tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289429972024-03-13T07:28:22.137-07:00mama miltonLisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.comBlogger772125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-84933377276357869052011-10-05T06:00:00.000-07:002011-10-05T06:55:29.333-07:00sure to make you smileI opened up my Google Reader, blew off the dust, and found some lovely posts to share with you.<br />
<br />
Take a look:<br />
<a href="http://amandamagee.com/2011/09/whos-that-girl/">Who's that girl?, by Amanda Magee</a><br />
{<i>she grew up in Eugene. i secretly hope it's in the water, this amazing strength & talent</i>. <i>i'd love to grow my girl up to be just like Amanda.</i>}<br />
<a href="http://www.susiej.com/fall-drive/">Fall Drive, by SusieJ</a><br />
{<i>oh the fall foliage out east of my little corner of the world...thank you for posting this picture, Susie.</i>} <br />
<a href="http://mightygirl.com/2011/09/27/mighty-summit-visiting-my-earnest-mood-on-you/">Mighty Summit: visiting my earnest mood on you, Maggie Mason</a><br />
{<i>ah, she's famous among dozens, and i know why. i love the way she looks at the world.</i>} <br />
<a href="http://www.saucysprinkles.com/2011/09/quoth-swapper-nevermore.html">quoth the swapper, nevermore, by Sasha Libby</a><br />
{<i>the craft store is calling my name. i need ravens and poe, stat. i would love to play at her house.</i>}<br />
<a href="http://sampersinger.blogspot.com/2011/09/old-girls-gone-wild.html">old girls gone wild, by Sam Persinger</a><br />
{<i>one of my best friends in this here real life. this old girl wishes she'd been along for the night out.</i>}<br />
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Why have I been away for so long? I am inspired, encouraged, excited. Thank you, ladies.Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-90126960559538130702011-10-03T16:37:00.000-07:002011-10-03T16:37:06.510-07:00 So it's about time I address the whole 'Hey, we know you're a slacker and all, and stopped posting regularly eons ago, but now your site is poof! gone' thing. It was nothing personal. It was a creepy stalker thing.<br />
<br />
Picture one of those days when you are running errands and your kids are bickering and you feel sour & bitter which is not at all helped by the fact you are wearing yoga pants with Dankos for pete's sake, except you don't feel like saying pete at all but something foul while your nikes dry after a particularly soggy track meet the night before. I'm sure you've never had one of those days, lovely internet, but I was cranky and out of sorts and by the time I arrived at Trader Joe's, I was actively chiding myself to stop acting crazy for it was Friday after all, and I could go home and relax after I grabbed some groceries.<br />
<br />
Long story short, a man began to follow me around TJs as I shopped, as I flirted with babies, as I talked up the cashier because of my undying affection for their staff. Yes, I noticed. Yes, I even thought once that it was weird that he didn't have a basket or cart or manners. But I thought I must remind him of his aunt Gretel or his older sister's best friend from Valencia, or something when I noticed he was pretty much within feet of me the whole time, watching me. Of course, when he came up behind me while I loaded my car full of groceries, and was filming, um, my posterior I was fairly certain he didn't think he knew me at all or maybe that's what they do in his family and ew. This scary encounter started with me shrieking at him in a very busy parking lot, and kicked off a month including a call to 911, the swift purchase of pepper spray, whistles, scared, sleepless children and a habit of texting my whereabouts to my husband at all times. (And once, to all my contacts, accidentally announcing my arrival to a job interview. Fun times.)<br />
<br />
It passed. We relaxed. He has gone back into the woodwork, and I am back online. Something tells me the images of me yelling at a strange and creepy man in a parking lot are posted online - Frumpy Mothers of T.Joe's anyone? - or some far sicker site.<br />
<br />
But with my sense of well-being intact again, it should be noted Creepy People, that I am not quite the same. I still flirt with babies when I'm out & about, but with pepper spray & a camera at my ready. (Fair's fair.)<br />
<br />
