tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19210816797158608892024-03-13T15:00:09.515-06:00La Vida de BlondieChell*Randomness Abounds* Join me as I regale you with amusing (and sometimes heartwarming) stories of my mild life as an active coffee drinker, over-sharer, professional panicker, and the elusive After-hours Chell.BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.comBlogger337125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-8661576043936011172022-06-17T06:00:00.001-06:002022-06-17T06:00:00.171-06:00Discovering After-Hours Chell<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oP42dyM2kb8/Yqf3o3lwdiI/AAAAAAAAEpI/V0ep1tXyHkoAEWirZEaaXnC78WldoRgtQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20210822_162416.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2944" data-original-width="2208" height="160" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oP42dyM2kb8/Yqf3o3lwdiI/AAAAAAAAEpI/V0ep1tXyHkoAEWirZEaaXnC78WldoRgtQCNcBGAsYHQ/w120-h160/20210822_162416.jpg" width="120" /></a> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-8p-PtHlsFRI/Yqf3qHrGqNI/AAAAAAAAEpQ/LVSbY0wEe7AJq28OzjGZoIr5INnwYA3vACNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20211030_112956.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="2736" height="153" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-8p-PtHlsFRI/Yqf3qHrGqNI/AAAAAAAAEpQ/LVSbY0wEe7AJq28OzjGZoIr5INnwYA3vACNcBGAsYHQ/w116-h153/20211030_112956.jpg" width="116" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-dWfZSbc-ku0/Yqf3r6TAHCI/AAAAAAAAEpg/8QN2PgvDxE8_AJc9mlv1GwfX_RvtBmAIQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20220422_170840.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2944" height="123" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-dWfZSbc-ku0/Yqf3r6TAHCI/AAAAAAAAEpg/8QN2PgvDxE8_AJc9mlv1GwfX_RvtBmAIQCNcBGAsYHQ/w164-h123/20220422_170840.jpg" width="164" /></a><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5FxJJD6ZpMI/Yqf3rNHVkDI/AAAAAAAAEpY/ZDMRr4RxFygLbfcC2B4Y5BkTM5gccvjrgCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20220220_172553.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="118" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5FxJJD6ZpMI/Yqf3rNHVkDI/AAAAAAAAEpY/ZDMRr4RxFygLbfcC2B4Y5BkTM5gccvjrgCNcBGAsYHQ/w157-h118/20220220_172553.jpg" width="157" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p> These past few seasons of my life have helped me grow, mature and learn a lot about who I am and things that I can and cannot control. Like "After Hours Chell". </p><p> After Hours Chell can be elusive at times and not everyone has met her. She tends to visit when all the coffee wears off and I'm a bit tired.</p><p> I've been told she's akin to a person who has consumed to many adult beverages. A bit wild and hyper, After Hours Chell is your party girl. Wanna have a good time? Invite her, not me. She's always up for dares and can has been labeled "a bit scary" at times, but a hard pinch seems to bring her back to reality. Sometimes, when she's been extended a bit beyond her limits, she tends to experience some "mood swings" and may end up a messy puddle of tears - but don't worry, because after a good 20 minutes or so, she'll be back to her bouncy, wild self! </p><p> Growing up, my younger brother experienced some behavior differences that my family was not fond of, so (according to my personal memories) a diagnosis was pushed for - in hopes of "a cure" or at least, a medication that would quell some of his differences that were deemed "annoying". (To be clear, he was not the type of child who seemingly bounced off walls. In my memory, our family's chief complaint was that he "talked too much".) Eventually, he received the diagnosis of ADHD and some unwelcomed treatment for it. </p><p> During this same time frame, little Michelle "just gets hyper sometimes when she's really tired" and it wasn't until as adult (at the age of 30 and explaining to my doctor that a medication she had given me "made the insides of my brain spin around") her doctor nonchalantly mentioned that she had ADHD. Life started to make more sense at this point. Pieces of the puzzle that I was unable to place now had a home. My penchant for multi-tasking? Viewed as "normal" to me now. The unpredictable hyper-self that turned on when I grew tired (or became exhausted) remained unexplained for a majority of my formative years and now had a label.</p><p> After Hours Chell gets her name from the root cause of her appearance- "after hours". It seems that, for the most part, (and with the help of coffee) I am able to keep all of my filters on for a majority of the day. I have a large amount of self control. However, when I am short on sleep (and some days, "just because"), the coffee stops working, all of my filters fall off, and I tend to do things that seem a bit out of my typical character. </p><p> Typically, I'm a good friend and am loosely aware of this phenomenon happening- I try to warn my nearest and dearest that "anything I do or say beyond this point does not count" because things can get real ugly, real quick. After Hours Chell had no regard for manners and lacks some (or all) of the social graces required to maintain adult relationships. But, she is fun, and here to stay. </p><p> What's even more fun is that my teenage daughter has an "After Hours" and she gets along great with my "After Hours". Normalizing neurodiverseness is becoming an important part of our culture, and I'm here for it. Feel free to share your neurodiverse stories in the comments below! </p><p> </p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-48120014905303908082022-06-10T06:00:00.001-06:002022-06-10T06:00:00.179-06:00...Or not two bee?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjij6Z8pljjT4wHRBmxbMQs5RTUWtkQgICOrJDly61fOV7QmE-ZY5YL3zIVOOxIxpsfRyFTUj-kuWL7VY1fFD_nOI_zhpxnZd-O6nPbrUnVouM58D7GgWfDcfmkBs8N0Gnz231g88G7cXiByAYTgl0WhMNwQwocuoyadAYPfVxp23w5Cp337jDP8Q4/s3988/porter-raab-ev-qYE4Y2IA-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2992" data-original-width="3988" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjij6Z8pljjT4wHRBmxbMQs5RTUWtkQgICOrJDly61fOV7QmE-ZY5YL3zIVOOxIxpsfRyFTUj-kuWL7VY1fFD_nOI_zhpxnZd-O6nPbrUnVouM58D7GgWfDcfmkBs8N0Gnz231g88G7cXiByAYTgl0WhMNwQwocuoyadAYPfVxp23w5Cp337jDP8Q4/w480-h246/porter-raab-ev-qYE4Y2IA-unsplash.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> Just me over here, trying to normalize bee trauma. </p><p> A jovial 4 months after my unreasonable encounter with the demon wasp in Oregon, I found myself located far, far away. New state, new job - new me. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span 107="" 12.0pt="" font-size:="" line-height:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""> One evening after work, I decided to do a good deed (and get paid for it!). While I was minding my own business, filling out paperwork that would qualify my to donate platelets, I felt like there was something in my shirt. My initial reaction (so that I wouldn't look like a crazy person - because who wants an infusion of a crazy person's blood?!?) was to kindly ask my dear husband to check the back of my shirt... because maybe I do have a bit of an insect paranoia. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span 107="" 12.0pt="" font-size:="" line-height:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""> My outfit consisted of a nice, black, Hawaiian flower style
shirt for our “Aloha Friday” theme, and a black tank. After a quick (and unthorough check), he determined that everything was fine and I was just imagining it. As I continued signing things, I suspiciously thought that I felt something again. I took off my Hawaiian shirt as a precaution, inspected it, and put it back on. I really needed to get my life together, or these nice folks surely would not let me donate this day. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span 107="" 12.0pt="" font-size:="" line-height:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""> After my paperwork was approved and I was being checked in, my husband left and the orientation process for me proceeded. While I was standing in line at the front desk, I felt something on my back again, so I just took the Hawaiian shirt off because it was probably just the tag touching me. After I folded my shirt and placed it on my clipboard, a fuzzy, white and black bumblebee appeared. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span 107="" 12.0pt="" font-size:="" line-height:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""> Now that my anxiety had been validated, I brought everyone's awareness to the situation by loudly letting them know there was a bee on my clothing (you know - the shirt that I wasn't currently wearing). This adult then asked a bystander what to do - Do I squish it? Let it outside? Life had not given me a point of reference on what to do in this type of scenario, except panic and run.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span 107="" 12.0pt="" font-size:="" line-height:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""> Thankfully, the kind gentleman (okay, he seemed really grumpy - and may have also pulled something in his calf when he bent down to get the insect that had now been tossed to the floor) behind the counter rescued the bee and placed it safely outside. Then I insisted on a container for my now contaminated shirt that would be burned the minute I got home. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span 107="" 12.0pt="" font-size:="" line-height:="" new="" roman="" serif="" times=""> Long story short, even though I was approved to donate my platelets that day, I was not invited back. Was it this incident that banned me? Or the fact that I may have passed out towards the end of my donation period? I have no idea because they stopped answering my calls.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"> One question that plagues me is, where does this semi-irrational fear stem from? I have no adequate answers. While I've never talked to a therapist about it, I have dwelled upon this truth many times, and I often do feel that bees have been "out to get me" ever since I was a child - they seemed to be attracted to my blonde hair. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> Another unexpected encounter occurred during our time in Alaska. One lovely summer day, I had just finished a lovely latte from a favorite coffee shop, and when I took the very last swig, expectant that it would touch the bottom of my soul, I immediately spat it back out onto the lid of my coffee. Because it was abnormally chunky (not that their coffee was ever chunky - but this chunk just did not sit right in my mouth). When I looked down, I saw a (dead) fat yellow jacket. Now, I am all for natural solutions like consuming bee pollen and raw honey. I've even heard of the fringe treatment of bee venom when properly administered. But ingesting an entire insect is beyond my mental capacity. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> I spent the rest of that summer consuming my beverages through straws. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> Now that the warmer weather is here, I do have hopes of a peaceful agreement with these rude creatures, but we shall see.</p><br /><p></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-20405860685246377352022-06-01T07:06:00.000-06:002022-06-01T19:55:14.880-06:00To Bee? <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZncsEbhQXiNNS2pLSZd-RcGMnVdVJzR_liqoPHaRnxLTR77wmYO4AHDIIQkiw9Vs9B4M2H4bpuhf6EaaN3ucYiyM5zBxSnrY54AchqPGjqbBGB59aU9CtS0ifYeDZZEE2mun4ymRxbnDs46RFySJ0CkD3YdyAivn9x1u43wZ39NdOIzgm2e_ra2-/s5184/alexandru-tudorache-JdjdIjzJl94-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2912" data-original-width="5184" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZncsEbhQXiNNS2pLSZd-RcGMnVdVJzR_liqoPHaRnxLTR77wmYO4AHDIIQkiw9Vs9B4M2H4bpuhf6EaaN3ucYiyM5zBxSnrY54AchqPGjqbBGB59aU9CtS0ifYeDZZEE2mun4ymRxbnDs46RFySJ0CkD3YdyAivn9x1u43wZ39NdOIzgm2e_ra2-/s320/alexandru-tudorache-JdjdIjzJl94-unsplash.jpg" width="320"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ah, nature - the one element that is perceived enjoyable, yet has it in for humans. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHolmFxCyWOJV6iQlsx-uBxMlS5oP9IBy36tCa8gp4q61BS4UyUYQ9ul8s9mup4hGBCxPKxHBd4TjSgRcKn5l48bw5F4SfFhoQM-ANQPZ1ddPYhs-90XG9ftMEeAgrasya4L1sfVc5P0PP2OZ_ev98c3kP2gfLTX7CakhRoM98lhk8SEbMomvWwNeK/s4160/thomas-millot-2JSLLwtM8MU-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="4160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHolmFxCyWOJV6iQlsx-uBxMlS5oP9IBy36tCa8gp4q61BS4UyUYQ9ul8s9mup4hGBCxPKxHBd4TjSgRcKn5l48bw5F4SfFhoQM-ANQPZ1ddPYhs-90XG9ftMEeAgrasya4L1sfVc5P0PP2OZ_ev98c3kP2gfLTX7CakhRoM98lhk8SEbMomvWwNeK/s320/thomas-millot-2JSLLwtM8MU-unsplash.jpg" width="320"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: " times="" new="" roman",serif;="" font-size:="" 12.0pt;="" line-height:="" 107%;"="">"It's not the size of the oponent, it’s the ferocity." – Cosmo Kramer Also, my husband. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: " times="" new="" roman",serif;="" font-size:="" 12.0pt;="" line-height:="" 107%;"=""> I may have a mild, irrational fear of bees. It’s something I developed as a child, when
bees would come near me and seemingly head towards my hair. I’ve always been able to safely evade them,
until I was stung as a teen, by a wasp living in the nest in an old car in the driveway. That was the first and only time I have ever personally been stung...that is, until last year.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: " times="" new="" roman",serif;="" font-size:="" 12.0pt;="" line-height:="" 107%;"=""> Last spring, we lived in a small town in
eastern Oregon. On a slightly overcast day, </span>I had decided that my wild adventure for the day would be to get my groceries with Walmart Pick-Up. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"> After receiving my order, (while I was getting my life
together to go inside the store to find two simple items that the employees
could never find, but were always on the shelf), I noticed a slight prick on my arm- it felt kind of like a pinched
nerve. As I processed this new sensation, I asked my dearest kiddos (whom I brough with me, because- "wild adventure") to inspect
it, but I was still buckled into my seat and their view was completely
obstructed. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"> Some sense came to me, so I
pulled my visor mirror down and saw what appeared to be a minor bug bite or sting
on my arm. I found this mildly disturbingl.
