tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2559933359741826852024-02-18T22:51:03.631-08:00BlissJeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.comBlogger453125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-22630484478043469222014-08-21T13:05:00.000-07:002014-08-21T15:09:28.545-07:00Ordinary Bliss...<center>
<a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Mama’s Losin’ It" src="http://i913.photobucket.com/albums/ac331/mamakatslosinit/workshop-button-1.png" /></a></center>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Prompt:</b></span><br />
A blog post inspired by the word: Ordinary<br />
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<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/user/jnetteshum/media/IMG_9660.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_9660.jpg" border="0" src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/IMG_9660.jpg" /></a><br />
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They’re just ordinary moments from my ordinary life. Yet they pulled me in yesterday when I visited my blog to look for pictures of my dark hair (I really want dark hair again). Those ordinary moments grabbed hold of me until—pajamas still on—I realized it was time to pick up my kids from school. I read, laughed, cried, grimaced over those ordinary moments the entire day and oh how grateful I felt to have them recorded.<br />
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In retrospect I realize how wrong I was for believing blogging to be a waste of time, a silly hobby that needed to be controlled. Blogging was my journal, my life history. Precious, ordinary moments that would otherwise be lost forever are now mine to cherish (all day, in my pajamas).
I’m so glad I took the time to waste that time those few, but fabulous years of blogging.<br />
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And you know, I think I’ll be back to waste more time tomorrow.
Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-46571000675454893272012-04-19T15:07:00.001-07:002012-04-19T15:07:44.357-07:00Cupcake Wars...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=CoconutCupcake-6153.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/CoconutCupcake-6153.jpg" /></a><br />
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<b>I have a strange obsession. It's true. I'm obsessed with finding and or making the perfect cupcake. Why is this so strange? You might ask. Well because It's not like I even care that much about cake. I mean cake's good and all but I certainly don't dream about it at night.</b><br />
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<b>And yet I do dream about creating and or finding the perfect cupcake. Strange. I know there must be one out there. Why else would there be entire TV shows devoted to their creation and why else would people stand in large lines to pay forty bucks for a dozen of them. Forty bucks. No lie. That's how much my darling love paid for a box of Sprinkles cupcakes because he knows of my obsession and wanted to please me. And I was excited and squealed with delight and then said, "Eh, they're alright." Because they were just alright. And I know people are reading this right now and calling me dumb for saying that. But what can I do?</b><br />
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<b>So I concocted some recipes in my head the other day then visited the grocery store where I spent an obscene amount of money on supplies </b>(I'm obsessed I tell you)<b> and came home to create one of my three newly concocted recipes. I began with coconut because I love coconut. And no the above picture is not my coconut cupcakes but those of the Barefoot Contessa because I am too lazy to take a picture. So I made my coconut cupcake and my coconut frosting and I took a bite and said, "These are good but they're not quite there yet." To which my girls replied, "Are you crazy? This is the most amazing cupcake ever." So I'm thinking maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe I'm waiting for Angels to sing and maybe Angels are too busy to sing for cupcakes.</b><br />
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<b>But the next day when I decided to eat one of my coconut cupcakes for breakfast </b>(told you I'd never make it into the super fit people club)<b> something happened. I actually think I heard an angel sing and I may have even wept a little because that was the best flippin' cupcake ever. I can't even lie or fake modesty. Even though I probably should because that's the proper thing to do. Seriously yummy. Seriously. And so I proceeded to eat four more </b>(throughout the day mind you)<b> and four more the next day and now there's only one left which I must hurry and eat before my kids get home. You know, because of that whole, "put the oxygen mask on yourself first" thing. Just trying to be a good mom here that's all.</b><br />
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<b>And now comes the part of this post where I'm supposed to share the recipe with y'all. Only I started thinking maybe I'll just keep it to myself because then you will have to invite me to your parties. </b><br />
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<div style="color: blue;">
<b>"Hey I know lets invite Jeanette."<br />"No she's dumb. She doesn't even like Sprinkles cupcakes."</b></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<b>"I know but she makes the most amazing Coconut Cupcakes!"</b></div>
<div style="color: blue;">
<b>"Oh yeah that's right. Hurry and invite her!"</b></div>
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<b>Then I'll feel all important and loved because I'll get invited to so many shindigs I won't even know what to do with myself.</b><br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>So call me. I'll bring cupcakes.</b><br />
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P.S.<br />
If you don't like coconut don't worry. I still have two more recipes waiting for their spotlight. But more on that later...<br />
<br />Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-44780647803269023112012-03-12T10:39:00.003-07:002012-03-12T11:01:17.164-07:00I don't think I'll make it into that club...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=jeanettesblog1858.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/jeanettesblog1858.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I decided something this morning as I was working out...</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I decided that fit people deserve to be admired.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">They deserve every double take, side-eyed glance, dropped jaw gawk, every "Dang I wish I looked like her." ALL OF IT.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Because working out pretty much stinks. And telling myself to put down the snickerdoodle that I've picked up five times this morning stinks too.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">So to all of you--do your work out everyday and put down the snickerdoodle--kind of people out there I say flaunt it. I won't hate you because you're beautiful </span>(remember those commercials?)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> because you deserve every bit of your glory. </span><br style="font-weight: bold;">Really. I mean it.Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-89361764093547532072012-03-01T07:16:00.002-08:002012-03-01T08:22:33.426-08:00So special...<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=2012.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/2012.