And I can run damn fast. Even in my clogs..Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-43504497815455209792011-09-29T06:17:00.000-07:002011-09-29T06:49:33.150-07:00everyday I'm shufflingI woke up shortly after the last bartender in town locked up, long before dawn. When I should have been still konked out with my blankey. But I heard my husband rustling around in the dark, headed for what is bound to be another long end of quarter sorta day.<br /><br />He is a good man.<br /><br />Me? The jury's still out, but I've faced down one nemesis this morning - the incredible, edible egg! Ha!* - and I have pumpkin muffins in the oven for the ones that used to be wee, back when I started blogging and I wrote about them a little too much. But they still like me.<br /><br />They are good children.<br /><br />I woke up thinking about this post and how I've been writing it in my head since Monday. The wind was picking up that afternoon, kicking a few leaves around my feet as I walked to the bus stop to meet my son. I read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Zazen-Vanessa-Veselka/dp/1935869051">Zazen</a> as I walked, splashing Earl Grey onto my dance pants until I came to the end of the road where I may or may not have practiced the tree pose for next week's class. (I totally did.) I had to laugh at myself, behaving like a run-of-the mill loony on Suburban street, but my days are like that right now. I am moving, racing, loving every minute.<br /><br />I live a good life.<br /><br /><em>But I might need a nap.</em><br /><br />*Um, I see you people eating your eggs, all tralala, feeling offended on their behalf. The eggs started it. I blame them. My epi-pen has my back.Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-78391116151194649832011-07-13T21:51:00.001-07:002011-07-13T21:51:54.545-07:00Happy birthday, Caden<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mamamilton/2548905931/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3155/2548905931_5bfbe37afd_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mamamilton/2548905931/">Caden & Zack at the meet</a> <br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mamamilton/">mama.milton</a>.</span><br clear="all" /><p>How'd you get so big? The baby in the family is 6 today. We love you buddy.<br /><br />OX, Aunt Sissy and co.</p>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-70093953338485269532011-07-12T11:19:00.001-07:002011-07-12T11:19:05.724-07:00well, hello there<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mamamilton/5924772574/" title="stampede"><img src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6021/5924772574_e55625d295.jpg" alt="stampede by mama.milton" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mamamilton/5924772574/">stampede</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mamamilton/">mama.milton</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p>Mama Who? Yes, I've been away for some time, and for good reason. (See how I hint there is more to come? Mwahaha.)<br /><br />It's good to be back. What have you been up to, dear lovely reader(s)?</p>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-7555553842762192722011-02-17T19:37:00.000-08:002011-02-17T19:47:28.258-08:00for the love: little libertyTake a couple of hula-hoops...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o8uq4OGXJwg/TV3qSBmpTXI/AAAAAAAABro/A03m9ItLkAo/s1600/Hula-Hoop-Size-Chart.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o8uq4OGXJwg/TV3qSBmpTXI/AAAAAAAABro/A03m9ItLkAo/s400/Hula-Hoop-Size-Chart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574869509143612786" border="0" /></a><br />Add some dreads,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gHPXTcMXvDU/TV3qEQygvlI/AAAAAAAABrg/oZMA1zGPGcY/s1600/dreadlock.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gHPXTcMXvDU/TV3qEQygvlI/AAAAAAAABrg/oZMA1zGPGcY/s400/dreadlock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574869272701746770" border="0" /></a>And a statue of liberty costume and what do you get, rain or shine?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7ykPD-nNRA/TV3p9hP2KwI/AAAAAAAABrY/F2dVHznDIIU/s1600/Miss%2BLiberty%2BStatue%2Bof%2BLiberty%2BCostume.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 349px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7ykPD-nNRA/TV3p9hP2KwI/AAAAAAAABrY/F2dVHznDIIU/s400/Miss%2BLiberty%2BStatue%2Bof%2BLiberty%2BCostume.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574869156860668674" border="0" /></a>The happiest hula-hooping hippie-esque Liberty Tax employee, that's what. She's out there for hours, waving and hooping and generally making my day when I pass by.<br /><br />What made you smile this week?Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-43464439318253092082011-02-11T09:00:00.000-08:002011-02-11T09:00:07.877-08:00for the love: cardamomI knew I had to give it a try, as soon as I saw a friend's FB post about the Buttered Chicken (murgh makhani) she had simmering in her crock pot. I mean really. When's the last time you had reason to sew cardamom pods together? I didn't think so.