I asked the kids to look around check for insects or anything weird that didn’t
belong (this was not the first time unidentifiable insects appeared inside my
car in Oregon). They saw nothing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: " times="" new="" roman",serif;="" font-size:="" 12.0pt;="" line-height:="" 107%;"=""> I decided to look straight down and there, on my black
shirt, was a brightly colored yellow jacket.( The suspect didn’t even bother to
conceal itself!) Naturally, my next step was to calmly (I was unbuckled by this
time) open up my car door, stand up (obviously my mom jeans were unbuttoned due to
comfort whilst driving), yank my shirt off, toss it to the
ground, scream, and then take off running - away from my vehicle, the kids, and
my newly acquired groceries. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: " times="" new="" roman",serif;="" font-size:="" 12.0pt;="" line-height:="" 107%;"=""> After I
got my life together (and my dear treasures vanquished the bee from my shirt
which was now going to be burned because you can’t just wash that kind of
trauma away) I calmly came back to the car and a concerned employee asked me if
I was okay. I may have been in tears by this time and yelled back, “No! I’m not
okay! I just got stung by a yellow jacket!” and then I sat in the car, trying
to make sense of what just happened. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"> The pain
in my arm was increasing, and then I remembered that we had some antihistamines in the car. I took two, but unfortunately, I now had to go inside the store to obtain my missing items from the order. Feeling like a defeated hot mess, I made my purchase and went home to burn my now tainted shirt. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"> My opponent may have been tiny, but he was definitely ferocious, and won that day. The lesson Ilearned from this? Always keep benadryl and a spare shirt in the car. <o:p></o:p></p></div><br> <p></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-20390482152975008472022-05-27T06:00:00.001-06:002022-05-27T06:00:00.184-06:00One Weird Trick.... For Winning Church Camp<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vUZyw3fK2OWh6Oy7zq1yBF5-3BNy7MF2Jv1qDAYcWo-rkCC8Wc7doebj4R2Lq-LxkzIV-Z4gfZsTZ0vfFblnwKvoCgCUDhOoXQAsB-9B3x3OJm9ws9MrvhQoq8qRrdw3iwl9dLPWO44Wpu5PsKE2zOrwklee4fYbXqGsHel3cwPQRgPfmzu1UmWZ/s1840/280701825_545983636921687_3081952274914842445_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1380" data-original-width="1840" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vUZyw3fK2OWh6Oy7zq1yBF5-3BNy7MF2Jv1qDAYcWo-rkCC8Wc7doebj4R2Lq-LxkzIV-Z4gfZsTZ0vfFblnwKvoCgCUDhOoXQAsB-9B3x3OJm9ws9MrvhQoq8qRrdw3iwl9dLPWO44Wpu5PsKE2zOrwklee4fYbXqGsHel3cwPQRgPfmzu1UmWZ/s320/280701825_545983636921687_3081952274914842445_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> That time of year is creeping upon us - the one where youth groups and children ministries are scrambling for volunteers and epic game ideas to entertain (and completely wear out) the younglings.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> If you've ever been to such an event, you may have fond memories of</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> excitement and adrenaline (or disappointment), coupled with snippets of scripture, biblical teaching and lots of singing.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I've attended many of these functions as both a participant and leader (because if you're not giving up getting paid for a week to suffer for Jesus, are you really a Christian? {please note the heavy drips of sarcasm in this- never feel obligated to sacrifice yourself or resources}) so I've learned where my favorite place to serve at these events is. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The best volunteer role for me is "Camp Nurse" because that means that I get to play all of the games without team commitment and I'm under no obligation to stay up late or wake before dawn (also, I get a bit too giggly during service, at times). </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Because apparently, church camp is one of the few places where full grown adults can "go crazy" and still be trusted with the lives of young ones.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> I discovered my "One Weird Trick" two summers ago, when I was <i>voluntold</i> to be a team leader for our church's children's ministry's daycamp. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> Before I reveal the big secret, there are a few significant things that I must establish. First, I have this uncanny knack for becoming "too aggressive" when it comes to competitions. I'm not sure if it's panic inspired, but I typically create a strategy to solve the problem (aka - win). I can't quite explain it, but</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16px;"> I dive dark and deep and at times become diabolical (like the one time I won a silly baby shower game by hiding all of the clothespins I had acquired inside of my hairdo. What? I was still wearing them….you just couldn’t see them. I also spent the entirety of the party not connecting with anyone and I became mute, eavesdropping on conversations and tiptoeing around, just to hear folks slip up and say the dreaded word that would earn me another clothespin. I definitely lost some friends that day).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> Secondly, this particular week, the</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16px;"> team intentionally assigned to me had no “A-listers”. I had the crew with minimal enthusiasm and no team spirit. Most of them were only there because it was summer and their parents probably needed a break</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">. Add to that zero (wait- I think one kid had a some skills) hand-eye coordination skills, minimal scripture knowledge and I was looking at the perfect formula for the team with the greatest capacity to lose. This realization was all I needed to dig deep, and go crazy, because I was in it to win it... I mean... teach these kiddos about the importance of team work and the love of Jesus. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> My "One Weird Trick", after these observations,</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">was this - to vocally state "We are the winners" as much as we could - literally speaking our win into existence. (This is based on the theory that there is power in words- power of life, and death - and the belief that when you speak things in faith, they will happen.) The best way I could think of to do this was to </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">craft a phrase or two that declared our future win into our Team Cheer on day 1. Because we clearly needed every ounce of help we could get. My hope was</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span>to subtly ensure winning, despite every odd stacked against us.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> Camp came, camp happened, (After-hours Chell may have showed up) and (to my dear son's chagrin) my team won. Were we the best? No. Did we suck? Yes - a bit more than I would have preferred, but my rag-tag team of unenthusiastic kids would get hyped at cheer time as we spoke our winning into existence. And we won. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> And as crazy as this sounds - the following summer, I passed this advice along to a friend as she led a team of youth to victory with this same "weird trick". I challenge you, take heart, dear leaders. Do not let the seeming unworthiness of your team bother you. I implore you, try this "One Weird Trick" this summer and send me your stories of victory and life. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-79413209370592717662022-05-20T06:34:00.001-06:002022-05-20T06:34:00.182-06:00Church Lying<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnN5Pdyg_hL-vQOR5abIVme2Ta06f0kXNMVUGuf0nZxAB5K34ZDINxG2DJP8vfN2NhkwandsvnWRyADV4L3l4h2lQ1tI_zRVq5ZhPvY5BNKQWAuvR3vlX-I_zW5TN57RYKzMZ5npt9nUG_p5PPp7ONIzt-lxeMr2FBgrRdUq7Z9cHqYa_fPO3WVZB/s1840/280614380_680557599693965_217601977751850074_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1840" data-original-width="1380" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnN5Pdyg_hL-vQOR5abIVme2Ta06f0kXNMVUGuf0nZxAB5K34ZDINxG2DJP8vfN2NhkwandsvnWRyADV4L3l4h2lQ1tI_zRVq5ZhPvY5BNKQWAuvR3vlX-I_zW5TN57RYKzMZ5npt9nUG_p5PPp7ONIzt-lxeMr2FBgrRdUq7Z9cHqYa_fPO3WVZB/s320/280614380_680557599693965_217601977751850074_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Have you ever heard of "Church Lying"? I may have made this up, but to me, Church Lying is distinctly different than "Public Lying". Church Lying is where we have discovered that Michelle WILL lie to you in church.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">See, sometimes, when I get embarrassed, my panic kicks in
real deep and real hard and all of a sudden, my Christian Card disappears. AND
I forget all that is holy. AND I forget that I have a moral code to live by. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s like my brain glitches and switches to survival
mode. Looking out for numero uno. Saving myself now so I can help can save
others later.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">One of my favorite examples is this- One time, I had
the honor of holding a friend’s infant while they were on ministering during service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, we knew this family very well and I’ve
held this kid before, multiple times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was a trusted guardian. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This also happened to be the same service that my in-laws
were visiting for – it was their first trip to Alaska – and it was turning out
to be a lovely worship service. Our whole row was packed with myself, husband,
in-laws, a few more adults and a dear friend’s husband on the end. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Midway through the “slow worship” portion (you know,
where everything gets deep and heavy, the Holy Ghost was flowing – Spirit
moving – super spiritual atmosphere), my body decided that it was time to expel
some toxic….gas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No worries – I grew up