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class=" on down" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_JustifyCenter" title="Align Center" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 11);ButtonMouseDown(this);"><img src="img/blank.gif" alt="Align Center" class="gl_align_center" border="0" /></span></span></a></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I bought four mugs. We have seven people currently living in our home, but I bought four mugs. It's all the thrift store had. Four. I debated, but they were cute. So I bought them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I set the table with my four new mugs. We have seven people currently eating at our table, but I only had four new mugs. So I alternated them with complimenting white mugs. It looked cute. I felt satisfied.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Why don't I get a special mug?" I heard Jamie say. Followed by, "Ooo, I want a special mug." Coming from Waylon. So we adjusted and did some rearranging until all who wanted "special mugs" had one. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And I thought, "I love children." I love how their precious little minds take the simplest of things and make them "special" and exciting. If only we could remember this as mothers. Oh the world we could create for these wide-eyed, magical little souls. And oh the world we would create for ourselves in the process.</span><br /><br /> <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;">Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="highlight">small</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;"> and </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;" class="highlight">simple</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-weight: bold;"> things are great things brought to pass;</span><br />Alma 37:6Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-55432909517625627772012-02-24T21:04:00.003-08:002012-02-24T22:19:46.920-08:00Random questions answered...<div style="text-align: left;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px;" ><span style="font-size:100%;">I'm sick tonight. My nose is bright red and owie. Not fun.<br />My husband isn't home and I have to take a break from writing or my head will pop off. Which might be okay since my nose is red and owie, but for now I think I'll try to keep it on.<br /><br />So I'm taking a break and reading blogs. On <a href="http://www.busybeelauren.com/">BBL </a>(one of my favorite blogs)<br />I found a tag game thingy. I'm too sick and tired to follow all of the rules of the tag game thingy but I thought I'd take a minute to at least answer the question portion of the tag game thingy.<br />Here goes:</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />1. If you had to wear skirts for the rest of your life, or jeans for the rest of your life, which would you choose?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">The only reason I had to pause and think on this question is because I love pumps and I made a deal with my feet that I would only wear pumps with dresses so as not to destroy them (them being my feet) but I prefer jeans because I'm often cold and I don't always like to sit like a lady.<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />2. What was your favorite PBS kids show growing up?<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">The Electric Company. I remember a song about eating spaghetti with a spoon. What a mess. And I loved the silhouette word people. Sh....ip, Ship. And of course the beginning, "Hey you guys!" Awesome.<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span></div> <div style="text-align: left;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Who is cooler? Zack Morris or Cory Matthews?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">I was an older teen then young married when "Saved by the Bell" and "Boy Meets World" were on TV so I only watched them a few times but I would definitely, definitely pick Cory Matthews. Definitely.<br /> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><br />4. What is your least favorite smell in the world?</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">I'm drawing a blank on this one. Maybe because my nose is stuffed up right now.<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />5. What's the worst injury you have ever had?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">My owie, owie broken foot. That was the worst pain ever! (for me. I'm sure there are many others who've had worse pain than that. And I'm sorry for them. Really.)<br /><br /></span></span></div> <div style="text-align: left;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. What book have you read more than once?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">"The Hiding Place" by Corrie ten Boom. I've read it at least three times. Maybe four.<br /><br /></span></span></div> <div style="text-align: left;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">7. What do you take the most photos of?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">My kids. But not enough. I often forget to take pictures. Bad<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><br />8. What is the first perfume you ever purchased/wore?</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Beautiful by Estee Lauder. My mom's.<br /><br /></span></span></div> <div style="text-align: left;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">9. What is your ideal date?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Good food. Good conversation. And an occasional visit to a shoe store ;)<br /><br /></span></span></div> <div style="text-align: left;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">10. Tell me your favorite thing about the state you live in.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">The weather. The diversity. I love that we can travel from the hot cactus filled desert to the cool pine tree covered mountains in a matter of a few hours. I just wish I still lived in the hot cactus filled desert part instead of the cold mountains but whatever.<br /><br /></span></span></div> <div style="text-align: left; font-weight: bold;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">11. Most frequented website?</span><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Amazon.com though I've been visiting the fabric guru a lot lately because I really want to make new curtains (if you haven't guessed, I don't spend much time on the internet)<br /><br />So there you have my very condensed version of the tag game thingy. If you'd like to see the entire tag game thingy visit <a href="http://www.busybeelauren.com/">BBL</a> right now. Go ahead. I think you'll like her. She's super cute and fun :)<br /><br />Now I'm going to bed because I'm not feeling cute or fun right now. Nope.<br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></div>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-34420095692423738852012-02-23T08:41:00.002-08:002012-02-23T08:53:52.489-08:00And she's off...<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=brick1.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/brick1.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I've heard it said that if you give your fears a voice they lose their power. And that must be true because after posting yesterday's "confessions of a wimpy writer" </span>(which I thought about deleting because I sound like such a dork)<span style="font-weight: bold;">I sat down and wrote.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I wrote and I wrote until I looked up to notice that I had over 1000 words written. Woo-hoo. It seems I have found the story I was meant to tell because it's practically writing itself. And it's not scary, it's fun </span>(and heart wrenching--sorry, it's what I do).<br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Now my biggest problem is that I never want to stop writing. Why don't homes have a self cleaning button? Why?</span><br style="font-weight: bold;">Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-69809920391641193912012-02-22T09:29:00.002-08:002012-02-22T10:41:39.317-08:00Don't be hatin' on my breakfast beverage...