<br /><br />(It's the best smelling needlecraft to date.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6M_oo62DXY4/TVQauQHVGiI/AAAAAAAABrQ/XqSHK2vkPG8/s1600/DSC03479.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6M_oo62DXY4/TVQauQHVGiI/AAAAAAAABrQ/XqSHK2vkPG8/s400/DSC03479.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572108020866161186" border="0" /></a>Also: I think the plate is having a girl.Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-51808149487009431362011-02-10T09:14:00.000-08:002011-02-10T09:35:32.656-08:00for the love: bachacoOne of my favorite new Zumba songs. Cumbia is a great way to start the day.<br /><br /><img style="visibility: hidden; width: 0px; height: 0px;" src="http://c.gigcount.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bT*xJmx*PTEyOTczNTkxMDczOTMmcHQ9MTI5NzM1OTEzMTYyNCZwPTI3MDgxJmQ9cHJvX3BsYXllcl9maXJzdF9nZW4mZz*xJm89/M2M1NjQyOTQ4YmZhNGZkZGIwNTRmMzc2NWFiY2M3ZjUmb2Y9MA==.gif" width="0" border="0" height="0" /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://cache.reverbnation.com/widgets/swf/40/pro_widget.swf" bgcolor="#ffffff" loop="false" wmode="opaque" quality="best" allowscriptaccess="always" allownetworking="all" allowfullscreen="true" seamlesstabbing="false" flashvars="id=artist_395289&posted_by=artist_395289&background_color=EEEEEE&font_color=333333&border_color=000000" width="300" align="top" height="80"></embed><br /><img style="visibility: hidden; width: 0px; height: 0px;" src="http://www.reverbnation.com/widgets/trk/40/artist_395289/artist_395289/t.gif" width="0" border="0" height="0" />Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-82181760573496189302011-02-04T10:09:00.000-08:002011-02-04T17:42:52.355-08:00for the love: little vampiresI'm not sure what it says about me, the way I can detail any Buffy episode, sight unseen, on long drives while the kids watch in the backseat, but fanatic comes to mind.<br /><br />(And also: Joss? I am ready for your next project.)<br /><br />So yea. I have a thing for vampires <del> of the non-sparkley variety</del>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxDAovJniI/AAAAAAAABrA/Lkp_TFaZWgE/s1600/460.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxDAovJniI/AAAAAAAABrA/Lkp_TFaZWgE/s400/460.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569900517364702754" border="0" /></a>Especially little vampires, sporting chucks.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxC3a03ZWI/AAAAAAAABq4/Lwe79ZP1414/s1600/462.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxC3a03ZWI/AAAAAAAABq4/Lwe79ZP1414/s400/462.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569900359011755362" border="0" /></a>That match the sky. (He must be wearing one of those magic rings that all the cool vampires seem to have these days. Poor Angel.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxCu4JgX_I/AAAAAAAABqw/LOEpRW5zYCQ/s1600/463.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxCu4JgX_I/AAAAAAAABqw/LOEpRW5zYCQ/s400/463.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569900212264132594" border="0" /></a>While I love an angsty, brooding vamp as much as the next girl, happy little ones suit me just fine.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxCj6w5JhI/AAAAAAAABqo/z6FNFh8geck/s1600/465.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxCj6w5JhI/AAAAAAAABqo/z6FNFh8geck/s400/465.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569900023987643922" border="0" /></a>Run, Jake, run! Nevermind, puppy.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxCZhVtVeI/AAAAAAAABqg/ItqDPlFSy-s/s1600/467.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TUxCZhVtVeI/AAAAAAAABqg/ItqDPlFSy-s/s400/467.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569899845364045282" border="0" /></a>He's more interested in hanging out with the neighborhood girl with fangs.Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-49328556177672247342011-02-03T06:00:00.000-08:002011-02-04T09:44:06.696-08:00for the loveI don't know when I started using the phrase, 'for the love', but it's a staple in our household.<br /><br />Like 'clean your room, for the love'.<br /><br />Or 'I made you some coffee, for the love'.<br /><br />(And it's meant sweetly; it's not short 'for the love of God'. That has a somewhat different tone, no?)<br /><br />So for the month of February - and yes, I'm aware that I am running late; what's new? - I am seeking out the things that make my heart sing.<br /><br />It's good for the soul.Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-35666235120665874952011-01-06T18:42:00.000-08:002011-01-07T07:01:44.143-08:00dappledDapple. Dapple. Dapple.<br /><br />It was the word whirling around in my brain, as I walked the dogs this morning, early enough so that many a commuter got to see me pick up the business Jake so graciously dumped along a busy corridor.<br /><br />Dappled in sunshine, words robbed of their meaning, being quaint and all. But it was ever so lovely out today, I could hardly stand it.<br /><br />After a four mile journey, both mutts came to rest on my unmade bed, exhausted and utterly content to lay in the sun.<br /><br />***<br /><br />My days are interrupted since the move. We live auspiciously close to both schools, yet too far to realistically walk back and forth to their respective schools, especially considering their schedules are staggered. [Come spring - and more sunshine <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >dapple dapple dapple</span> I plan to work in walking/riding bikes, etc one drop-off/pick up or another each day.] So I'm a preschool mom again, setting timers for the school Siren's call, luring me in to the schools four times a day.<br /><br />Or in this case, five. Today, as I write this, I wait with my son and both dogs while Lexi auditions for a play. Or at least I hope that's what she's doing. She has been trying to talk herself out of it all winter break, as her Dad and I try to convince her it's a great idea. And it would be good for my introverted girl to go through any audition. Of course she knows that 'good for you' is just parentspeak for pushing yourself into doing something difficult, like eating your veggies or getting along with your brother. So I'm especially proud of her for trying something new, something that puts her on edge and opens new doors for her.<br /><br />And if someday soon, she is dappled in spotlight - please help me - all the better.Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-819032084409477522011-01-04T16:14:00.000-08:002011-01-04T17:10:36.511-08:00resolute (Or conversely: How to channel Sue while gripping a large bottle of vino at Safeway)I took an informal poll (<span style="font-style: italic;">I watched talk shows & pundits while disrobing the Christmas tree and consulted my dogs) </span>and the results are in: Resolutions are out. Apparently because they are bogus and don't work.<br /><br />Now I don't take to a pen and get all serious with New Year's resolutions on January 1st, but I still contend that making realistic changes to meet goals is time well spent, whether at the beginning of the calendar year, or school year or randomly on February 29th, every four years. I personally like to re-evaluate my lifestyle every season, and see what I'd like to take up or leave out, and it works for me and my silly brain. Three months feels just right to me.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Pauses and ponders momentarily<br /><br /></span><span>However, I tend to recall picturing 2010 far differently last January, and being flexible made the curve balls and other cliched surprises</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span>far easier to handle. For instance:<br /><br /></span><ol><li>I started subbing as a staff assistant in a special education classroom and found that I really loved working with the young children in the program, as did my daughter.</li><li>Which led to me getting to teach Zumba, on a occasion, at the school.</li><li>And then I left that behind, and made a rather abrupt move, leaving behind any job connections</li><li>I had an opportunity to go to Italy, France & Monaco in August, and<br /></li><li>I have more time now to pursue writing & crafty goals, the thing I was seeking last year, but never managed because of all the other plans 2011 had for me.</li></ol>So clearly I am no better at this stuff than the pundits, filling air time and chewing up what remains of my braincells.<br /><br />***<br /><br />It was mid-December and I was Bound & Determined to finish my errands that morning, donning a dirty post-workout ponytail and track suit. I was finishing up at Safeway, grabbing a gift card and some wine for the company that was due to be arriving in a few days. My December (tired, hungry, crabby) reptilian brain lit up upon seeing the massive bottle of Mondavi on sale. Problem solved and away I went through the express lane. Except you know that's not how it happened. I ended up at customer service because the gift card may or may not have been properly activated at the self-servicy thing.