with the ideology that certain bodily functions weren’t “natural” (such as farting)
– so I had trained myself on the art of allowing these spurts of gas to be
released in a certain way which slows down the pace and inhibits all (or most
of) noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only thing that I could
never control was the scent. And unfortunately, this one was bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, I thought it was bad, but it was so bad
that everyone in the row took notice – I’m talking from my spouse (who’s
supposed to love, honor, protect and claim all farts as his) to his parents, all
the way down to my friend’s husband on the other end of the aisle who’s eyes started
to roll into the back of his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was noticeable, and people wanted to know who the culprit was. How darest they
ruin such a wonderful service?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As eyes started to turn towards me, like any good,
well-trained Christian lass would do, furiously shook my head and I pointed to
the diaper of the sweet infant I was holding. That’s right – I had blamed this
epic monstrosity on a defenseless baby. I used someone else’s innocent child
for the sake of my own dignity. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Fortunately for me, this child was actually known for
his own epic stanks. Unfortunately for me, by the time I had tracked down his
mom to explain the (hilarious in hindsight) story to her, my friend’s husband
had already told her about her child’s horrendous gas. Oops.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Did I learn my lesson? Yes. Well, yes and no – Yes, I
will claim my own farts (most of the time), but sometimes I still lie in
church.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKz8eZqfsHGjxqMQ3YSuYzGaHu9PXqqteJmu1U44aB3Eosr2Kv8PaPNZbxz7p0goaLYHEYPjH-qPRCQTzcInfuqqyxp9stnT0y_AZPLdDor6_1KJ6cs4ryXRa7w76ouewsojPnQJdmPTQTO4ZXk8jtUe-03NNTwqm92DtIkVeUFwUwP46HDq5IrTEk/s1792/281519363_416380703620983_8309328228405912748_n%20(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="1290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKz8eZqfsHGjxqMQ3YSuYzGaHu9PXqqteJmu1U44aB3Eosr2Kv8PaPNZbxz7p0goaLYHEYPjH-qPRCQTzcInfuqqyxp9stnT0y_AZPLdDor6_1KJ6cs4ryXRa7w76ouewsojPnQJdmPTQTO4ZXk8jtUe-03NNTwqm92DtIkVeUFwUwP46HDq5IrTEk/s320/281519363_416380703620983_8309328228405912748_n%20(3).jpg" width="230" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><p></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-63908083790779344952022-05-20T06:00:00.001-06:002022-05-20T06:00:00.199-06:00Welcome To The Blog!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F1JV0daJNOqR-QhTZxJqkmV1lmpRNhoyD3fLXNERXrp2LzETEWYho8vHeC5DZKNKzDVNOoSRIiuSUFxKqlVRiFX_y1Uu4H8tEuvNPu-NA4wSIVRaOt8xk6TgiyGmNbC6FrS4gRjveBD-xlz5yBwzI6N_07COvWJIjOunY6NyPQ6_Yt2dUNWlkMYq/s1440/80631943_10156729460318344_8436675981191675904_n%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1440" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F1JV0daJNOqR-QhTZxJqkmV1lmpRNhoyD3fLXNERXrp2LzETEWYho8vHeC5DZKNKzDVNOoSRIiuSUFxKqlVRiFX_y1Uu4H8tEuvNPu-NA4wSIVRaOt8xk6TgiyGmNbC6FrS4gRjveBD-xlz5yBwzI6N_07COvWJIjOunY6NyPQ6_Yt2dUNWlkMYq/s320/80631943_10156729460318344_8436675981191675904_n%20(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> Hi, my name's Michelle and it's been a while. </p><p> I'm a wife, mom of 3 (half-grown) kids and we've spent the past few years living in Alaska and Oregon and now we reside in the beautiful state of Idaho. (Fun fact- we have never been camping as a family and we are not the type of people who hunt or fish.) </p><p> I personally spent a majority of this time working in the child care industry and observing neurological differences. I now have a wonderful job in beautiful Coeur d'Alene and JR is able to intern at our church and homeschool the kiddos.</p><p>Growth has been a large focus during time and I have successfully learned the importance of boundaries and how essential they can be. </p><p>We've had many of an adventure and I have lots of tales to tell. So, grab a good cup of coffee and enjoy the ride.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAjGPHM7llOGWqH4OkxZ-nPbpekb2zOmlzEulzuyw_T8k0OESepIckKYj7S4qwVk2WKDvZemVyxfF4BNKNIDWl3Oq0eLCHjTBLW0zVuiwGkA8qPAVGuVMJXL_w2D41n4_W16MQS1i4VCoSDAuhXdFy7BNDQpLzh2ddv2-i2t6Tw3XXiqe0HaL25Pty/s1936/280438159_372263304940108_888614819257888849_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1458" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAjGPHM7llOGWqH4OkxZ-nPbpekb2zOmlzEulzuyw_T8k0OESepIckKYj7S4qwVk2WKDvZemVyxfF4BNKNIDWl3Oq0eLCHjTBLW0zVuiwGkA8qPAVGuVMJXL_w2D41n4_W16MQS1i4VCoSDAuhXdFy7BNDQpLzh2ddv2-i2t6Tw3XXiqe0HaL25Pty/s320/280438159_372263304940108_888614819257888849_n.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLr1zSYlcVE72Jo5ciVrz8gDz2UJ96-rZVQtyWK4A9TJlI6DVN1UTuNpar24PM4m89h9fH4KpLluCwY1msBrF3z4bkCAEF4bMem4z6U5Yu3VIYP0EQpYsKKTWT8U9WQVZriKQDCPEcpLovdodkfAcgCh9pXgr2xoSLfvYE9jwpWa56F4eQh7KyxIki/s2016/281171530_3225848964401844_8446271312650720307_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1504" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLr1zSYlcVE72Jo5ciVrz8gDz2UJ96-rZVQtyWK4A9TJlI6DVN1UTuNpar24PM4m89h9fH4KpLluCwY1msBrF3z4bkCAEF4bMem4z6U5Yu3VIYP0EQpYsKKTWT8U9WQVZriKQDCPEcpLovdodkfAcgCh9pXgr2xoSLfvYE9jwpWa56F4eQh7KyxIki/s320/281171530_3225848964401844_8446271312650720307_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5whU5_48NpGDaYDXEVDvVSqphbRzXqrIBFs77lOnecg29SJvemPsneuPDeBXNL3mzZPESWBLPaRMyPIH6olR_vcWcnHwa69SYgreCu7XTa36Ki0adha3KJOUwpcRryosS84QWjBvveTfhCBiH0wgRuCa-oav5MrWnHCHBkS_C7oy0QpLBrjZI2eO/s2016/281836300_482969746933587_1767253918874157940_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1504" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5whU5_48NpGDaYDXEVDvVSqphbRzXqrIBFs77lOnecg29SJvemPsneuPDeBXNL3mzZPESWBLPaRMyPIH6olR_vcWcnHwa69SYgreCu7XTa36Ki0adha3KJOUwpcRryosS84QWjBvveTfhCBiH0wgRuCa-oav5MrWnHCHBkS_C7oy0QpLBrjZI2eO/s320/281836300_482969746933587_1767253918874157940_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXdd4ExotQXj0MoEBfu1c1rUerli1O1Hevky93y-_EdQQguE5rTjN6oyUZ71OtGAmr1RGjFBykhtbhE3uVIovpaZGAW1nlGWP5Sv_HvcMMho9UDdOsoDr2myutfn-WWk4ImxdpPAufsL1LCd6OtMe3MYdb8xATeYiBORbBWd78p7bX5ty8cFgbSIXt/s1440/272946063_10158475420638344_3931049580160612425_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXdd4ExotQXj0MoEBfu1c1rUerli1O1Hevky93y-_EdQQguE5rTjN6oyUZ71OtGAmr1RGjFBykhtbhE3uVIovpaZGAW1nlGWP5Sv_HvcMMho9UDdOsoDr2myutfn-WWk4ImxdpPAufsL1LCd6OtMe3MYdb8xATeYiBORbBWd78p7bX5ty8cFgbSIXt/s320/272946063_10158475420638344_3931049580160612425_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HXumIEceWJcCT6Df4r1YUWL9XlYbgtf-j-DCLgWWzLEr51uAOx2_tXecdqn2_vgNZUfeD-ZIjHWTGlWAz5qzXTKhsLW6HV5Kw1Cz_VziGUGJG0fa66Oc0Tx5quqJ9_jL8qvjoq9A3_mjPzYEusdF9k-WcYFBhFXuBXvN8Hb0UTF7KbIIxDOicJQi/s1440/128624851_10157647611978344_4012658204780548296_n%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HXumIEceWJcCT6Df4r1YUWL9XlYbgtf-j-DCLgWWzLEr51uAOx2_tXecdqn2_vgNZUfeD-ZIjHWTGlWAz5qzXTKhsLW6HV5Kw1Cz_VziGUGJG0fa66Oc0Tx5quqJ9_jL8qvjoq9A3_mjPzYEusdF9k-WcYFBhFXuBXvN8Hb0UTF7KbIIxDOicJQi/s320/128624851_10157647611978344_4012658204780548296_n%20(1).jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOcbaHfH-XJL1-Fhf1ZRvgvqmDrts8e1pacdJfhfiD5alwM1q9O-VffL9ZxsQ1wPHP0BIqOgt4AEruXSxEyY5FDWzCMR18pAw3OnHqb8oB6UvXMr8dh4NvIN74HIurhxXBV-bE9o2iJWcG0gEiL5tKQRHFNQNklO0UQU8bmxifjGWb4acKgUpq4fR/s1440/272682417_10158475420633344_9010186065169782556_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOcbaHfH-XJL1-Fhf1ZRvgvqmDrts8e1pacdJfhfiD5alwM1q9O-VffL9ZxsQ1wPHP0BIqOgt4AEruXSxEyY5FDWzCMR18pAw3OnHqb8oB6UvXMr8dh4NvIN74HIurhxXBV-bE9o2iJWcG0gEiL5tKQRHFNQNklO0UQU8bmxifjGWb4acKgUpq4fR/s320/272682417_10158475420633344_9010186065169782556_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjKR32YX-ISaLQuBAp-a6IEECkNmDih_VetxXEBblN7rZHlkwSsVb4xMlilY59txtqZwT4rl6-CbptrglgvnUL-28Y8_uUSKWblbrTRIaWthU7UoBhg0sRlp3p3Uchp4WTmew8RDeA4tkkmITmUrjNTgubviyj7PkuSGMzgTGBo72v_1W98Oh0-3Kw/s1728/275782155_1083149338929544_1789122065358480356_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1728" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjKR32YX-ISaLQuBAp-a6IEECkNmDih_VetxXEBblN7rZHlkwSsVb4xMlilY59txtqZwT4rl6-CbptrglgvnUL-28Y8_uUSKWblbrTRIaWthU7UoBhg0sRlp3p3Uchp4WTmew8RDeA4tkkmITmUrjNTgubviyj7PkuSGMzgTGBo72v_1W98Oh0-3Kw/s320/275782155_1083149338929544_1789122065358480356_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-41992433922939824002022-05-13T06:05:00.002-06:002022-05-13T06:05:00.175-06:00Demons In the Church?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj104HQkwUmo0lrQzVa00aL6Ox-FExSuKcTU7kwORi8CRhQK-GyOz5JaiOaSJw8NPjtXYjZ05Pxb88-e2o3TpdU-yHOrvqZ0vIE_m13sa3kF3yiQmXT8uY7E4J5QVN3iQYEGRWr7wn53m0lD8L4gx5uLYLEzJZk2CBYho4qiUeUUIFG62slgT8OJ3U-/s5500/derek-story-RzwSj-DdsWQ-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5500" data-original-width="3667" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj104HQkwUmo0lrQzVa00aL6Ox-FExSuKcTU7kwORi8CRhQK-GyOz5JaiOaSJw8NPjtXYjZ05Pxb88-e2o3TpdU-yHOrvqZ0vIE_m13sa3kF3yiQmXT8uY7E4J5QVN3iQYEGRWr7wn53m0lD8L4gx5uLYLEzJZk2CBYho4qiUeUUIFG62slgT8OJ3U-/w299-h449/derek-story-RzwSj-DdsWQ-unsplash.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> For reference, I grew up with a close-minded theology that teaches demonic entities are real, but one cannot actually see or hear them in the physical realm. (And if someone says differently,
they’re lying ::insert gasp::)</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Believing in the
tangibility of evil forces opens up a whole ‘nother view of the
spiritual realm that our fundamental doctrines did not support.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Shortly after we moved to Alaska (circa 2014), we s</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">tarted attending a new church. It was different and the pastor took the Bible literally - basically, they believed that if Scripture said something was possible, it is still possible today. This meant re-visiting a lot of beliefs we had been taught and it was very eye-opening. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Since the pastor at this church taught literal scripture, one of his teachings (it may also have just been a statement, not a whole teaching) was about how demons existed in the church - like, they were real and they do come to church - total shock