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=2012001.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/2012001.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">This morning, over a breakfast of tomato juice and gluten free crackers, I had a little talk with myself.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*Side note*</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I pretty much love tomato and or vegetable juice for breakfast. And I love to drink said juice in fancy glasses. My kids are aware of this fact and gift me with fancy glasses every Christmas. This latest one being from Miss Jamie. Thanks J.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">During our little talk I asked myself this question, "Self why are you looking at blogs right now instead of writing. Furthermore self, why have you avoided writing for months? Why self? Why?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Some time ago I read an article about procrastination, which stated that there is always something behind our putting things off. The article listed examples of why we might put things off and as I read it I realized that I put off writing because I don't want to find out that I actually stink at it. I don't want to find out that I can't do it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">On the flip side of that, I'm quite certain that I can. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">We humans are such manic little creatures.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> I can write. My writer's group all but threw flowers at me the last time I shared one of my works with them and told me I'd better finish it because they must know what happens. Marlee tells me everyday, "Mom the world needs good writers. Please write your book." And yet...<br /><br />Yes--sadly, ridiculously--there is still a yet. Yet I look at my writing in disbelief. "How could these words have come from me?" I wonder. "Surely they were a fluke. I can't possibly have anything more."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">So I procrastinate. I let days, weeks, months pass by while I walk around tied up in knots </span>(because if we're not true to our gifts, we can't help but feel tied up)<span style="font-weight: bold;">. And I wait. Wait for what? I don't know. I've already received conformation that I should do this. I've already had a perfect moment of clarity when I learned exactly what I should write--complete with a title, and you know I hate coming up with titles </span>(I wrote the experience in my journal because I knew my doubt would try to cast it away) <span style="font-weight: bold;">and I make myself freakin sob each morning as the story rolls through my brain </span>(I tend to write things that make people cry. why? No idea.)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> So why not just sit down and write it already?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm scared. That's why.</span><br /><br />P.S.<br />In a recent writer's meeting it was said that once you know the rules of writing you can break them, at which time I confessed that I break all of the rules on my blog. I am therefore aware that, if based solely upon this blog, you may think me a horrible writer. I am sorry. But not really. Because this writing is easy. And it doesn't scare me. So the end.Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-42164535401463323022012-02-16T09:11:00.000-08:002012-02-16T09:18:33.101-08:00True Bliss...<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >Today marks 22 years</span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">And it just keeps getting better :)<br /><br /><br /></span></span></div>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-30884743919328750072012-02-15T08:03:00.000-08:002012-02-15T10:37:39.464-08:00What the Hell-'s Angels...<center><a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i913.photobucket.com/albums/ac331/mamakatslosinit/workshop-button-1.png" alt="Mama’s Losin’ It" /></a></center><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">WRITER'S WORKSHOP PROMPT:<br /></span><span style="font-size:180%;">A memorable day at work.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=jeanettesblog2013.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/jeanettesblog2013.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">(me and Mr. Rick when we were both flirty young college thangs)<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I've never written a romance novel. Never even tried. But there's a part of me that thinks it might be fun. You know, just a little part. And that little part wanted to show up today to write about a memorable day at work. That little part wanted to take creative license to make that memorable day at work extra juicy</span> (just for fun)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> because it did indeed have all of the makings of a very juicy story. But I decided to refrain from embellishing said juicy story for two reasons.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">One...</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I never take creative license on my blog posts they are </span>(sadly) <span style="font-weight: bold;">all true.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">and</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Two...</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I wouldn't want my darling love to read this post and think that I had a very juicy memorable day at work </span>(even though we weren't married at the time).<br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">It happened while I was employed by a group of Hell's Angels </span>(at least I had been told they were Hell's Angels, a story that their appearance and behavior certainly backed up). <span style="font-weight: bold;">I was a flirty young college thang working alongside a flirty young son of a Hell's Angel thang, which made for some crazy, yet wholesome :), playful banter.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I wasn't just a flirty young college thang however. I was a very much in love flirty young college thang. And not with the son of a Hell's Angel mind you, but with my very own Mr. Ricky Blissful </span>(I'm thinking he's going to love that I called him Mr. Ricky Blissful and I'm thinking he'll probably say something like, "What the heck..." only he doesn't say heck so you know, I took creative license with that one)<br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm telling you I had it bad for Mr. Rick </span>(he hasn't been Ricky since grade school)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> and the son of a Hell's Angel knew it. Which only made him turn up the heat on his playful banter. Until one day...</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Insert steamy romance novel here...</span><br style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The son of a Hell's Angel cornered Jeanette in the back office, begging her to forget that other guy and be with him.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">She smiled coyly, because that's what flirty young college thangs do, pressing her hand against his chest. "I can't son of a Hell's Angel. I don't want to. I love him." She turned to leave but he grabbed her, pinning her against the wall. With one arm draped above her head and the other on her waist he put his lips dangerously close to hers and whispered, "You know you'd rather be with me." </span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">...and that's where the romance novel ends because I pushed him off of me, told him to quit being stupid, and we continued to laugh, joke around and remain "just friends".</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">As for Mr. Ricky Blissful? Well he and I remained friends too...AND SO MUCH MORE... a story that could make for a pretty juicy novel in and of itself. But again I'll refrain and just say</span>...