<br /><br />Customer service. Heh. It was deserted, save for the four employees that would cash their paychecks before I was acknowledged, and after ten very long Christmas minutes passed. Of course, the clerk wasn't much help as she tried read my Magical Starbucks Card like a tarot card.<br /><br />And here's when I started to lose my (lizard) mind: She told me three times, chanting really, that they were going to put a sign up, warning customers of this little debacle days before, but they had been too busy. Telling me that instead of solving the problem with a sharpie, they had opted for the now 20 minute hassle/tarot session, again and again, during the height of holiday shopping.<br /><br />I tried to be sympathetic, I did, and I thought about offering to make the signs up myself but then a bunch of employees started taking turns wishing another employee 'Happy Birthday' over the loud speaker, so I figured I'd let them handle their own sign dilemmas. That and any insistence that they remedy the problem seemed to fall on deaf ears, coming from a Sue Sylvester disciple clutching one enormous bottle of wine.<br /><br />Oh well.<br /><br />But it got me thinking: Sometimes all the talk and intention in the world isn't enough, and we have to be resolute to make things happen, to take action, even as we hold on loosely to a world quick to change under our feet.Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-80593405790526943682011-01-02T09:02:00.000-08:002011-01-02T09:23:56.221-08:00gregThings are different this year. This is not entirely good. Nor bad. Ours lives are different.<br /><br />(And for the expanded version of this spiel, cry and name something, anything, you wish were different. I am the master of the change spiel this year. I console myself with it all the time.)<br /><br />And now I sound all somber and blue; I'm not. After having company here in Eugene, and traveling to see both sides of the family, and Greg's end of quarter and seeing some of my dearest friends over break, I'm just rightfully tired and in love with the low key right now: putting around the house, planning Zumba sets, napping and reading.<br /><br />Yet today is Greg's birthday, and though we aren't hosting a <a href="http://mamamilton.blogspot.com/2010/01/party.html">party</a> this year, as God as my witness, I will get out of this robe (<span style="font-size:78%;">not yet<span style="font-size:100%;">) and celebrate like a proper wife ought to.<br /><br />(I see football and wine in my near future.)<br /><br />So happy birthday to my dear husband. I adore you. I really, really do.<br /><br /><br /></span></span>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-24009397556145765262010-12-23T07:07:00.000-08:002010-12-23T07:13:29.613-08:00forty is fine<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TRNmKNn5PzI/AAAAAAAABp4/1Udrcy9HwzU/s1600/blue%2Bskies.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TRNmKNn5PzI/AAAAAAAABp4/1Udrcy9HwzU/s400/blue%2Bskies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553895091119669042" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">blue skies on my December birthday<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Our house guests have all went their merry ways, and now we are packing up for our own travels, leaving me worn to a nub. A happy, satisfied nub, but a nub nonetheless, and most certainly a nub that won't have time to write here or visit my favorite bloggers until a New Year comes and makes all things quiet (heh) again</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Be blessed, my dear readers & friends. See around the bend.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-34156322304625486512010-12-07T19:01:00.000-08:002010-12-09T14:57:14.647-08:00at homeThe newness wears off.<br /><br />Even the using the word wears me down.<br /><br />'New'. Meh.<br /><br />Move and it doesn't take long for one to become possessive: My Borders, my favorite place for coffee, the place we get tacos on Friday nights.<br /><br />New drifts away and soon you are driving on autopilot to school (four times a day will do that to you), waving at the Crossing Guards, getting hugs from kids in the morning and ducking out of the parking lot before being hit up to take up more volunteer work.<br /><br />You will be surprised just how quickly the novel morphs into the familiar, and you are at home.<br /><br />***<br /><br />The box for Goodwill was perched precariously in the garage on one of a dozen empty banker boxes, ones used to transport the oh-too-many books here over the summer.<br /><br />Miscellaneous stragglers that survived the Move of 2010.<br /><br />One of the kids made a sad little sound at the sight of my weathered red snowflake flannel pjs, faded and too short, and worn out after five winters.