to me. I mean, it does make sense, but also, one of my few flaws is that I personally struggle with accurately identifying if someone has a demon or not, so how am I supposed to recognize one in the real world? </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Shortly after receiving this new knowledge, I found myself and my new bestie sitting in a Sunday School class like good Christian girls, trying to earn a leadership badge for material that we already knew, with a non-interesting teacher and doing our best to take notes (or at least look like we were). <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Towards end of class, I heard it. The most terrifying thing in my life up to this point - my friend’s name had
been whispered. Low, gravelly....demon-like (Because, of course, my only relation to "real world" demons up to this point was everything on TV since I had been raised with the notion that they're just about invisible now-adays).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> The demon spoke my friend's name again. A bit louder this time. Still as frightening. I looked at her- she looked at me. I scanned
the room (which had plenty of witnesses) and yet, all of these spiritual giants had not
heard this demonic entity speaking. Why was I able to hear it? It was calling to my
friend, not me. It was her fate that hung in The balance now, subject to this evil force. How did I end up in the crosshairs??</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Well, like it or not, I was involved now. I had been roped into this
unanticipated journey led by a demonic force, all to reinforce the lesson I’ve
just learned that demons are, in fact, real (Frank Peretti has a really great book illustrating how this possibly looks) and they do
come to church with us, and this one just so happened to decide to make itself present to my friend and I and no one else. Because that’s how it works.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clearly, I
was untrained for this situation and needed to witness this type of event before diving in to help disperse this foul beast. I scanned the room, looking for
clues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I glanced at my friend, she
looked back at me. I peeked at everyone else in the room- no one was
reacting to this strange event except for my unfortunate friend and I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> Gripped with panic (don’t worry, I’m getting
business cards made), I grasped my friend’s arm (rather hard) and screamed “Save
me!” because I didn’t know how to rid the room of this demonic entity that NO
ONE ELSE could either hear or see, and I needed someone to rescue me. Now, I know that we all have different
giftings, so SURELY one of the spiritual giants in this room should have either seen
or heard this demon. Or, maybe they did, and they deemed it a minor threat and
decided to ignore it, knowing that it could only afflict minor damage and there were larger ones lurking about that we needed to save all of
our spiritual strength to battle.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Someone, please. ANSWER ME</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Once she acknowledged the depth of the panic in my soul, my dear friend
attempted to gently calm me down and inform me that the "big scary voice" I had heard was a
mutual friend whispering through the crack in the door- because apparently you
CAN have fun in church too. Demons and fun. Who knew??</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> In an attempt to restore order to
what little bit of class was left, my friend tried to assuage</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">our teacher and classmates by letting them
know that everything was okay and that I had just gone “full dummy” (we now
call these episodes “full Michelle"). </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Class ended shortly after and our fellow
classmates, 100% completely unaware of the scope of the drama that had just
unfolded, decided that their time would be best well spent encouraging my
friend to “be a better friend” and giving me scriptures on fearing not - because that is super helpful when you're being confronted with a pretend demon.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> My take-away?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Demons may be in the church, but so are pranksters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Use wisdom, dear friends, and try to not panic.
And if you ever find yourself in need of a Professional Panicker, call me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-33763027646470612212022-05-06T06:00:00.001-06:002022-05-06T06:00:00.178-06:00Mother's Day, Short and Sweet<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRJrSEKPVaiVKrD63eAhf2a_yYBllhbegqTO9CVoyGS1rATU9LnebVnd1XOiCFVKkhA5N4NP8OVRmf83hlOJR7U8u3731iX_5LGdOlqYDQu4YpS0QsnkyYEEEgw78FFUDpabC3FUgbb6QcNamvBIA6ftfOoPI_GeKfLVULLeqO7wVI3an-E7703rN/s1920/HappyMDaygraph2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRJrSEKPVaiVKrD63eAhf2a_yYBllhbegqTO9CVoyGS1rATU9LnebVnd1XOiCFVKkhA5N4NP8OVRmf83hlOJR7U8u3731iX_5LGdOlqYDQu4YpS0QsnkyYEEEgw78FFUDpabC3FUgbb6QcNamvBIA6ftfOoPI_GeKfLVULLeqO7wVI3an-E7703rN/w476-h268/HappyMDaygraph2.jpg" width="476" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Motherhood is a journey - and each one is different. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">To celebrate, I cajoled the reasons that I am a mother into creating a simple, short rap about this life. I hope it fills you with as much joy as it gives me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw_8usKj-lyDoQ3YMTO2daJgho_9tnlXPMJr8ofa9x999wssO1h0F8xn0CceMQP4uplKRPK9WGBkTrRkfdsmQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">#ImTheReasonMomCantHaveNiceThings</div> ~BlondieChell<br /> <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-32223474917757073542022-04-29T06:01:00.001-06:002022-04-29T06:01:00.185-06:00Navigating Adult Events With the Palate of A Toddler<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfTwqjV2zC47FPa41_eCi5yZTZ-QXLlp3ejXfcxyLfIw7FH1_BqrNCDA9BIDRp6TuKlsZvlHYdeO3EFJlN0Ft5l_F8LjS2ILIgwexPtCzfoNvwO0vAEEb5cRp--BRIJkqTuL575UuSGeoEAEadw1J5jc0VLCxm7bNq1g0QqN20rXcilkUYxQeSwLH/s4402/jay-wennington-N_Y88TWmGwA-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2935" data-original-width="4402" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfTwqjV2zC47FPa41_eCi5yZTZ-QXLlp3ejXfcxyLfIw7FH1_BqrNCDA9BIDRp6TuKlsZvlHYdeO3EFJlN0Ft5l_F8LjS2ILIgwexPtCzfoNvwO0vAEEb5cRp--BRIJkqTuL575UuSGeoEAEadw1J5jc0VLCxm7bNq1g0QqN20rXcilkUYxQeSwLH/w445-h296/jay-wennington-N_Y88TWmGwA-unsplash.jpg" width="445" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> Have you
ever dreaded attending an event because you didn’t know what the menu would
be? Well, I have. Frequently. In fact, I have almost
avoided events due to not knowing what the presented food would be (or the food
quantity). <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal"> Now, I have
been told that I have what can be considered “the palate of a two-year-old”. Does this make me a “basic white girl”? Or... am I the only one who successfully avoids potential food poisoning because I am unable to tolerate raw fish & uncharred meats? It’s a lot to ponder. I can tell you, that if you and I ever go out to a “fancy”
restaurant together, I will be the one inquiring about a kid’s menu.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> Let's get down to the social aspect of my ....quirk? hidden talent? extreme immaturity? Typically, if you’re involved in any sort of external social group or church, there are events or gathering that often include food (because food can bring people together – for the most part). In my most recent years, I have discovered that event leaders tend to not prefer to disclose menu options prior to occasions (why? probably because some people would choose to not attend due to the menu – I have no idea why they would even think this!). My personal experience (and probably a poor relationship with food) has created a self-preservation type of paranoia which now causes me to choose to eat something that I know I will enjoy prior to attending any and all events with undisclosed (or "sketchy") menus - will there be onions in that? Maybe – Aunt Ida will never tell!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Food aversions and preferences may not be due to trauma or in-exposure (as much as I love my chicken fingers and plain cheeseburgers, I do try new food regularly and understand that it can take up to 10 times to try something before you develop a taste for it) but a physical or neuro incapability – your brain literally will not allow you to ingest something due to the texture, flavor, or “mouth feel” – and that’s okay. Pregnancy, medical, or other life changes can also affect this. For instance, after pregnancy #2, my tolerance for red sauces has decreased (which is very unfortunate, considering the fact that my husband is Italian and we consume a pasta/sauce/meat dish [aka “spaghetti”] at least once a week). In addition to that, I can only seldom tolerate the texture of spaghetti-shaped pasta as it now induces an extreme gag reflex at times when I ingest/consume too much of it. Due to these combined nuances, I do not often participate in our weekly meal of "spaghetti" - instead, I have become "the child that we make a special meal for".</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> If you do find yourself experiencing similar situations and you still want to be able to attend events where food is likely to be served, here
are some great hacks that allow me to still attend and not be concerned about the food being provided:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">1. Eat prior to event (Sometimes I will eat on the way!)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">2. Pack snacks – you can always package them at home in a
baggie or container an add them to your plate when you’re sitting down so it’s
less obvious that you brought “purse snacks”.
If you do not typically carry a purse, backpack or diaper bag, wear a
jacket (or pants!) with large pockets. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">3. Claim dietary restrictions (Oh, you just went keto for 24hrs?