<br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The End.</span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-64055832186562294862012-02-14T08:25:00.000-08:002012-02-14T09:13:57.535-08:00Everyday...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=summer2009247.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/summer2009247.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Yesterday I walked into the grocery store to find people swarming around tables full of flowers, candies, cakes and balloons. Oh the stress, oh the frenzy. I then bought my loaf of bread, stick of butter and container of milk (anyone watch that on Sesame Street?) and calmly, quietly, contently left the store.<br /><br />I got home to find that my love had already returned from work. I gave him a hug, a smooch and said, "Thank you so much for not making a big deal out of Valentine's Day. I was so glad that I didn't have to worry about buying any of that crap today."<br /><br />"Thank you." He said. "You're the woman and Valentine's Day is for women. It's you that makes us not have to buy all of that crap."<br /><br />"Why don't you care about Valentine's Day?" Marlee asked.<br /><br />The answer is two fold...<br /><br />One, our anniversary is two days after Valentine's Day so Valentine's Day has always paled in comparison and two--and I figured this out after some pondering-- we don't need Valentine's Day because everyday is a lover's holiday around here.<br /><br />Everyday is filled with "I love you. You're awesome. You're the most amazing person I have ever met. Thank you for how hard you work for us. That was the best meal I've ever eaten. You always make me feel better. You're so good to me. I need you. You make me a better person. You're the person I want to call when I have a free minute. I appreciate all you do for me. You're brilliant. You're a genius. I admire your work ethic. I admire your spirituality. You're hott. You're sexy. You make me laugh. I hit the jackpot when I married you. I could never make it through this life without you..."<br /><br />Everyday is back rubs, snuggles and kisses on the neck. Everyday is LOVE. Pure, blissful, beautiful love. And I guess I just don't see how flowers, candies, cakes or balloons could make it any better.<br /><br />...but a big fat breakfast burrito from El Cupidos? Now that's different.<br />Thanks honey for surprising me with breakfast this morning :)Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-60853077756642432222012-02-13T12:24:00.000-08:002012-02-13T13:02:59.922-08:00Tales from the weekend...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011245.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011245.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Once upon a time last Saturday, I drove Rick to Show Low to meet up with some people for a business trip. While there I thought, "Why not hit some yard sales." Why not indeed. But after driving a country mile--using the sun as my guide so as not to be forever lost in the forest--only to find one yard sale with nothing more than a small table of used Valentine Bears and "sexy" women's lingerie </span>(that's what the woman kept saying to me. "I've got sexy lingerie here just in time for Valentine's Day." Um...no thank you)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> I was reminded, that's why not. Yard sales here are ridonkulous. And then I gave myself a talking to and said, "Hello self. Please stop trying to find yard sales up here in the mountains. Stop right now. You don't have Costco here, you don't have Target here </span>(just to name a few of the many, many things we don't have)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> and you do not have yard sales here. The end."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">So I started driving. I drove and I drove until I ended up in Heber where I found thrift stores. Fun thrift stores. And I had a little party and bought this chair where I like to sit when I'm stoned apparently. I'm just saying the eyes are looking a little suspicious in the photo, but whatever. And now I have hope, if only a little, that maybe just maybe I can live here without dying.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Maybe.</span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-48287418324687831142012-02-10T08:24:00.000-08:002012-02-10T08:34:43.714-08:00Trust...<center><a href="http://thegypsymama.com/category/five-minute-friday/"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/_lCeOMfY0_fQ/TWly2m-jN_I/AAAAAAAAFEY/k8HJ__cvkws/s200/5%20minute%20friday.jpg" /></a></center><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I learned about this from someone in my writer's group. Each Friday there is a key word to write about.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Here are the rules:</span></span><br /><br />Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.<br /><br />We write because we want to, not because we have to. We write for fun, for joy, for discovery.<br /><br />On Fridays we just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. 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line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">“You don’t have to figure everything out today.<span style=""> </span>You just have to keep moving.” I said the words aloud as I busily cleaned my kitchen one morning.<span style=""> </span>Immediately a feeling of profound love and peace washed over me, consumed me.<span style=""> </span>I knew that my words were true and that my Savior loved me and appreciated any effort I could give.<span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">I have always wanted to know that I am doing the right thing and giving my best.<span style=""> </span>“What is my purpose?”<span style=""> </span>I’ve wondered.<span style=""> </span>“I’m I using this precious gift of life to the fullest?”<span style=""> </span>I now understand that we must live life to find our lives.<span style=""> </span>We must walk to find our path.<span style=""> </span>Much of what we experience will be trial and error.<span style=""> </span>We’re not always going to do it just right.<span style=""> </span>We can’t.<span style=""> </span>But I trust, oh how I trust, that If I show up for the job every day, keep moving and give my best—even <span style=""> </span>if my very best is no more than the widow’s mite sometimes—the Lord will take my offering and add unto it so much more.<span style=""> </span>More than my meek little heart could ever, ever imagine.</p> <br /><h2 style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="entry-title"><a href="http://thegypsymama.com/2012/02/five-minute-friday-trust/" rel="bookmark" title="Permanent link to Five Minute Friday: Trust"><br /></a></h2>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-89690109480135545012012-02-08T08:26:00.000-08:002012-02-08T08:53:59.639-08:00Wilbur lives here...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011238.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011238.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As I revisited my blog this week (haven't been here in awhile) I scrolled down and saw a post I had written about my posters of blissful affirmation. I also saw that I had promised to show you what I was going to do with my posters of blissful affirmation. But I never did. Because I'm rude like that. But I don't want to be rude. I want to be fabulously kind and awesome. So today I give you this picture of my posters (there's more on another window as well) even though I didn't do exactly what I had planned to with them.<br /><br />What I had exactly planned to do was to frame them out with some cute fabric or maybe molding but after they sat for many, many weeks with no fabric or molding I said, "Self, it's time to face that fact that you will never hang these up if you wait to be fancy. So please just hang them up right now." And so that's just what I did. And I pretty much love them. Because they are full of blissful affirmation after all. And I loves me some blissful affirmation.