It’s taken me a while, but I’m finally learning something about myself.  I’m an all or nothing kinda gal.  I’ve had these pictures loaded onto my Live Writer page for over a week now.  Only…waaaay out in the woods I simply couldn’t get internet  service to post.  So, I didn’t.  Not even when I got home.  Not only did I not post my pictures (or bother even bother with the text) I haven’t posted anything since.  Sigh…

So, here are my some of my pictures from the Game Farm.  (I’m hoping they enbiggen when you click on them…but frankly, I have no idea if they will or not!)

In the sleepy little town of Sequim (pronounced “skwim”) is the Olympic Game Farm.  It’s a park that  you drive your car through and can feed all sorts of animals through your window. 

This is our friend Clyde.  He ran along side the car switching from side to side begging for a crust of bread.  He reminded me of a pesky little brother.  (Not that I have one of those or anything!)

This is the view we saw most often…a big huge nose sniffing  or an an eyeball looking for a crust of bread…which of course we happily provided.

We’ve been to the game farm a few times with Shaun.  I finally refused to go with him because of the buffalo.  They, of course, are his favorite part of the entire park.  Mostly because the girls and I are terrified of them.

The VERY large buffalo that try to cram their entire heads into car windows.    It amuses Shaun to stop the car and let the buffalo do as they eat  us.

Actually all they want is some bread. 

And they always give us gobs of slobber in return.  They are considerate that way.

My dad was driving this time and he kept moving just like all the signs said.  It finally dawned on me that these huge beasts are actually quite sweet.  They seemed content to trot along beside the car and would happily lick you once in a while, especially if you gave them a slice of bread…kinda like an overgrown puppy. 

It’s hard work making friends with buffalo…just ask the girls!

The girls and I are currently visiting my folks on the Olympic Peninsula where they moved their RV to a couple of weeks ago.  The campground itself is beautiful.  Although in the winter time it is a bit on the quiet side as it is filled with seniors enjoying their retirement.  Which is fine…unless you are a teenage girl.  So we have had to come up with something a little more exciting for them to do aside of trying to make friends with the local wildlife.

So amazingly we did find something for the little thrill seekers among us! 

Details will have to be posted later as we are off for another fun filled day!

When I was a little girl, I always knew exactly how old I was.  If you would ask me, I would proudly announce that I was four and a half or nine and seven eighths, or even that I would be twelve in exactly four months, nine days and three hours. 

Knowing exactly how old I was very important to me.  That’s why I didn’t  understand why my mother couldn’t seem to keep track of how old she was.  Someone would ask her and I would burst into peals of laughter as she would tell the year and tell the asker to figure it out for themselves.  She wasn’t being a smart mouth, she simply couldn’t remember.  Mom always claimed that her age constantly changed and she shouldn’t be expected to keep track of something so silly.  Poor Mom…

A few years ago, I realized that it was getting harder and harder to keep track of my age.  I had come to agree with my mother that it was a silly thing  to worry about anyways.  For a while, I just told anyone that was interested that I was twenty-nine.  It seemed like a nice number to stop aging at. That was until my girls my girls decided to stop going along with it…

So, I relied on others to let me know how old I was.  At least until Shaun decided that it would be fun to mess with me.  He would add or subtract years as the urge came to him.  (I can’t imagine that this would surprise anyone that knows my husband.) 

This year, despite all of Shaun’s sabotage, I knew with absolute certainty that  I was turning forty-six.  Then KT informed me that I was mistaken…I was really going to be forty-five.  Sigh…

So, if you ask me today, I will proudly tell you that I am forty-five and one day.  If you ask me in a month or so…well…most likely I will tell you to do the math….

I’m working on a list of things to do within the next year.  Check it out at the top under 45 Things.  I’d love more suggestions!

When I was a little girl, I simply knew that I was just a little more special than other people.  This was because I was born on Valentine’s Day.  Everyone would gush about how special that was and what a sweet, special girl that I was as a result of this.  The entire world celebrated my day with hearts, flowers, chocolate all in various shades of pink.  Truly a little girl’s dream come true.  I was the Valentine Baby.

When I was in grade school, one of my best friends decided to throw a Valentine’s Day Party.  I just knew deep in my heart that it was a front for a surprise birthday party for me.  It nearly broke my heart when the sad realization that it was simply a Valentine Party dawned on me.  My friend didn’t even remember that it was my birthday. 

This was the first in a long line of what I viewed as birthday betrayals. As I grew older, Valentine’s Day was no longer about pretty pink hearts, but more about romance and love.  If I didn’t have a  boyfriend in mid-February, (which, for some reason, I usually didn’t) I was screwed.   My friends would do something with me the day before, or the day after, but mostly they just wanted to talk about their special someone.  