Good for you! Oh? You recently developed
an allergy to raisins? Me too- it’s a good thing allergies can come and go
without warning- because your allergy has the potential to be all cleared up tomorrow!)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">4. Arrive “precisely when you mean to” – aka- after the
scheduled meal time, or just in time for dessert!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">5. Fake eating – I will push food around on my plate and still acknowledge a cook’s hard work – I will put food in napkins – I have tried food and
then spit it out into a napkin – I will also pass my plate off or trade it with
someone else so it appears that I finished my plate </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Let me know if you try any of these hacks and how these tips work for you!<o:p></o:p></p></div><p><br /></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-66807945114430571112022-04-22T06:36:00.001-06:002022-04-22T06:36:00.190-06:00<p> Happy Friday!! Here's some funny parenting memes to help boost your weekend and launch you off to a great start!! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-U2k4dLbs596JOSjA68J-Tgv4huMp5btvZuhASutLAeoDGWiAgtvX3gF0Q33F6jCKCnZq7RQjvxzQxP8dQoXZ3lmpSD3mDYdQIGBSpaD0nNqYuEQnpZkCH1aoJHw6wXewjXkBt64X8M74JFTFjLPBBkHP4-z28r5QtUb82LVkKbflCloyuvu1H-Dn/s979/2fafd00b880d3b122f9c2323fa20fc9c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="979" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-U2k4dLbs596JOSjA68J-Tgv4huMp5btvZuhASutLAeoDGWiAgtvX3gF0Q33F6jCKCnZq7RQjvxzQxP8dQoXZ3lmpSD3mDYdQIGBSpaD0nNqYuEQnpZkCH1aoJHw6wXewjXkBt64X8M74JFTFjLPBBkHP4-z28r5QtUb82LVkKbflCloyuvu1H-Dn/s320/2fafd00b880d3b122f9c2323fa20fc9c.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ldSIRt2DkdUDg2XH3f8rtQKKZfj8ACIYEzVJcIeXpWnADSg5hHjlsk90HVZrhPYM8pgZZ1Pfqq6eWqWjkPxanaPyaLG_ZUh_E5eYeG49b3BHplTMEClpfZxzPGfNwzSafK46l345H0E3sgC6BCfbjTbaMCf-9KQ3nTcYEpNL651dgc1oIL2MjVA5/s605/BKqLYiihWD3-png__605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="605" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ldSIRt2DkdUDg2XH3f8rtQKKZfj8ACIYEzVJcIeXpWnADSg5hHjlsk90HVZrhPYM8pgZZ1Pfqq6eWqWjkPxanaPyaLG_ZUh_E5eYeG49b3BHplTMEClpfZxzPGfNwzSafK46l345H0E3sgC6BCfbjTbaMCf-9KQ3nTcYEpNL651dgc1oIL2MjVA5/s320/BKqLYiihWD3-png__605.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8EmgGfMSUy_UUBUcMVTSitS1bwErWuiFyJl1eYucjQyaxWWgypHBPN8pliBjBq_EONYwkitnD-AD4y3Qan2dn9muWVhE6jzPBTUUYJOeq5MMkX9OkX8IHZJ4tW3B_Mty0bf_IQRDe3iUW8Ey1g1Vwl8cZbWV94I2kvrkQNOtDebx8fOLzMMS_tdN/s1200/funny-parenting-memes-featured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1200" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8EmgGfMSUy_UUBUcMVTSitS1bwErWuiFyJl1eYucjQyaxWWgypHBPN8pliBjBq_EONYwkitnD-AD4y3Qan2dn9muWVhE6jzPBTUUYJOeq5MMkX9OkX8IHZJ4tW3B_Mty0bf_IQRDe3iUW8Ey1g1Vwl8cZbWV94I2kvrkQNOtDebx8fOLzMMS_tdN/s320/funny-parenting-memes-featured.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcGWeUuj7F3Re3TlbZ_zUB8-4MnbT8NG-a-1ioRAXR5hr77tCFFOhsfM83UcS6nMZKBsbwbJWHrFpmneeqDou26mdrofkohhKtryZXejQ2FNDUs1QV-5QwQSc4UFbtM5DGeaDhooFCojnfkcr_QzNaNI-Ko5nBDPyXeV_Oy7rk-GTbY-xRYZCZxO41/s668/parenting-memes-58bea86c6a5d3__605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="668" data-original-width="605" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcGWeUuj7F3Re3TlbZ_zUB8-4MnbT8NG-a-1ioRAXR5hr77tCFFOhsfM83UcS6nMZKBsbwbJWHrFpmneeqDou26mdrofkohhKtryZXejQ2FNDUs1QV-5QwQSc4UFbtM5DGeaDhooFCojnfkcr_QzNaNI-Ko5nBDPyXeV_Oy7rk-GTbY-xRYZCZxO41/s320/parenting-memes-58bea86c6a5d3__605.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BcwuEM6X4DD9vEJ3B4NMwEFHf_xl4PQzCqw-LHVjPP_Q2HY5LwWIVACisMjR-EQRkqE_fZmONbgvjlwQKvupEU9DDgQEc4lygvvENhcJ4gtkymlu0zZe_EJpJLV5rcuCzTlgFCrBvCcmkpOznSn0rhEbtke_jOZ9rgobkI1aehSCFmayD51qkAf7/s750/parenting-meme-25-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="750" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BcwuEM6X4DD9vEJ3B4NMwEFHf_xl4PQzCqw-LHVjPP_Q2HY5LwWIVACisMjR-EQRkqE_fZmONbgvjlwQKvupEU9DDgQEc4lygvvENhcJ4gtkymlu0zZe_EJpJLV5rcuCzTlgFCrBvCcmkpOznSn0rhEbtke_jOZ9rgobkI1aehSCFmayD51qkAf7/s320/parenting-meme-25-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAA4KD1pDJP-oxNoAgB1SxdGeJZ37zC73Y9vKJ7YtmFfoVec59pHWxBJlXwvRf1gV4J7Oi3Ag71ZUBOso4JjtTVVEWvvS6nl6x7JyJaaQjpbHtVLwK8s4D07UevcjVTcuIxuYvL2Zd1BxxXjipjP4tTsbHgHblAn-N5WxrQjWpMrGsQ0wrq3ugDt18/s243/images%20(3).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="208" data-original-width="243" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAA4KD1pDJP-oxNoAgB1SxdGeJZ37zC73Y9vKJ7YtmFfoVec59pHWxBJlXwvRf1gV4J7Oi3Ag71ZUBOso4JjtTVVEWvvS6nl6x7JyJaaQjpbHtVLwK8s4D07UevcjVTcuIxuYvL2Zd1BxxXjipjP4tTsbHgHblAn-N5WxrQjWpMrGsQ0wrq3ugDt18/s1600/images%20(3).jpeg" width="243" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUdyNis1v-27jnp30BlY4D0tQSpBQvf_NUNiFAsciasgDNawpJQTilKby19tTetDVqGDR7e7OZlmoLn2XFLNeqoEMFQ7PJmiXLLSrYMt3gjPG7GSRJzgzmzBe-qIIx6zA7rtFwlq7crQIDBGkxA19jfuZUNa0H8qvWkn3qjbkswvLw-U0yO4hCr-f/s473/a87179387c8f620acc551f657ab32373.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="473" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUdyNis1v-27jnp30BlY4D0tQSpBQvf_NUNiFAsciasgDNawpJQTilKby19tTetDVqGDR7e7OZlmoLn2XFLNeqoEMFQ7PJmiXLLSrYMt3gjPG7GSRJzgzmzBe-qIIx6zA7rtFwlq7crQIDBGkxA19jfuZUNa0H8qvWkn3qjbkswvLw-U0yO4hCr-f/s320/a87179387c8f620acc551f657ab32373.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-13215260889041385942019-10-14T05:18:00.000-06:002019-10-14T05:18:03.017-06:00Welcome Back!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
Hello, and thank you for joining me on this amazing journey! I've been on an accidental hiatus over the last 5 years while we lived in Wasilla, Alaska. <br />
This past summer, we just drove down the Alcan and landed in beautiful Lebanon, Oregon.<br />
Why was I on a blog hiatus? I don't know. I love blogging and missed it greatly, and I always attempted to write a post, but in the end, I was unable to actually submit my writings and maintain a consistent blog schedule. <br />
We did experience a lot of changes during this time, including a different style of church, homeschooling, adding a dog to our family, new friends, and almost a whole new life style, in general.<br />
Now that I have returned to blogging, you will experience the same great content (if not, better!!!) and giveaways. I've missed working with partnerships and doing reviews on products I love.<br />
Thank you for joining me on this journey :)</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpzWS1bQIGLUoefiP7ebDoYzyotv1WRRFPSwAwUuQ-z_yKMM1s0QpsafSj9q8ruIlbkz9iebtLATh2_Yh14G4-aCOmFPkogR7P-YDmQ2m7uvoVTKCigQhLkaguzkbzV9sbY3gbhoRy6Sg/s1600/72395261_423007998357647_6852147187170672640_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpzWS1bQIGLUoefiP7ebDoYzyotv1WRRFPSwAwUuQ-z_yKMM1s0QpsafSj9q8ruIlbkz9iebtLATh2_Yh14G4-aCOmFPkogR7P-YDmQ2m7uvoVTKCigQhLkaguzkbzV9sbY3gbhoRy6Sg/s320/72395261_423007998357647_6852147187170672640_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
</div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-26507822299167120682015-12-11T23:47:00.001-07:002015-12-11T23:47:30.922-07:00Space Cadet Defined<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
Spa<span style="color: black;">ce Cadet. To some, it is an occupation- a live person who goes into space with a special suit, oxygen and freeze-dried food.</span><span style="color: black;"> In the van Veen household, it meant something totally different. It was only recently that I came to the discovery that apparently I do not share the same definition of the term "Space Cadet" as most of my peers do.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
This often leads to awkward conversations where I unabashedly say things like "Yeah, so-and-so is a total space cadet," and my conversation buddy is all like, "No way! Can they give me a tour of NASA??". This is the part where, unfortunately, I have to burst their celebrity bubble. And now, I shall burst yours too.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
See, here is the not-so-famous *<span style="color: black;">van Veen* definition of the term "Space Cadet": "someone whose brain has left the planet, is deprived of oxygen...an</span><span style="color: black;">d is now floating around in space, lost and faaaaaaaar from home". These folk display characteristics such as "extreme blondeness" and no common knowlege or ability to grasp such simple concepts such as 2 +2, or "the grass is green".</span></div>
<div dir="ltr">
For example: that person who just asked you where the crosswalk was (that you were both standing in), heard your response, then proceeded to walk across the street in the not-a-cross-walk.<br />
</div>
<div align="left">
<div dir="ltr">
Granted, we all have moments in our lives where we forget things or our blonde roots start to show, but Space Cadets are the extreme version of this...like...that is their life ALL. THE. TIME.</div>
</div>
<div align="left">
<div dir="ltr">
Now, to be honest, no one know how or where these lovely people derive from. Some may have been created through circumstance while others are a product of of their environments....and the rest must just grow on trees, because they just keep showing up....</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwK6TXsZ1IfDAJ9yCuQU72p6xCZddIshM1AdFSWglPwOG6yclCYt9zEwDJHTdncWR7DekwVaypCGJXgfjgqNAoyZgLOXt4W1PwwtSQMYU9STmfEua_nez5dClt8QCk1zWU2dzxGapsctA/s1600/12380321_10153213823543344_33458374_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwK6TXsZ1IfDAJ9yCuQU72p6xCZddIshM1AdFSWglPwOG6yclCYt9zEwDJHTdncWR7DekwVaypCGJXgfjgqNAoyZgLOXt4W1PwwtSQMYU9STmfEua_nez5dClt8QCk1zWU2dzxGapsctA/s320/12380321_10153213823543344_33458374_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-86944013213078522372015-11-30T04:30:00.000-07:002015-11-30T04:30:04.151-07:00How To Give Thanks For Your Kids When You Just Can't<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ever have one of those days where everything's going crazy and it's Friday, but it feels like a "Groundhog Day"-Monday-day?? I'm talking, like, one kid is sky diving off the couch while another is spinning a fresh roll of toilet paper all over the house, #3 is eating the dog's food and the the dog is lapping up your pricey coffee that is seeping into the carpet...because, of course, SkyDiver sometimes misses the ottoman or the floor and slams into the coffee table.<br />
These are the days I'm referring to. The ones where it seems like God went all "man" on you and left you to clean up the mess He helped create. The times where it's super hard to even utter the words "children are blessing" (Psalm 127:3)....and you can't help but wonder what in the world you did to deserve this kind of "blessing"??<br />
That's right. I said it (hey, *you* were thinking it!!!). Sometimes we can't help but wonder what in the world we've gotten ourselves into and start questioning who in the world thought that we were capable of adulting?? (Especially since that younger acts like he doesn't understand English and that your words {like "No!" and "Don't you dare!!"} mean nothing)<br />
I've been there. I've done that....and that's why I can write about this. And hopefully bless your heart a little bit.<br />