<br /><br />Now about my writing/ creative room... as you can see it is not yet cute. And it is currently being used as a holding ground for things displaced by the living room painting project extravaganza of 2012. But it will be cute by golly. Someday it will be cute. And when it is I'll show you pictures.<br />I promise :)Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-36089248695351076812012-02-07T07:33:00.000-08:002012-02-07T08:07:59.233-08:00Welcome to the fun house...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011229.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011229.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Another thing you'll find if you pop by to see me--besides me, my wrap thingy, no makeup and dust--is a crazy clown house </span>(as I like to call it).<br /><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">You see, once upon a time </span>(about a week or so ago)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> a painter brought some samples over and proceeded to slather my walls </span>(yes we've hired a painter. It was one of those win-win situations for both of us so we decided what the heck...) <span style="font-weight: bold;">Things just got crazier from there and soon not even the molding was safe. Never leave me in a room with a painter at my disposal. It's dangerous. </span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Upon review of the many, many samples slathered on my walls </span>(I haven't shown you the half of them)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> we decided to scrap the neutrals and go BOLD! Today is the day the madness will begin so it's only natural that my feet grew a little cold last night</span> (of course they're always cold at night but this time I'm referring to the cold feet that make one sit up and exclaim,"What the heck are we doing?!")<br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Are we sure we want to do this?" I asked Rick.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Of course." He said. "I love it. This is who we are. We're fun people and we need fun colors."</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">And then I busted up into hearty, rolling laughter. "Oh yeah, we're just a barrel of laughs." I said.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"I know." He said. "Just look at you laughing now."</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Well I don't know how much fun we really are, but I do know we've never been afraid of color. Paint is my friend. It makes me happy. And I'm excited to finally, FINALLY, stamp this house with a little of my own personality.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wish me luck. And say goodbye to the crazy clown house </span><span>(goodbye crazy clown house :} xoxoxo)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-26598329079336891512012-02-06T10:11:00.000-08:002012-02-06T12:15:23.277-08:00This is me...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011231.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011231.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Please love that I am not wearing any makeup in this picture.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Please also love the dust in that tree behind me.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">No this isn't the first time I've noticed my dusty tree. I see the dust every time I walk past it. I just haven't done anything about it. That's all.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The problem is it's an artificial tree. And trees should be real. Real trees don't gather dust </span>(or do they)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> and they bring beauty, life and oxygen to a room. I love real trees.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">But they don't love me. </span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Which is fairly reasonable seeing as how I kill them. And if someone killed me I wouldn't love them either. So I have no real, living, breathing, beautiful plants in my house. Just fake dusty ones. Sad.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">But you know what? I didn't write this post to talk about my dust problem </span>(my chandeliers look like they belong in the haunted mansion--I'm just saying)<span style="font-weight: bold;">. I wrote this post to show you the awesome wrap thingy </span>(don't know what it's called)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> that my mother-in-law crocheted for me.</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">She came over yesterday and said, "Look I made this for you." And I put it on. And promptly warmed up. Who knew a crocheted wrap thingy could be so warm?</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm pretty much in love. And I'm pretty sure I'll be wearing this everyday. So if you pop by to see me, no matter the day or time, this is what you'll find. Me, my wrap thingy, no makeup and dust. Awesome.</span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-51292505698640942652011-11-22T08:11:00.000-08:002011-11-22T08:50:48.244-08:00Take one down, pass it around...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011029.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011029.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm in love and I don't care who knows it! And no I'm not talking about the book "I am number four" but I am talking about another publication, "Writer's Digest magazine". I've been reading it this morning and dying over the genius of those who contribute to it. Dying in grinning, gooey, giddiness I tell you. Especially when I read this paragraph:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 153);">"To not write your novel, constantly worry about how bad your book might turn out to be. Pause every thousand words or so and think, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 153);">This is about the worst piece of crud known to man. Where did I put the bourbon?</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 51, 153);">"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">This paragraph made me laugh out loud because this is where my mind currently resides in my writing journey. "It's all crap." I tell myself. "What the heck am I doing thinking I can write anyway. I pretty much stink!" </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">So when Marlee came to me the other day and said, "I read what you've written so far."</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I cried, "No it's crap! I can't believe you read that awful, horrible, crappity crap! You should have let me edit it first."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"It's amazing." She answered. "You're an amazing writer."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"That means a lot coming from you." I said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Oh yeah, why?" She asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Because you're reading all of the time!" And she is too. Holy cow that girl's read a ton of books. And she's very particular and critical too. She doesn't like crap. So it did mean a lot to me when she said she liked my writing. Especially when she let me know, with a hint of drool at the corner of her lips no less, "I love that Aaron guy."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"You know he's the bad guy." I told her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Even better." She smiled.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Okay so maybe I won't quit </span>(or resort to drinking bourbon)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> just yet.