<br /><br />(Yes, we women of some height still outgrow our clothes, or rather, it seems that way after our cotton pants have become acquainted with the dryer.)<br /><br />Now both kids stood by the box, equally hurt and angry that I would discard the jammies they've grown accustomed to me wearing when darkness falls with dinnertime.<br /><br />The ones I wore while we have snuggled, and opened presents, and sat quietly after a busy December day by a lit tree; the ones I've worn while making Christmas breakfast. The ones I've read countless books in, on our bed.<br /><br />The ones from before.<br /><br />So the pajamas were granted clemency.<br /><br />I will wear them until they fall apart.Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-91487814305053126982010-11-30T23:44:00.000-08:002010-12-01T08:43:42.952-08:00Thankful: Day Thirty<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPZ6yudhYiI/AAAAAAAABpw/1GVFnMfxACQ/s1600/DSC_0504.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPZ6yudhYiI/AAAAAAAABpw/1GVFnMfxACQ/s400/DSC_0504.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545755003037245986" border="0" /></a><br />When the month began, I meandered out to the what was a glorious garden when we moved here in August.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPZ6Gg5Oz6I/AAAAAAAABpo/zb0OAyFl3Ug/s1600/DSC_0508.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPZ6Gg5Oz6I/AAAAAAAABpo/zb0OAyFl3Ug/s400/DSC_0508.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545754243481128866" border="0" /></a>Autumn had taken it's toll.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPZ516JUt0I/AAAAAAAABpY/8_HaMbL_DhY/s1600/DSC_0506.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPZ516JUt0I/AAAAAAAABpY/8_HaMbL_DhY/s400/DSC_0506.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545753958201734978" border="0" /></a>I won't lie: I find the decay strangely alluring.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPZ5sU_w_YI/AAAAAAAABpQ/pfXkpumO5r4/s1600/DSC_0502.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPZ5sU_w_YI/AAAAAAAABpQ/pfXkpumO5r4/s400/DSC_0502.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545753793610710402" border="0" /></a>And then I came across these strawberries, out of place and out of season. A delight.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">{thankful for the unexpected}</span><br /></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-61047123349739190682010-11-29T21:14:00.000-08:002010-11-29T21:21:26.187-08:00Thankful: Day twenty-nineI have a great many things I could go into tonight for which I am thankful, but I am also plain tuckered out for the Mighty Parenting that I have doled out for the betterment of my wayward children.<br /><br />So I am retiring for the night with a movie, a husband - not any ol' one, I like mine quite a bit - and a class of wine and re-posting something I wrote a year ago.<br /><br /><a href="http://mamamilton.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-guess-that-makes-me-angry-elf.html">I Guess that Makes me the Angry Elf<br /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">{thankful for a reservoir of posts to draw from when <del> I'm lazy</del> need a break} </span><br /></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-39605905353663889762010-11-28T18:16:00.001-08:002010-11-28T18:24:24.937-08:00Thankful: Day Twenty-eightI lounged around in my pjs until lunchtime today, something I never do. I read half of Stephen King's <span style="font-style: italic;">Full Dark, No Stars </span>(excellent, by the way), addressed Christmas cards and played helper elf to Greg while he strung our outdoor Christmas lights.<br /><br />I'd hoped to *accomplish* more today, after a fun weekend of playing, but it wasn't to be.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">{<span style="font-style: italic;">thankful for luxury of leisure}</span><br /></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-11145682165166491702010-11-27T19:31:00.000-08:002010-11-27T19:39:20.202-08:00Thankful: Day Twenty-sevenZack's best friend came down this weekend, for the last home game at Autzen Stadium. (His dad, Chris, scored tickets for the menfolk; thanks Chris!)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPHN5Uu15LI/AAAAAAAABpI/MT_XKTCRpAY/s1600/DSC_0561.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPHN5Uu15LI/AAAAAAAABpI/MT_XKTCRpAY/s400/DSC_0561.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544439000971207858" border="0" /></a>I'm too tired right now to give this weekend it's proper due here, but the Miltons' hearts are happy and content after being blessed with so much good company the past three days.