Giving thanks for your kids when you feel like you "just can't", when your mental capacities are about to explode, when you're two seconds from hiding under your bed and sobbing yourself to sleep is hard. It's hard to look at the mess, look at the chaos and say, "Thank You, God. Thank You for these blessing. For these children who are my reward from You."<br />
In fact, as you read that aloud, you heard the insanity. But you felt just a little better didn't you?? Now, say it again. And again. Exhale. Because your children ARE a blessing. Sure, you may not see it now, but it is true. And when you continue to thank God for (and pray for) your children, you will start to notice the little things....like when my seven-year-old announces that she carries paper and pen with her when we leave the house "just in case you forget your list, Mommy, so that you can write one down" or when the youngest gives me gross, wet kisses, then giggles about it.<br />
It's okay. It's okay to feel overwhelmed at times. It's okay to cry. And call for help when you need it. Have your circle of Mommy friends. The best times to thank God are when it's hardest...like when you're scrubbing the bathroom floor because the toilet overflowed because too many dinosaurs were flushed down it. But those are also the best times. Because through them, God will remind you of how blessed and loved you really are.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dJ-sRYXHx7kN2GF-uuo4qNtF8Af2ClIVQqUXfLprNRqnTF8B6IDRDh3NBs-wPigmiAOcaMb74dxsU_R4DDvffhXiangb5Ub-Y4VhMVMVXOxHZjUWaM3At9XfFvnruWdjBOKUnjgmdmc/s1600/306630_10151047976013344_2027780524_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dJ-sRYXHx7kN2GF-uuo4qNtF8Af2ClIVQqUXfLprNRqnTF8B6IDRDh3NBs-wPigmiAOcaMb74dxsU_R4DDvffhXiangb5Ub-Y4VhMVMVXOxHZjUWaM3At9XfFvnruWdjBOKUnjgmdmc/s320/306630_10151047976013344_2027780524_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-22563048277020771732015-11-09T04:30:00.000-07:002019-10-13T19:05:31.097-06:00BlondieChell's Fab Granola Recipe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Apparently I make this really fab homemade granola, and throngs of people desire the recipe. so here it is. To be fair, this is adapted from <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelysanders/how-to-make-the-best-granola-ever#.oykENqYlw" target="_blank">BuzzFeed's Granola Recipe</a>, but a more specific version.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhse7fVtqyrvSKGOUpiTYJ6kjOJzv47cq_5tc_cgu8ydjgH_HSEouDw4htISRo6yRkpl2eTdbqKYoE0uFApx_NaUtWxqyBC-wdoVOKSdQQUNIjrjBtWAXzokjwWSq2ecyvM85jYu-UqhNs/s1600/12203976_10153157006583344_153536205_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhse7fVtqyrvSKGOUpiTYJ6kjOJzv47cq_5tc_cgu8ydjgH_HSEouDw4htISRo6yRkpl2eTdbqKYoE0uFApx_NaUtWxqyBC-wdoVOKSdQQUNIjrjBtWAXzokjwWSq2ecyvM85jYu-UqhNs/s320/12203976_10153157006583344_153536205_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
*BlondieChell's Fab Granola Recipe*<br />
<br />
To start, find a large mixing bowl, a pan with raised edges (I like to use wax paper on mine), some measuring cups and a spoon or small spatula to stir with.<br />
You will need:<br />
3 cups of rolled oats (aka "old fashioned oats")<br />
1 cup almonds<br />
1 cup pecans<br />
1 & 1/2 cups sunflower seeds<br />
1 tsp Pink Himalayan salt,<br />
1 tbsp ground cinnamon<br />
1/2 cup agave nectar<br />
1/4 cup olive oil<br />
1 tbsp vanilla extract<br />
<br />
<br />
1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees.<br />
2. Mix the oats, almonds, pecans, sunflower seeds, salt and cinnamon together in the big bowl until it looks well-blended.<br />
3. Add in the oil, nectar and vanilla extract. Mix super-well, until all the dry ingredients are wet with something.<br />
4. Line your baking pan with parchment paper, then smear the granola mixture onto that. Spread it out so it's as flat as you can get it.<br />
5. Put it in the oven for 20 minutes, then take it out of the oven and mix it around a bit, then put it back into the oven for 15 more minutes.<br />
6. Pull pan out of the oven and let cool. I like to take the parchment paper and wiggle it back and forth a bit so the wax paper doesn't melt to the pan.<br />
....and....enjoy!!!! I let cook overnight, but then store in an air-tight container so it doesn't stale.</div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-21158717391218965652015-11-05T21:25:00.000-07:002015-11-05T21:25:18.322-07:00Bulu Box Promo #Sponsored<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: x-small;"> Are you looking for a fun, new way to try health products, but can't afford to buy the new full-sizes all the time??? This may be the opportunity you're looking for! Bulu Box offers monthly sample boxes at a low price, then if you love the product, you can just return to their website and buy! </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 13px;"> The perfect partner in the pursuit of a healthier you, Bulu Box is like having a personal trainer and a nutritionist as a best friend. Each month, a box of healthy discoveries is shipped right to your door for just $10. You learn about that month's 4-5 premium samples, try each one and see what fits into your individual healthy lifestyle. For sharing your opinions on each month's samples through a quick survey, we will give you 50 Rewards Points (that's $5!) to use in our shop to get more of your favorites. Get a 3 Month Subscription for just $15 (regularly $30)! at Bulu Box - Use code WOWZA <a href="http://usfamilycoupons.com/coupon.php?regionid=75&bid=11865&dealid=1825" target="_blank">Just Click Here</a></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 13px;">.@usfg @bulubox</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpuC9Y22n-sxreJT4KugWd5-RL9zr9e5i3uiaia2fZlPHFxn8cOVSecuKokH4g1DuLexbcBUGM5B6IfMALCoWcF6dubi59-mzVPsZd1eGAZyvEf6AaiA71mG-CrLJJ0iCsIYsdiS7QYrM/s1600/bulu_box_holding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpuC9Y22n-sxreJT4KugWd5-RL9zr9e5i3uiaia2fZlPHFxn8cOVSecuKokH4g1DuLexbcBUGM5B6IfMALCoWcF6dubi59-mzVPsZd1eGAZyvEf6AaiA71mG-CrLJJ0iCsIYsdiS7QYrM/s320/bulu_box_holding.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: x-small;"> *This is a sponsored post, which means that in exchange for posting this ad, I will receive something in return. All thoughts and options are my own and I only post/showcase products I love!</span></span></div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-36618932678463206832015-07-13T04:30:00.000-06:002015-07-13T04:30:02.033-06:00What Happens When BlondieChell Attends Group Exercise Classes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ever have a friend who is a great friend and you've been through just about everything together, but then she goes and just stops friending in the middle of an intensish yoga/pilates/athletic training class called "<a href="http://bodytrainingsystems.com/pages/bts_programs/GroupCentergy.htm" target="_blank">Centergy</a>"??<br />
Well, I do. and for the sake of this post, she shall remain nameless. But we shall call her "T". And in order to understand her misguided actions, you must first acknowledge the kind of pressure she was under...that "I-didn't-come-here-with-her-and-I-have-no-idea-who-this-crazy-woman-is" pressure.<br />
The situation started when my good friend "T" and I decided that we would take our not-so-flexible bodies to a Centergy course offered at the local gym. Because sometimes we're over-confident and we enjoy trying new things.<br />
Since we arrived a little later than the designated class time, we were forced to unroll our yoga mats in the front row, while all the slender-bodied women who obviously take this class religiously were positioned towards the back of the room. The instructor was a gracious, elderly woman who seemed new to the routine that she was introducing to the class. (And if hadn't have walked away with at least one humorous story, it would have been a waste of an hour.)<br />
About three-quarters of the way through the class, we were led into this pose called "the frog". The instructor herself seemed confused on the exact position, but basically, you fold over your mat (so there's a bump towards the front of you) then melt down into a wide-legged child's pose, mangling the soles of your feet until they touch. then you take one arm and shoulder roll towards the opposite side, sliding that arm under the other. Until you are stuck. And you remain in that position until your lose all feeling in your knees.<br />
Once I had completely committed the rest of my life to this pose, the instructor then led us to unmangle ourselves from the "frog". And I tried. And I tried. And tried. Apparently I was stuck- face-first on the floor with one arm crossed under the other and my knees bent at the most unnatural angle. I was also the only student still lying on the floor. And unable to make eye contact with "T". <br />
I tried really hard to convince my anatomy to move-to at least allow me to wiggle to one side so I could resume the class. But, no. Nothing was working. So I had two choices: remain in this position for the rest of the class time or disrupt the class by asking for help. <br />
In a quiet voice, I asked the instructor if she could repeat the was to get out of the pose. She did. And again, nothing moved. As I lay there, tears flowed from my eyes. (Why?? I don't know. I wasn't crying.) I was embarrassed and laughing at my situation, but I don't think anyone else was on the same page with me. To them, not only was I stuck, but I was silently sobbing about it. Great.<br />
<br />
(it may have resembled something like this....) <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmR7Kx1iPaDkd3o0WyyPoV1b2W5SoGnnjyvJAYmxFOlapzDV1q3i4jle095mctuQwo-V-EUZYZZuxXoQOBC9wGv5eJz9YAbW6EUsZcS6uyZ8INPv6JIlPJ7jdlI-Bm_quKgVTaw_UqQI/s1600/Stuck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmR7Kx1iPaDkd3o0WyyPoV1b2W5SoGnnjyvJAYmxFOlapzDV1q3i4jle095mctuQwo-V-EUZYZZuxXoQOBC9wGv5eJz9YAbW6EUsZcS6uyZ8INPv6JIlPJ7jdlI-Bm_quKgVTaw_UqQI/s1600/Stuck.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Since I was evidently stuck (I may also have announced this) some of the other class members along with the instructor rushed over unpositioned my legs for me. (Notice I didn't mention "T"?? She was frozen with the rest of the class-gawking at the sight I had become)<br />
After I was returned ot my full-upright postion, "T" leaned over and asked if I was okay. Somehow she had discovered how to friend again. We finished the class without anymore delays or surprises, and in the end, we felt stronger. And more secure in our relationship.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-34819452462273769882015-04-27T04:30:00.000-06:002015-04-27T04:30:02.696-06:00Grilled Mac N Cheese *Recipe*<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Unlike most folks, I try to stay away from traditional recipes (it also doesn't help that the kitchen and I are <a href="http://www.lavidadeblondiechell.blogspot.com/2015/04/kitchen-1-blondiechell-0.html" target="_blank">frenemies</a>). Instead, I let my imagination take charge, creating recipes that look like they came from a "What To Expect When You're Expecting" cookbook. Like this one.<br />