</span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-31331254196379848282011-11-21T08:02:00.000-08:002011-11-21T09:05:13.858-08:00Birthday Rush...<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=btr.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/btr.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">In honor of Jamie's birthday I give you this picture of Big Time Rush </span>(because I don't currently have other birthday pictures to post)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> her newest, latest and greatest love interests. I think it is Kendal she loves most </span>(guy in hat) <span style="font-weight: bold;">but she is sure to correct me later if I'm wrong. Like boyfriends in years </span>(months, weeks)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> past I find that I can tolerate these guys pretty well too. Their music doesn't bother me and I've even been know to get sucked into their TV show from time to time. So all is well. Lets just hope she has the same luck in choosing real life boyfriends. Oh I'd better like them because I am not putting up with any foolishness I'll tell you that right now. I'm so done with fool men and their shenanigans </span>(not speaking personally of course. I gots myself a keeper)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> and I pray everyday that my girls can steer clear of the fools. Please.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And now if you will excuse me, I must go make cotton candy for Jamie's class.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=jeanettesblog557.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/jeanettesblog557.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I really don't feel like making cotton candy today, but I must. Because when you own a cotton candy machine it just doesn't feel right to make cookies or cupcakes, I'm just saying. So that's what I'm gonna do. Make cotton candy. Yes I am. Right now.</span><br /><br />P.S.<br />Did you know that if you make cotton candy in the house it coats everything with tiny sugar particles and sets off the smoke alarms? Good times.Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-16479948886037591912011-10-07T09:04:00.000-07:002011-10-07T10:17:39.501-07:00If you build one, they will come...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011176.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011176.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So I was reading NieNie the other day--as I'm known to do from time to time-- and in this particular post seen <a href="http://nieniedialogues.blogspot.com/2011/10/last-week.html">HERE</a>... she briefly mentioned her daughters' fairy creations in the backyard which made me feel all giddy because outdoor fairy creations were ONE OF MY VERY FAVORITE THINGS IN LIFE when I was a wee child. And this thought led to the memory of an afternoon spent making fairy creations with my girls-- back when I was a brunette (ours weren't quite as elaborate as the NieNie girls' but whatever, mine never were either).<br /><br />Do you remember when I was a brunette? I do. After going through my pictures to find our fairy house day, I'm thinking of becoming a brunette again (and forget what they say about blonds) because I seemed to have a lot more fun as a brunette. I'm not even lying. I look at my old pictures and say, "Dang who's that girl? She's having a heck of a lot more fun than I'm having now." So I'm wondering... Is it the hair? Did I have more fun because of the hair? Hmm... maybe I'll just have to find out again. Yes maybe. I'll have to think on that one.<br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011175.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011175.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But in the meantime, I think it's time to get out and MAKE SOME MORE FAIRY HOUSES. Even though it just got very cold here. A fact that I can hardly speak of without a little sting in my heart. Perhaps if I become a brunette again I'll be able to face the winter like Rocky Balboa in Russia (what # Rocky was that? 4?). You remember that one right? When he's stomping through the snow with a log on his back? No? Well refresh your memory <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwvoTDoO9Hg&feature=related">HERE</a>...Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-51458878839937447122011-10-05T23:23:00.000-07:002011-10-06T00:29:16.689-07:00Make mine cheesy...<a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i913.photobucket.com/albums/ac331/mamakatslosinit/workshop-button-1.png" alt="Mama’s Losin’ It" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">WRITER'S WORKSHOP PROMPT:</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">TELL US ABOUT YOUR SONG...</span></span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011170.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011170.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I L-O-V-E our song, "When I See You Smile" by Bad English. I L-O-V-E it so much that I painted it over our bed.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">And I L-O-V-E the fact that when my daughter Paige suggested that Rick and I take a picture by our sign, Rick actually jumped up and did it </span>(complete with a cheesy grin)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> even though </span>( as you can see by the fact that he is wearing his comfortable shorts) <span style="font-weight: bold;">he had settled in for the evening-- flipping between a Diamondbacks game and a John Wayne movie no less.<br />That's love baby. True love.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />I thought about trying to explain all of the whys for my love of this song, but I decided to let a sampling of the words speak for themselves.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Sometimes I wonder if I'd ever make it through</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />Through this world without having you, I just wouldn't have a clue</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />'Cuz sometimes it seems like this world's closing in on me</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />And there's no way of breaking free, and then I see you reach for me</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /><br />Sometimes I wanna give up, I wanna give in, I wanna quit the fight</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />And then I see you baby, and everything's alright, everything's alright</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /><br />When I see you smile, I can face the world, oh oh, you know I can do anything</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />When I see you smile, I see a ray of light, oh oh</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">I see it shining right thru the rain</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />When I see you smile, baby when I see you smile at me, oh yeah</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /><br />Baby there's nothing in this world that could ever do</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />What a touch of your hand can do, it's like nothing that I ever knew hey</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /><br />And when the rain is falling, I don't feel it, 'cuz you're here with me now</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />And one look at you baby, is all I'll ever need, it's all I'll ever need...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">That in a nutshell sums up our relationship. Support, strength, love, laughter and plenty of smiles. There's not a person alive who makes me smile more than that man o' mine.