For a long time I was really resentful (and dare I say a bit bitter?) that I was missing out on what society tells us should be two very special days. I grew to hate the day…at least until I found my very own special guy. 

Poor Shaun suddenly had so much pressure put on him.  I expected him to fulfill all my romantic yearnings.  Lucky for us both, he has a romantic soul and does a wonderful job at making my heart go pitter patter. 

When our girls came along, it finally occurred to me how selfish I had become.  I realized that all the card companies want us to believe that Valentine’s Day is all about expressing your romantic love.  Yet, with that attitude, there are so many people left feeling like total losers in life.

There are so many types of love…and romance is only a miniscule part of that.    I’ve come to realize that the love we need to  be showing should be for everyone.  From our partners, to our parents, our children, our friends and even that really nice lady that always waves to us and makes us smile even though we have no idea who she is.

I don’t know if this realization is a wisdom that comes with age or if it’s knowing that I am loved and cared for by so many.  Either way, letting go of the resentment that I carried for so many years while I was younger let me once again that I am indeed special. 

Images are all from what I sent in the girls’ lunches today

Exactly a week ago, Punxsutawney Phil poked his head out of his burrow and was frightened by his own shadow, thus predicting six more weeks of winter.   We smiled at the news, wished everyone a “Happy Groundhog Day” and went about our business not thinking anymore of it.  After all,  Groundhog Day is just one of those silly traditions that we learn about in grade school.

It seemed as though Phil was mistaken this year.  Yesterday was such a glorious day that KT decided that it must be spring.  She happily dug out the capris she had stowed away last fall and tried her best to convince me to help her plant the garden.  She pointed that it was fifty degrees out and that our bulbs were already sending shoots out of the ground. 

I managed to distract her by taking her shopping for a jacket she needed for her FBLA conference this week.   I was ready to go just as soon as we found the conservative attire that KT needed.  She, on the other hand, wanted to try on a few more things.  Namely a lovely yellow spring jacket that she had fallen in love with. 

Somehow she managed to convince me to buy it for her (Yes, I know it’s a lame picture, but it’s the only one I have.  I was just playing around while waiting for her.  I hate shopping….)  and KT was just floating on air.  I couldn’t help but grin at her joy over this lovely new spring coat. 

This morning I woke up to KT’s wails of dismay.  She announced that it had snowed last night and that there was still school.  I was still more than half asleep and couldn’t quite understand why she was so upset about the snow. 

It took about half a cup of coffee for it to finally dawn on me that it wasn’t going to be another warm spring-like day.  It simply wouldn’t do to wear a thin jacket out on such a blustery day. 

Poor KT.  Although it wasn’t as though she wasn’t warned.  Despite the wonderful week we just had, Phil did tell us that Spring wouldn’t be here for six more weeks…

This morning as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew me into the kitchen, I stumbled over a big pile of  sodden bathroom towels on the floor.   I stared at them with bleary eyes as I tried to figure out how on earth they had come to be there.  After a moment (and a couple gulps of my caffeine-rich brew) I remembered.

I had been asleep for an hour or so when I woke up to the sound of Shaun’s shouting.  I had no idea what he was so upset about, but the panic in his voice had me awake and flying towards the kitchen instantly.  As Shaun ran around collecting towels, I gawked in confusion at the huge puddle of water in the middle of the kitchen floor.   Shaun scurried around checking to make sure no pipes had burst.  I started sopping up the water as he ran downstairs to see if the water had leaked through the floor. (I’m rather impressed by how much scurrying he did while my brain wasn’t functioning yet)  He was still trying to determine where all that water had come from, when it suddenly dawned on me.  It was all my fault.  (I hate it when that happens)

I’ve gotten into the habit starting the dishwasher right before going to bed.  (After all, it’s so  comforting to listen to the gentle sound of someone else (even if it is a machine) washing all those dishes for you) So I did a quick walk-through and put the last of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.  Then I realized that we were out of detergent.  I briefly considered waiting until I bought some more then impulsively grabbed my bottle of  dishwashing soap (As opposed to detergent.  Trust me, there is a difference) 

I had vaguely remembered an incident from a couple years ago, so I only put a little bit of soap in the dispenser thinking it would be fine.  Then I went to bed, only to be awoken a few hours later.

Oops.

I really should learn not to be so impulsive. One little moment has earned me the ire of my husband, an extra load of laundry to do, and a dishwasher full of dishes that aren’t very clean. 

At least the floor has been mopped….

I’ve been trying to post something since Friday, but I’m currently squirreled away in a secret location with a bunch of my friends pretending to scrapbook.

Now just try writing a coherent post when someone is always cracking a joke or telling or story, asking how to spell a word or whatever. I dare you! We’re having a blast and that’s all that counts.

I’ll write a real post later tonight or first thing tomorrow. (I just had to check in to let you know why I disappeared again so soon after my Comeback Post)