Simply put, it is a grilled cheese sandwich stuffed with mac n cheese. And it is yum. One of those "you'll thank me later" recipes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFQ2-rmUZ4QA_r8lMM6IvhkYRsridQMqjwE0FHNdl9uqTR1xi6_JNOovWN_nrkRIC3OJnbLZeYsPT_kd5gE0GNIN4vyGnvpQNNC3G865-A6wWpDEteDX2At6wN4-rXf2yYMcSOTbxDJw/s1600/Mac+N+Cheese+Grilled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTFQ2-rmUZ4QA_r8lMM6IvhkYRsridQMqjwE0FHNdl9uqTR1xi6_JNOovWN_nrkRIC3OJnbLZeYsPT_kd5gE0GNIN4vyGnvpQNNC3G865-A6wWpDEteDX2At6wN4-rXf2yYMcSOTbxDJw/s1600/Mac+N+Cheese+Grilled.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Ingredients:<br />
Heated macaroni and cheese (a great use for those leftovers!)<br />
Cheese (to make the sandwich stick together)<br />
2 Slices of Bread<br />
Butter (if you have any of Papa John's garlic butter sauce laying around, substitute that)<br />
<br />
Instructions:<br />
1. Grease your frying pan with the butter.<br />
2. Layer heated mac n cheese and cheese onto the bread and place sandwich in frying pan.<br />
3. Flip sandwich over after a few minutes.<br />
4. Check to make sure you didn't burn the sandwich, and scoop out of the pan and onto a plate. Cut in half. Thank me later.<br />
<br />
This lovely photo is a variation of the Grilled Mac N Cheese. It's the "Mac N Cheese Quesadilla". Same concept, only I added taco meat and used tortillas. (The mac n cheese pictured is a special spaghetti kind my friend makes)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1yDodP74fauzGAvLQJ2y8Ytkos7hPkVlCaUmSmD15tFxgkQKdyLfc_GOCHbSY64YyvyRO1sftmui_OGiNIFDZTF38YO5g9Vae1YirXkUjDl1jZcHRNpXieSqNxEQwhnTNHUHJRrWDIWU/s1600/Mac+N+Cheese+Quesadilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1yDodP74fauzGAvLQJ2y8Ytkos7hPkVlCaUmSmD15tFxgkQKdyLfc_GOCHbSY64YyvyRO1sftmui_OGiNIFDZTF38YO5g9Vae1YirXkUjDl1jZcHRNpXieSqNxEQwhnTNHUHJRrWDIWU/s1600/Mac+N+Cheese+Quesadilla.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-30211323013895685622015-04-13T04:30:00.000-06:002015-04-13T04:30:02.862-06:00Kitchen: 1. BlondieChell: 0,<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've had a very hard time deciding how to label this story and with which direction to take it in. Am I blaming my new calorie counter app for my mishap (as in, if I hadn't had entered the meal before I actually ate it, would this <br />
<br />
<br />
have happened????)?? Or griping about how the children ate raw potatoes and apples that were waiting to be sliced while I bled to death (not to mention the 8yo who disappeared, only to reappear five minutes later, crying because he was afraid his parents would die.<br />
Some people laugh whenever I try to explain that "the kitchen hats me". Others mistaken my statement as my own personal dislike for the kitchen....when the reality is, I try my hardest to cooperate and submit to the ways of the kitchen. It truly is the kitchen who has a vendetta for me.<br />
Oh, I started my adult years with naive, lofty thoughts about things I could whip up, dreaming of one day owning one of those fancy-dancy KitchenAid mixers...but the kitchen had other ideas. My main foes include the microwave, oven and stove top. Why?? All I can think of is that they've had it in for me from the beginning...planning, plotting...whispering in the dark....mocking me as I sit here, typing this without the use of my right middle finger....because of last night's mishap.<br />
Let me set the scene for you: I'm in the middle of cooking dinner It's late and two of the three children are in the kitchen helping me, when all of a sudden, I REMEMBER that I had promised the Hubs that I would make potato chips!!! Uh-oh! So I proceeded to quickly clean, peel and slice potatoes.<br />
So while the last quesadilla was in the pan and I was slicing the future delectable home-made potato chips, something drastic happened. I lost a piece of my finger. It slid right off while I was slicing a potato and into the bowl holding potato slices.<br />
Knowing that this was not a good thing. I rushed to the sink to clean the wound. Blood spurted everywhere (did you know that since there's a lot of nerve endings in the tip of a finger, that means there's also a lot of blood??) I moved to the island in the kitchen with paper towels pressed onto my latest injury. I stood there answering the children's questions of "What happened??" and "Do you need to go to the hospital??". Since I spent a good portion of my childhood in emergency rooms, I knew that my injury was minor....<br />
And that's when I started to panic. (I am *excellent* at panicking, by the way). See, I wasn't concerned so much about myself, but there was blood and it wasn't stopping...and my poor hungry children were noshing on raw potatoes and apples that were sanctioned to be sliced. All I needed was for the blood to stop and my children to be fed.....when the 8yo comes out of his room, crying. Because he suddenly realized that one day Mommy and Daddy may die. This helps no one.<br />
After texting a friend, I called the Hubs at work to come home...then our EMT friend who is 2 time zones away training. He confirmed my thoughts about an ER visit and advised me how to wrap it. My maimed finger and I made it through the night and the next day. The blood stopped flowing and I've downgraded the wrap to a Lighting McQueen bandaid, but the message remains clear: I'm not welcome in the kitchen. Though I do not take this warning lightly, there are times when I cannot avoid being in the same room with the kitchen, but I will be more mindful to tread softly.<br />
<br />
And I have spared you the most gruesome photos that contain blood and gore (but hey, I'm a blogger, so taking pics is a must!!!) Here is my first wrap (hey, not bad for wrapping left-handed!!!) and what I down graded to....along with the top view....but who uses that side of their middle finger anyways???<br />
<br />
My paper towel and masking tape bandage. What I eventually downgraded to....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-I9zeqVIYU0SU8GkFv9Z4qqWF0IgFlNE2jPRyvzJ_t55hfOD6Fag4f3ILXQM5joPHeJ8pr53URsveVKp6fIuJGBO9bbep-TNN1TLwkBCibq2Bv61ur4AaDUcfULUjU5vkpip_BfjU4jY/s1600/Sliced+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-I9zeqVIYU0SU8GkFv9Z4qqWF0IgFlNE2jPRyvzJ_t55hfOD6Fag4f3ILXQM5joPHeJ8pr53URsveVKp6fIuJGBO9bbep-TNN1TLwkBCibq2Bv61ur4AaDUcfULUjU5vkpip_BfjU4jY/s1600/Sliced+3.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOANJYyXlOt-lkUG_H3q-SYhtHvdaZF7HLfC5OoM46M1K1EUj4_PQ_2PaFTcevmYlAtczhY4SDWGVrsuxfi1EhQXHa0yK9k7sFtxhnrBWmTcLGKaKMoMX71dNM4VKIvXc4E6hu95c0EQ/s1600/Sliced+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOANJYyXlOt-lkUG_H3q-SYhtHvdaZF7HLfC5OoM46M1K1EUj4_PQ_2PaFTcevmYlAtczhY4SDWGVrsuxfi1EhQXHa0yK9k7sFtxhnrBWmTcLGKaKMoMX71dNM4VKIvXc4E6hu95c0EQ/s1600/Sliced+2.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
View from the top. Ew. You're welcome.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedVPUmeyN5Ljm9j_trqY_2W_ards7JSShw2FvqMQ-OTuKoqP1A2prr7R2dop4GH9l_kD81BbGCXz0xPytX0xjlE9LCxH4SLLdOTv3MwC5sXb0QOvOlF7cEt9z0kH6lB_1_dYzXL-VoSk/s1600/Sliced+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedVPUmeyN5Ljm9j_trqY_2W_ards7JSShw2FvqMQ-OTuKoqP1A2prr7R2dop4GH9l_kD81BbGCXz0xPytX0xjlE9LCxH4SLLdOTv3MwC5sXb0QOvOlF7cEt9z0kH6lB_1_dYzXL-VoSk/s1600/Sliced+1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Kitchen: 1. BlondieChell: 0,</div>
</div>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-_8qDXLpbaZg%2FVStdy59jMdI%2FAAAAAAAAB8Y%2Fnw0vtFf0e6w%2Fs1600%2FSliced%252B3.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-I9zeqVIYU0SU8GkFv9Z4qqWF0IgFlNE2jPRyvzJ_t55hfOD6Fag4f3ILXQM5joPHeJ8pr53URsveVKp6fIuJGBO9bbep-TNN1TLwkBCibq2Bv61ur4AaDUcfULUjU5vkpip_BfjU4jY/s1600/Sliced+3.jpg" -->BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-82324418450857622292015-03-30T04:30:00.000-06:002015-03-30T04:30:00.087-06:00BlondieChell's March #MomFail Moment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Total #MomFail moment over here this weekend. It all started on Saturday morning. I slept in, then was woken up by the volume level of three kiddos. I did my my best to keep them out of my hair for a few more minutes by telling them to make me some coffee. (Because I couldn't think of anything else to keep them busy). I heard the 3yo yell "I'll do it!!! J-----!!! Make Mommy some coffee!!!"<br />
A few months go, I did teach J how to make it for me....but he didn't get the memo that I switched to drinking straight black. And his 3yo bro decided to "pitch-in" so what they brought me was an overly sweetened cup of what I can only assume to be a semblance of coffee, with noticeable floating grounds. Yum. (Did I mention the only creamer I had was an unopened bottle of Peppermint Mocha....bought sometime in December?? Well...that's where the creamer came from). Needless to say, I wasn't grateful for it. *Then* all of the kids started asking for coffee.<br />
Now, I've read reports about how caffeine can be beneficial people on the autism spectrum. I've tried coffee with J before, but it was only once and I couldn't gauge the results. So, I told J he could have some. Then the other two started begging. What was a Mom to do?? Of course J shouldn't *really* be getting coffee, but I wanted to see the effects.....(caffeine is calming for me) so I <br />
conceded and gave all three of them a "little bit". Because I couldn't figure out how to fudge my way of this one.<br />
Well, A surprised me. She didn't like the taste at all, so she didn't drink any. M jumped ship and started running around (we channeled his energy into cleaning the windows....which he was too excited about...then he starting crawling on all fours chasing a tiny white feather around the house saying "Butterfly! Baby butterfly!!!"). J seemed fine, but then as the morning progressed, so did his behavior. He started to resemble the hyper 3yo. So I'm going to conclude that caffeine is a stimulant, not a suppressant for J. At least I have my answer, right??<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyH5WmnRJOdZslLhL_Ao-0rIjnMIkr-k0YvyNMmXjRz6akm8y_SQB5s8sPUoR4Y3ayaM7cSzI9IgrBIU9RVa2Ht6_mrFXGroYmTulA84T0njITI7jekQLk_pFRlyyAfhgn-8BVhFH1rEw/s1600/64086_416255158448532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyH5WmnRJOdZslLhL_Ao-0rIjnMIkr-k0YvyNMmXjRz6akm8y_SQB5s8sPUoR4Y3ayaM7cSzI9IgrBIU9RVa2Ht6_mrFXGroYmTulA84T0njITI7jekQLk_pFRlyyAfhgn-8BVhFH1rEw/s1600/64086_416255158448532.jpg" height="320" width="315" /></a></div>
</div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-71748500228759125922015-03-23T04:30:00.000-06:002015-03-23T04:30:01.308-06:00This One Weird Trick That Keeps Your Water Bottle From Freezing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
As you know, life in Alaska means that it is very cold at times. And if you leave any liquids in the car they may freeze overnight. Which means....ice instead of water...and of course it will take forever to melt.<br />
And since winter is still lingering in some parts of the world (not Alaska, hehe) I thought it would be an opportune time to share this!<br />
I'm really good at leaving my water bottle in the car, so one would think that I would learn not to.<br />
Nope. One thing I did notice though, is that the water wouldn't always freeze. This started happening when I would leave my bottle in the seat with my extra jacket.<br />