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />And if I'm ever being a downer and forget how important my smiles are to him, remembering one of my favorite quotes always gets me back to being Miss Nice Girl</span> (sorry I don't know who said it)<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Take bread away from me, if you wish, </span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><br />take air away, but</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><br />do not take from me your laughter.</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><br />... it opens for me all</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><br />the doors of life.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Love. That. Quote.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Smiles and Laughter are among the most powerful forces on earth. And if you don't believe me, just watch the video to our song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cu6pclWsxzs"><span style="font-size:130%;">HERE</span></a>. And see how happy you feel after laughing at John Waite's hair.</span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-3831607671227272872011-10-04T09:01:00.000-07:002011-10-04T09:35:06.591-07:00I don't often play by the rules...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=jeanettesblog1646.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/jeanettesblog1646.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yesterday I woke up to October. Well actually I'd awaken to October a couple of days before that as well, but because I had other things on my mind those other days... Yesterday I woke up to October.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And I said to myself, "Self, it's October! We should decorate for Halloween!" To which myself replied, "Well, do you think we should clean then decorate or decorate then clean?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hmm, what a quandary. Clean, decorate? Decorate, clean?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Logic would say, </span><span style="font-style: italic;">make your house all spiffy lovely then decorate. It's the right thing to do.<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">But I don't like logic, especially in matters of creativity</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">. </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Logic stifles creativity. Logic is a killjoy. So I argue with logic and say, </span><span style="font-style: italic;">but if I decorate first then I'll get all jazzed, pumped up and excited and I'll clean up speedy quick so as to be able to show off the splendor of my creation. And all will be well in my world Mr. Logic. All will be well.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">But it's not the right thing to do.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Logic protests with a firm stance and stern glare.</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">And I sheepishly ponder the question again</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">... </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Clean then decorate? Decorate then clean?</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hmm...<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">So what would you do?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011160.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011160.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">And what do you think I did?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /></span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-34622956389788796682011-09-28T20:08:00.000-07:002011-09-29T00:26:10.516-07:00Surf and Turf...<a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i913.photobucket.com/albums/ac331/mamakatslosinit/workshop-button-1.png" alt="Mama’s Losin’ It" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >WRITER'S WORKSHOP PROMPT:<br />A Memorable Fishing Trip...</span><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011155.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011155.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Once upon a time, I went away to college and decided that cowboys were very HOTT!!! Which was unusual as I had never thought much of them in high school.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011156.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011156.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >If I recall correctly, the cowboys at my high school just hung out in the far corner of the parking lot, listened to country music </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(blah)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" > and smoked. At least I think they smoked. Did they smoke?</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=winter2010025.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/winter2010025.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >And I belonged to the big hair, guess jeans and alternative rock/pop crowd.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011152.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011152.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >And please tell me that when you weren't out and about in your guess jeans you were at home in your mens boxer shorts </span><span style="font-size:100%;">(and a very over sized shirt, seriously why am I wearing that tent)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" > tell me that you wore guess jeans and or mens boxers and I'll tell you that you are my people.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >But in college things were different,</span><span style="font-size:130%;">(though I still had big hair, guess jeans and popular music)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" > because in college cowboys were HOTT!!!</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >So once upon a time when one of the HOTT college cowboys called and asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him I said YESSSS, don't mind if I do.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011151.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011151.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >And that's when I caught my very first ever fish </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(a trout I believe)</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011149.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011149.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Out yonder there on my fishing date with the cowboy</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011150.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011150.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Then we all went to the home of my cowboy date's cowboy friend and ate steak </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(?)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >And the cowboys accepted me into their secret cowboy society when I proclaimed it a sin to put sauce </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(of any kind)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" > on a steak </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(my daddy raised me right)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >. And life was good. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >...later that summer </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(when we were all back home)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" > the cowboy wrote me a letter while out on the range of Montana </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(my cowboy date was a real life cowboy)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" > and told me how thinking about me kept him warm at night </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(I swear we only went on that one fishing date and we never even kissed)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >But sadly I never wrote him back because I had fallen in love with a non-cowboy back home.