6grVPCiOgvsqZhVKITXokOHgoMFQexOojQ/s1600-h/random+013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYtkTbg6jpKrLaR-mqOckZOBELvMkdsMfhjZfz0QDor00kvztHf_1aKVnWRK8jogFvYVr_TmFpcVUlnskJsM58USYeBeEwa1nlV_BDg5LbB6grVPCiOgvsqZhVKITXokOHgoMFQexOojQ/s320/random+013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253839271341795138" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Baby boy and dear daughter:-) 7 months; and 7 years old. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Adff19ZxolecB11im_Bv1nC86g39GrdO73CFQ6-fyqPx2pc7xFSPNRL83DMgfWEG_jfBO5Mlspt_pfkHwBTjp-w2ZzFUMvVTvUDMLpXl6Q1Ux-S4ZXzuSlQ5vFIBTpLHqwFEJi_dAHw/s1600-h/random+025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Adff19ZxolecB11im_Bv1nC86g39GrdO73CFQ6-fyqPx2pc7xFSPNRL83DMgfWEG_jfBO5Mlspt_pfkHwBTjp-w2ZzFUMvVTvUDMLpXl6Q1Ux-S4ZXzuSlQ5vFIBTpLHqwFEJi_dAHw/s320/random+025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253839859450264498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">In my last post, I talked about driving by my old campus apartment. My old bedroom was where that top window (with the window air conditioner) is. We had plenty of birthday parties, lazy, quiet Saturdays and barbecues in this little place. Our neighbors were from Iceland, and we were always having "building" potlucks. It was so much fun. Any way, I when I hear anything Dixie Chicks, I think of the summer of 2002 when I would leave my windows open and blast my Dixie Chicks. Simple times and ... lots of studying, too. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FCf1A-Tb2XmlXoEvPeWIQ7SHsDjhiV7q41h7Eff0fJDYmyzLz2Mpmfj7eC_dsS_qXHw8W3hPFMirVS8GynyyeEGHqKJcpllB0wTbj1lJs7lHsxXzPiHBOPAHBN-4LkGFUd3J1upiU0s/s1600-h/random+023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FCf1A-Tb2XmlXoEvPeWIQ7SHsDjhiV7q41h7Eff0fJDYmyzLz2Mpmfj7eC_dsS_qXHw8W3hPFMirVS8GynyyeEGHqKJcpllB0wTbj1lJs7lHsxXzPiHBOPAHBN-4LkGFUd3J1upiU0s/s320/random+023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253844802558768530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">So, on the way to our old place, the kids and I drove by one of our favorite all-time picnic spots, which is on the lawn of the famous-for-its-architecture Baughman Center--also a favorite wedding spot for countless couples. On this day, we didn't stop because of a wedding ceremony. We drove by slowly and saw the bride in her beautiful, crisp, white gown; and we saw a horse-led carriage. It is always a beautiful spot, no matter what time of year you visit. I have been to a few weddings there as well-- all of them breathtaking. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgztmHK9rqhylhS_yG-aAWnLB5DNuPdYaSeZnGvZUVTKp8a1cjXs8QnnKA80K-PAE3v8utK-8ARrT-Z_cDia2zFWcA46GvJFRVXy3KjdKl_xOaro-qAo8ciJ2gvz5dua-MugfJlHIAloN4/s1600-h/random+019.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgztmHK9rqhylhS_yG-aAWnLB5DNuPdYaSeZnGvZUVTKp8a1cjXs8QnnKA80K-PAE3v8utK-8ARrT-Z_cDia2zFWcA46GvJFRVXy3KjdKl_xOaro-qAo8ciJ2gvz5dua-MugfJlHIAloN4/s320/random+019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253844163924803522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">More big boy smiles! So, who here knows his name? I've gotten SO much crap about his name. It's annoying! But, I love it! Oh, and if you know it, do not give it away ... please.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">I may or may not do that. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_pKJUjNNGooYkP5bQzYGZ1T8DU7eE5TAPSmmfOVLRd0IkPZurHIsTK2H7UTtQtBV8W_kc8PgKsnKps3Col1eRCdQazWnOCFT73FgIoskGuDtCMIcSu94Cu4F1fwsksvQq8We8vxoYlk/s1600-h/random+021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_pKJUjNNGooYkP5bQzYGZ1T8DU7eE5TAPSmmfOVLRd0IkPZurHIsTK2H7UTtQtBV8W_kc8PgKsnKps3Col1eRCdQazWnOCFT73FgIoskGuDtCMIcSu94Cu4F1fwsksvQq8We8vxoYlk/s320/random+021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253846170404789186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Saturday afternoon at the local (free) dog park. It sits right beside a firestation and the kids love seeing the trucks each time we drive by. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, and that is my dog--I promise. No, I do not bring my 2-year-old here for exercise. (Okay, in a sense, I do.) Although, he does have one of those kiddie leashes. That could have been funny, huh?</span><br /></div>Suzy A. Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754962769235964481noreply@blogger.com4