So I experimented. (And yes, it went well!) As long as I kept my water bottle under some sort of clothing or bags, it wouldn't freeze. If I left it in a cup holder, I would find ice.<br />
The moral of the story is, if you're too lazy to bring your bottle inside, yet still desire it unfrozen, throw something over it.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3u2t-tYhhdS7kJihwanZRYANfjrLP4Vk0zBqMahZvvbI-uSBesYSHV0lpWfC4Mexw7gvzhyFhz3U-y38FdlUuHDnhBbJO2e5pjIQ-SSBp0wBdRCEuoKAPcIBAB_2wcRYGYGe6GqcpUc/s1600/11042971_934562219897684_8952004660679536639_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3u2t-tYhhdS7kJihwanZRYANfjrLP4Vk0zBqMahZvvbI-uSBesYSHV0lpWfC4Mexw7gvzhyFhz3U-y38FdlUuHDnhBbJO2e5pjIQ-SSBp0wBdRCEuoKAPcIBAB_2wcRYGYGe6GqcpUc/s1600/11042971_934562219897684_8952004660679536639_n.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-75130758241233740842015-03-16T04:30:00.000-06:002015-03-16T04:30:00.409-06:00Letting Loose<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I had a conversation (it may have been mostly one-sided) with some women at my church yesterday morning. We started discussing the complexities of being on the stage in the choir, yet the pastor encourages (read: *ENCOURAGES*) us to "let loose" during worship. Which may mean dancing....to certain extremes. Which means moving....and...well....<br />
This topic eventually led us on the path of women "letting loose" and...well...as people get moving, we pondered women's shoes flying off....like... potentially into the congregation (or whacking the music minister in the head while he's playing keyboard). Obviously these scenarios can be hazardous to everyone's health.<br />
So I created a solution for this potential hazard: hot glue-gun on stage to glue women's hosiery to their shoes...you know, so their shoes won't fly off, but they will be at liberty to move however the Spirit leads. As in.... "Sister Sally, are you glued in today???", "I'm sorry, but I can't allow you on stage until you've been glued.", "Let's get our glue on!!!", "Oops. I forgot to glue!"<br />
If you have a problem, BlondieChell has a solution!!! Moral of the story: don't "let loose" until you've been glued in!!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL8iCvgRpIWaH6D-Kkl_yWg1QInfAdHKtlb0yG4C2WbEJMUGk0H92oO7niQOBms1pKPzFFGm_1mIylKrRsRJnjwMlTzEg0A65iFP5oI7tnoiKqu3Rw2wKd-tI66PnciDJnbhmdvHjUk6I/s1600/35dwb4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL8iCvgRpIWaH6D-Kkl_yWg1QInfAdHKtlb0yG4C2WbEJMUGk0H92oO7niQOBms1pKPzFFGm_1mIylKrRsRJnjwMlTzEg0A65iFP5oI7tnoiKqu3Rw2wKd-tI66PnciDJnbhmdvHjUk6I/s1600/35dwb4.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-31581423985171922512015-03-09T04:30:00.000-06:002015-03-09T04:30:00.332-06:00 Things To Do When Running Solo Outside<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This morning I have a list of tips for you of things you can do while running solo outside. (Note: performing these tasks while running indoors on a treadmill may make you seem like a crazy person):<br />
<br />
Things To Do When Running Solo Outside:<br />
1. Talk to someone via microphone headphone or bluetooth. I get in some great conversations this way, and I'm multitasking.<br />
2. Pray<br />
3. Butt-kicks. Because I can't get Jillian Michaels out of my head.<br />
4. Talk to an imaginary dog. Because it's all about talking while running which means expanding your lung capacity.<br />
5. Skip. Because changing it up is good.<br />
6. Sing really loud to your music In your opera voice.<br />
7. Crochet. I haven't attempted this, but I'm tempted to.<br />
8. Take selfies at crazy angles (you may need to stop running in order to do this...not that I'm speaking from experience or anything...haha)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCOWI4eXR61P8Nm4QUjK9eesygQcN1Z0Cf_J0XkO-Wpx1iqIM4boeNuxljJAxs-vY4pn5pxpMQRySxR6kRv_b_6cRaByAJ6_NUXbXn77mpL20pg5lF_PSemYqBg0UeI5gJgBF7zGYYDo/s1600/funny-girl-running-meme-yellow-coat+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCOWI4eXR61P8Nm4QUjK9eesygQcN1Z0Cf_J0XkO-Wpx1iqIM4boeNuxljJAxs-vY4pn5pxpMQRySxR6kRv_b_6cRaByAJ6_NUXbXn77mpL20pg5lF_PSemYqBg0UeI5gJgBF7zGYYDo/s1600/funny-girl-running-meme-yellow-coat+-+Copy.jpg" height="320" width="230" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Have a great week!!! And tell me how these tips work for you!!!</div>
<br /></div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-39908187659707971932015-03-02T04:30:00.000-07:002015-03-02T04:30:01.424-07:00Violence Is Sometimes Okay....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This weekend it occurred to me that a lot of things that happen in the spiritual realm that we consider positive encounters are actually quite violent....<br />
Like...wanting to be "on fire for God". In reality, being set on fire is a bad thing. A VERY bad thing. You kind of die.<br />
Or you want "the Spirit to crash over me like waves". Ever seen a wave?? They can be pretty destructive. We associate the word "crash" with them. CRASHING WAVES. Nothing that crashes is calm or serene. It too is violent. Yet we choose to associate those words with God and things of the spiritual realm.<br />
And we wonder why people look at us like we're crazy. "No, I don't want you to throw a lit match at me-I want to be set on fire by GOD!!!". Yep. Crazy. Train.<br />
As these thoughts flooded into my head this weekend, I discovered that, perhaps the reason why violence is prevalent in the scripture is because we are at war. A spiritual war. "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places " (Ephesians 6:12).<br />
And somehow...that makes it all okay. Because I know that God has my back, no matter what may come.<br />
May the spirit of God crash over you like waves so that you may be set on fire. Have a great week!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWAWo2PwnHWIVSaFYQozvjesIME3ySuwfQ7R0WwrYUJFgYWL5Az0uNOEF7r0kCwtS6hTOemeRU1KI1cDsuR0jy48jPCk9-NEponE33oERWE_vYIGVM_fJ-7IY3CztaGHL_uy-xAyYTWQ/s1600/Old+McDonald.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWAWo2PwnHWIVSaFYQozvjesIME3ySuwfQ7R0WwrYUJFgYWL5Az0uNOEF7r0kCwtS6hTOemeRU1KI1cDsuR0jy48jPCk9-NEponE33oERWE_vYIGVM_fJ-7IY3CztaGHL_uy-xAyYTWQ/s1600/Old+McDonald.jpg" height="320" width="304" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-72868205627545038202015-02-28T22:44:00.001-07:002015-02-28T22:44:51.067-07:00#BuluBox #Review #Sponsored #Healthy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
Have you heard of subscription boxes?? There's basically one for everything nowadays. There's even a website to help you launch your own subscription box service! The possibilities are endless!!!<br />
The folks at <a href="http://www.bulubox.com/box" target="_blank">BuluBox</a> sent me a free box to try and review, so here we go:<br />
Bulubox is the subscription service for you if you want to try out health products but don't want to spend $$$ on full-sized products you may not like.<br />
They have a few different options and I chose the weightloss box (I may have put on a few pounds or so over the holidays) <br />
My box included: Cellucor Alpha Amino (endurance, recovery and hydration formula), Cellucor C4 Extreme (energy formula), Dollar Shots Club Energy Shot, NeoCell Beauty Infusions drink mix, Met-Rx Prime Bar (protein bar), and VitaPerk (vitamins to add to your coffee).</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpl-2_Grpt_AxngnJhIj0d-O3prrUjWog83_S0z4EnJo_eql46IBXWzLqAbbwagFn51CgD1R3R763IrA5jPVYITuegsj3y4i3qaNrBkd5jq4pS6HnoKxMbG0QS_YHMDt1L-2kOleMSOik/s1600/Winter+2014-15+1493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpl-2_Grpt_AxngnJhIj0d-O3prrUjWog83_S0z4EnJo_eql46IBXWzLqAbbwagFn51CgD1R3R763IrA5jPVYITuegsj3y4i3qaNrBkd5jq4pS6HnoKxMbG0QS_YHMDt1L-2kOleMSOik/s1600/Winter+2014-15+1493.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Would I buy these products on my own?? Of course not!!! It would cost me over $150 to obtain these products in their full sizes, but why would I invest that much $$ without knowing how I like the product?? That's where BuluBox comes in-letting me sample products I wouldn't normally purchase. Now I can try all of these fantastic products, but without the hefty $$ commitment!</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
I love the product card they sent me with my samples because not only do I have easy access to a product's name, but now I also know how much of the product I would receive for the price. Also, the back of the card has a place for you to write notes about the individual products like how you felt before and after using the product.<br />
Since I signed up with BuluBox, I keep getting emails with discount codes, so I recommend signing up with your email first in order to get a discount on your first purchase! </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Disclaimer: I received my Bulubox complimentary in exchange for an honest review. All thoughts and opinions states are my own.</div>
</div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1921081679715860889.post-65735966178965423422015-02-23T04:30:00.000-07:002015-02-23T04:30:00.937-07:00BlondieChell's Original Small Group Game Idea<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Remember's last week's post about <a href="http://www.lavidadeblondiechell.blogspot.com/2015/02/blondiechells-special-talent.html" target="_blank">my special talent</a>?? Well, the following Monday, I felt like God was telling me to bring toilet paper in addition to a snack to the small group. Looks like I was just meant to be that "one weird girl".<br />
<div>
So I did. And I was reluctant, for obvious reasons. Thanks, God. </div>
<div>
I showed up (ON TIME!!!) with my toilet paper and snack. Needless to say, the Honey Buns were well received. The bathroom tissue on the other hand?? Accepted with as much gratefulness as I had expected...with questions. Yep. That's me now. The girl who brings TP to Bible Study. </div>
<div>
I dodged questions by answering with "I...can't tell you". But by the end of our time together, I found the boldness to share my story with the wife of the small group leader and another attendee.</div>
<div>
I explained to them how I was pondering the small group, and what to bring for snack. More specifically, I thought to myself "What would happen if I was hosting a small group? What would I want people to bring??" Top of my list was toilet paper. Because these people use your toilet, their kids dump your rolls in and...well, I think it just makes sense. After these dwelling on these thoughts, I couldn't decipher if they were from God or just my own random ramblings. </div>
<div>
Since I've learned to "go with God" (aka: trust the Holy Spirit), I brought the toilet paper. Well, the ladies enjoyed the story enough for me to suggest a new game idea, called "Who can bring the weirdest thing to small group?" (Patent pending)</div>
<div>
So game on!!!! What am I bringing this week?? I'll tell you later....Meanwhile, give me your suggestions for the next few weeks below! The only rule we have (so far!) is that it *has* to have been in your house for at least 30 days-that means no buying something brand new....hhhhhmmmmm.....</div>
</div>
BlondieChellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16628060477049310887noreply@blogger.com0