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=FamilyPictures2010061.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/FamilyPictures2010061.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >And I'm so very glad I did.<br /><br /><br /></span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-83634248949882665822011-09-20T09:43:00.000-07:002011-09-20T10:50:02.433-07:00Group dating...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011146.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011146.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Contrary to popular belief, when a girl gets asked to homecoming by two different boys on the same night she does not exclaim,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> "Woo-hoo, lucky me!" </span>(though she is very flattered and grateful) <br /><br />In reality when a girl returns to her car after her amazing choral concert (Marlee really was amazing at her concert last night and I'm pretty much a dud for not taking my camera) to find balloons and a cake waiting for her then whilst hurrying home to find out who they are from, receives a phone call from her dad saying, <span style="font-weight: bold;">"There are roses and chocolate here for you..."</span> she does not say,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> "Woo-hoo, lucky me!"</span> But... <span style="font-weight: bold;">"Oh no."</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">"Oh dear."</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">"This is really bad."</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">"What should I do?"</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">"I feel awful."</span> And the like.<br /><br />And then she frets and stews and sighs and calls her friends and drives to her friend's house for a pow-wow and worries and stews some more (because she would fancy going with either boy and doesn't want to tell one no). It's a tough thing I tell you. A very tough thing indeed.<br /><br />Fortunately for the girl however, there is a rule of etiquette put into place that protects against such a situation as this. The rule of etiquette that states (and correct me if I'm wrong) that it is only proper for a girl to accept the offer of he who asks first<br /><br />...even if it was only five minutes before.Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-56075363213042104962011-07-18T08:44:00.000-07:002011-07-18T09:11:13.205-07:00So what have you been up to?...<a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011110.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011110.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">For reasons I do not wish to discuss, I have had need to be very nice to myself as of late. No really. Niceness to myself has been imperative to my survival. It's true. And therefore I have spent most days in ratty jeans and or pajamas--because though being nice to oneself for some might involve stiletto heels and a french manicure, for me it means ratty clothes, a messy ponytail and absolutely no makeup-- and while hanging about in my tattered state, I have found that the art of thumbing through old magazines has become very therapeutic for me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Well not just thumbing through them exactly, but thumbing through them in order to rip out words, phrases and pictures that uplift and delight my senses. You see I have turned into Templeton from Charlotte's Web--scavenging ever scavenging for the perfect word. Of course after my role as Templeton is complete I then become Charlotte herself, spinning a web </span>(or in this case a poster)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> of inspirational delight. And then alas it is Wilbur I emulate, dancing and flipping about under my web </span>(or posters)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> of blissful affirmation.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">That's right--I'm some terrific, radiant, humble pig and I'm gonna be just fine.</span><br /><br />P.S.<br />If you're wondering what I plan to do with all of my webs (or posters) of blissful affirmation, I'm using them for a project I'm working on in my new creative/writing room. I can't wait to finish it so I can show y'all. It's sure to be fabulous. I think.Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-41007973072958730002011-06-11T23:12:00.000-07:002011-06-11T23:45:28.421-07:00Lucky me...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Tonight while trying to watch a movie with Rick, two of my little ones came into our room and started arguing over who got to have "mommy and me time". I tried to tell them that they could both spend time with me but that I would first like to finish my movie so please go upstairs and wait. They were reluctant, unhappy and in need of my time and attention so I asked myself, "hey self, can this silly movie bring even a fraction of the fulfillment and joy to your life that these little ones are offering you right now?" To which I answered myself, "Um no self I don't believe it can." So I walked away from the movie, gave each of my little ones a piggy back ride up the stairs to the family room, where we sat together and read "Stone Soup" </span>(I loved that story as a kid)<span style="font-weight: bold;"> and it was quite lovely. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Later as I stood in my kitchen preparing a roast for tomorrow's dinner I thought to myself how very lucky I am to have so many people who want to spend their time with me. I'm very loved and this is a wonderful feeling indeed. And as the words to the hymn "Have I done any good in the world today" played through my mind this evening </span>(as it often does when I replay my day) <span style="font-weight: bold;">instead of feeling like a bit of a failure for not reaching out to do this that or the other for my neighbors and friends, I thought of my sweet little family and answered...</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yes, yes I have.</span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-255993335974182685.post-8066398222504347202011-06-08T17:17:00.000-07:002011-06-08T17:46:22.765-07:00In the pink...<span style="font-weight: bold;">Once upon a time I fell in love with a pink voice recorder so I bought it. Which lead to the decision to start writing again </span>(after a really cool experience that I will share later)<span style="font-weight: bold;">. Which lead to a decision to turn the loft space in my house into a creative space--a really fun, funky, shabby chic, dripping with girly goodness creative space--which lead to my search for a fun, funky, shabby chic, dripping with girly goodness desk and or table of some sort.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Which lead to my finding this at an antique mall (the top is metal, so cool)...</span><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011102.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011102.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Which lead to me now having the happy task of decorating my new creative space around this cute little find. And oh the ideas I have. So fun.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://s946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/?action=view&current=spring2011101.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i946.photobucket.com/albums/ad310/jnetteshum/spring2011101.jpg" alt="Photobucket" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And now--</span>though there is a ornery, naughty little part of me that likes having it out there (for reasons I will not discuss here)<span style="font-weight: bold;">-- I need to figure out what to do with the ginormous sectional that is filling my entire front porch. Hmm...<br /><br /><br /></span>Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04068465608291119941noreply@blogger.com3