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPHNzFPVOLI/AAAAAAAABpA/IFbk3xZoewI/s1600/DSC_0560.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TPHNzFPVOLI/AAAAAAAABpA/IFbk3xZoewI/s400/DSC_0560.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544438893733296306" border="0" /></a><br />{<span style="font-style: italic;">thankful for the love of good friends & family}<br /></span></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-87236706388678480782010-11-26T07:39:00.000-08:002010-11-26T07:48:34.364-08:00Thankful: Day Twenty-six<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO_VB5OsN8I/AAAAAAAABo4/jF-IQiTXXEs/s1600/DSC_0478.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO_VB5OsN8I/AAAAAAAABo4/jF-IQiTXXEs/s400/DSC_0478.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543883894835394498" border="0" /></a>I don't do Black Fridays; years spent in retail has left me extremely disinterested in that sort of chaos.<br /><br />I do snails. Or at least the kids do, gathering 'families' of 'Garys', making homes for them in the backyard on Thanksgiving. Well, until Caden accidentally stepped on the mama.<br /><br />(She spent the rest of the afternoon looking through the ads for a replacement shell.)<br /><br />Greg finds these things repulsive, though more dignified than the common slug - at least they have the sense to cover themselves - but then again, who likes a slug?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">{thankful for the small things & big imaginations}</span><br /></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-92174367373700735112010-11-25T20:29:00.000-08:002010-11-25T20:37:05.265-08:00Thankful: Day Twenty-five<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO84-YA5EgI/AAAAAAAABoc/FN-IsNEoLOc/s1600/DSC_0553.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO84-YA5EgI/AAAAAAAABoc/FN-IsNEoLOc/s400/DSC_0553.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543712310565605890" border="0" /></a><br />Football</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO842cLIbOI/AAAAAAAABoU/p4SVBAepf0c/s1600/DSC_0549.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO842cLIbOI/AAAAAAAABoU/p4SVBAepf0c/s400/DSC_0549.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543712174243343586" border="0" /></a><br />Family</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO84sIVrJZI/AAAAAAAABoM/u1kBeHHx0K0/s1600/DSC_0551.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO84sIVrJZI/AAAAAAAABoM/u1kBeHHx0K0/s400/DSC_0551.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543711997120161170" border="0" /></a><br />Fun</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO84hrayfHI/AAAAAAAABoE/aWldxusMTGU/s1600/DSC_0548.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO84hrayfHI/AAAAAAAABoE/aWldxusMTGU/s400/DSC_0548.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543711817558293618" border="0" /></a><br />Food<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">{<span style="font-style: italic;">thankful for all good things on this Fall day}</span><br /></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-18607907109597894582010-11-24T23:42:00.000-08:002010-11-25T06:46:49.781-08:00Thankful: Day twenty-four<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO52i5FSr1I/AAAAAAAABn8/zbLvXQy7dSo/s1600/4137831715_2483c133bb.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TO52i5FSr1I/AAAAAAAABn8/zbLvXQy7dSo/s400/4137831715_2483c133bb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543498533150306130" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">My sister, Lori, and I last Thanksgiving<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">{thankful my family is coming to the new homestead today}</span><br /></span></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-610652508260351102010-11-23T19:57:00.000-08:002010-11-23T20:16:50.481-08:00Thankful: Day twenty-threeWe came from a city that really likes to hype up <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Storm Tracker Snowstorm coverage</span></span>, commandeering all regular programming when ice or hail or sleet or threat of such weather is in the forecast, so I didn't pay much mind to the mention of possible snow in Eugene.<br /><br />I mean, we do live at 430 feet. Snow seems unlikely.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyP1FrxeiI/AAAAAAAABn0/Au0kdAUNpss/s1600/DSC_0513.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyP1FrxeiI/AAAAAAAABn0/Au0kdAUNpss/s400/DSC_0513.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542963383607851554" border="0" /></a>So we were all a little surprised to wake to a blanket of snow...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPtq4DaaI/AAAAAAAABns/v7ZwP1SWibc/s1600/DSC_0538.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPtq4DaaI/AAAAAAAABns/v7ZwP1SWibc/s400/DSC_0538.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542963256152517026" border="0" /></a>and an official SNOW DAY. Woohoo.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPl_JAmZI/AAAAAAAABnk/8fYM-viCP-g/s1600/DSC_0512.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPl_JAmZI/AAAAAAAABnk/8fYM-viCP-g/s400/DSC_0512.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542963124153391506" border="0" /></a>Pretty, huh? But the boys weren't the only ones having fun...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPevXRLmI/AAAAAAAABnc/uXil3kBf95o/s1600/DSC_0521.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPevXRLmI/AAAAAAAABnc/uXil3kBf95o/s400/DSC_0521.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542962999659146850" border="0" /></a>I think Prissy Pants sorta hates me when I put her little coat on her.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPXf-YljI/AAAAAAAABnU/MFP2dZM0zFQ/s1600/DSC_0540.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPXf-YljI/AAAAAAAABnU/MFP2dZM0zFQ/s400/DSC_0540.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542962875269158450" border="0" /></a>Even 7th graders can't resist a day of snowball fights.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPKdOZrMI/AAAAAAAABnM/heJMRagCIN4/s1600/DSC_0519.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPKdOZrMI/AAAAAAAABnM/heJMRagCIN4/s400/DSC_0519.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542962651192732866" border="0" /></a>And Mama Milton?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPCJTW6_I/AAAAAAAABnE/TYoCViGQGYU/s1600/DSC_0524.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyPCJTW6_I/AAAAAAAABnE/TYoCViGQGYU/s400/DSC_0524.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542962508405861362" border="0" /></a>I snapped the pictures, and<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyO32A4JWI/AAAAAAAABm8/zqDXWNV06m4/s1600/DSC_0546.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOyO32A4JWI/AAAAAAAABm8/zqDXWNV06m4/s400/DSC_0546.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542962331429381474" border="0" /></a>prepared for Thanksgiving while the kids had a fabulous time playing with the neighbors.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">{thankful for snow days}</span><br /></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-44937569428311901652010-11-22T18:45:00.000-08:002010-11-22T18:58:54.200-08:00Thankful: Day twenty-twoIt's hard when you're first married and getting acquainted with your new family. Not that I'm newly married, hardly so, but I remember how much I wanted to impress Greg's Mom early on. To fit in.<br /><br />I have always been thankful to have a mother-in-law that has always let me be who I am, and do things my own way. I imagine, now that I have a son, how hard it must be to let go of your boy and watch as they ease into a life without you.<br /><br />So, happy birthday to the woman that raised my husband up to be the man he is today: Kind and smart and hard-working.<br /><br />Thank you.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOsrpZ4ojRI/AAAAAAAABm0/zkLEe1DCulg/s1600/342632718_75ea221979.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pN-139i0UQ/TOsrpZ4ojRI/AAAAAAAABm0/zkLEe1DCulg/s400/342632718_75ea221979.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542571756732583186" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">My mother-in-law, Marilyn, my sister-in-law, Nikki, & my niece, Adri<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Christmas 2006<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">{thankful for Marilyn}</span><br /></div></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28942997.post-80025013598421985612010-11-21T18:25:00.000-08:002010-11-21T18:31:20.307-08:00Thankful: Day twenty-one<div style="text-align: center;">*a brisk <del> wouldberunifIwasn'tbecomingasthmatic</del> walk by the river with Molly*<br /><br />*magical Chipotle guacamole lunch with Lori O*<br /><br />*delicious seafood for dinner*<br /><br />*pictures of falling snow <del>back home</del> north of us*<br /><br />*<span style="font-size:78%;">teeny, tiny <span style="font-size:85%;">nap, this afternoon*<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >{thankful for spontaneous joys}</span><br /></span></span></div>Lisa Wheeler Miltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07386193798727387546noreply@blogger.com3