tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41075872164594915352024-03-13T01:01:16.184-05:00The Pink Persimmon...ramblings from the human behind the Etsy shop...Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-9817063711690518172014-11-04T09:54:00.001-06:002014-11-04T13:47:53.102-06:00When Photos Don't Lie<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>I<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> just read a blog post entitled "<a href="http://motherhoodwtf.com/when-photos-lie/">When Photos Lie</a>" that talked about the way we portray ourselves/our families/our lives on social media, and how those pictures are often misleading because they tend to show the best moments of our lives, or even just the best moments of a given activity. As I sat here pondering that idea, I realized that maybe I'm a random oddball in that I tend to post an equal number of "look at how great my life is!" pics and "this is the shit I'm dealing with right now, dammit" pics. So, just for funsies, and in response to the "When Photos Lie" blog, I compiled a few of my favorite When Photos DON'T Lie pics from my Instagram account, mostly using my hashtags #dropkickthemoutthewindow #naughtylittlemonkeys and #dammitovaka.</span></div>
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Enjoy. (And read the ig captions for extra chuckles.)</div>
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Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-80885243807112952562014-05-02T05:30:00.001-05:002014-05-02T06:02:25.737-05:00A Postscript from Finau...I wrote a post for<a href="http://www.feministmormonhousewives.org/2014/05/the-miracle-laying-down-their-weapons-of-war/"> Feminist Mormon Housewives</a> about my experience with Tongan gang violence. I emailed Finau what I had written before I posted it, and after speaking with him tonight, he asked me to add a few of his thoughts. Rather than add them to my original post, I decided to post them here. I just went ahead and put up a screenshot of his email reply so that if any of the boys or his family are reading this, you can see what he wrote to you directly from him. <br />
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Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-87970067431133694962014-04-03T09:21:00.001-05:002014-04-03T09:21:52.162-05:00Moving Forward<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Last night I only slept for about three hours. I went to bed around nine, but I tossed and turned and didn't fall asleep until well into the night. I knew today was coming, and I've been waiting for it with equal parts anticipation and dread. At 8:45 this morning, my divorce was finalized and I am no longer married to Finau. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As I reflect upon the last five years, while I can't say that I have absolutely no regrets, I can honestly say that the overwhelming emotion that I'm feeling today is gratitude. Although this is never the outcome one hopes for at the onset of a marriage, I'm grateful for the opportunity that I had to be Finau's wife. I'm grateful for the things that he taught me, the lessons I had to learn for myself while we were together, and most of all I'm grateful that because of him I was given the five greatest blessings of my life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So, although today is a day tinged with sadness and some regret, it is also a day of great gratitude. And as I move forward, I will strive to look at the past with compassion and to the future with hope. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQnVBND-Ou4e_-C9vO8S5ON5dvCbAdzjDcL4Rq34UseLd4g8EacpeMzja-ti3JSDYhE776VLWWzXIfLJjSw8M8xXY7lEc2r4Avz1wI53GdHihvHjtQwRRYoHGzcoehD_yEkDL1KhSdgQ/s640/blogger-image-1880340848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQnVBND-Ou4e_-C9vO8S5ON5dvCbAdzjDcL4Rq34UseLd4g8EacpeMzja-ti3JSDYhE776VLWWzXIfLJjSw8M8xXY7lEc2r4Avz1wI53GdHihvHjtQwRRYoHGzcoehD_yEkDL1KhSdgQ/s640/blogger-image-1880340848.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-36343560066481686862014-01-31T02:04:00.000-06:002014-01-31T06:44:10.384-06:00Birthday Musings...
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, it’s my birthday. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last night, I was lying in bed talking to an old
high school friend, and I made the comment that I feel old. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, when I talk to this particular friend of
mine, I inevitably revert back to my late-1990s self and suddenly I’m 18 years
old again, in all my blissfully ignorant innocence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I like remembering what it was like to be 18: Back when the most
stressful part of my day was trying to decide which outfit looked cutest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back when my family life was simple, and I
hadn’t yet lived through my parents’ divorce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Back when having children was something I thought about with an eye to the
semi-far distant future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back when I
thought I was worldly, but I see now that I was incredibly innocent and
surprisingly sheltered from the darker parts of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not gonna lie…getting older is a weird
business. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I look in the mirror
and am surprised to see an old lady in a fat suit staring back at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that really me?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yep…it’s you alright.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Own it, girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Seriously, people, I am 35 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As in…half a decade away from 40.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What the hell, man?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When did I
get so old, anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think back to high school, and realize that, for me, high
school was SEVENTEEN FREAKING YEARS AGO!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just…wow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I totally loved high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most people talk about how college was so
much fun, but if I had to pick a time in my life that was the most fun, I think
I’d choose high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I miss
my high school self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything in my
world seemed so much more black and white then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve always considered myself kind of a shades of gray type of person, but
the fact is, I really had no idea what the heck gray even looked like 17 years
ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I think I’ve always had an
open mind, when I was in high school, I hadn’t been exposed to any ideas that
really stretched me or made me seriously explore what I had been taught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, it’s only been in the past couple of
years that I’ve felt compelled to truly examine my beliefs and figure out for
myself if I genuinely believe what I’d always been told was true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frankly, it’s been an incredibly painful
progression, but I have learned so much about myself that I feel like the pain
is a necessary part of a genuinely beautiful process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So…now that I’m practically over the hill, what have I
learned that’s worth mentioning?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve learned that humans are amazing creatures that can do some really hard things. In particular, I've learned that<em><u><strong> I</strong></u></em> can do hard things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, lots of hard things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, lots of hard things over a fairly long
period of time…on almost no sleep, with snot and occasionally poo on my
clothes, and without completely losing my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lots of people look at all my runts and say, “Man, I don’t know how you
do it!” and my reply is always, “It’s amazing what you can do when you don’t
have a choice!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hahaha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, but, for real, y’all…when the girlies
were little, I learned that there was a surprising number of things I could do
with one – or sometimes even two – human beings hanging from my boobs enjoying
a nice snack or meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned that I can handle being the sole responsible adult in a house where 3 toddlers had a
stomach bug that caused copious amounts of vomit and diarrhea, all while I was 6 months
pregnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(My mom and Bryan timed their
vacation perfectly, so as to avoid all the fun of Barf and Poo Fest 2012…by far
the worst barf and poo experience of my life thus far.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned how to comfort a 2 year old who
missed his daddy and didn’t understand why he wouldn’t be back for a long, long
time, and I learned to humbly and *hopefully* graciously accept more help than I’ve ever
been able to give or can ever hope to pay back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I learned that its ok to need people, that I can’t do everything by myself,
that interdependence is often superior to independence, and that my Heavenly
Father and my Savior remember me even when I’m so focused on just surviving
another day that I forget to appropriately remember them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With God, all things are possible, and we can
do hard things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think I’ve also learned a lot about relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly, I’ve learned what not to do, but I
like to think I’ve learned a little about what works, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of you know by now that I filed for
divorce. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was one of the hardest, but
most necessary things I’ve ever done, and I’ve learned so much as I’ve dealt
with this struggle in my life. I’ve learned that you can’t love anyone enough
to make them love you back the way you need to be loved if they don’t want,
or don’t know how, to do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
learned that loyalty isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be…that for loyalty to
be binding and precious, it can’t be one-sided, and that one-sided loyalty is
really just sad, not noble or honorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve learned that I am capable of acting in ways that embarrass me and
make me ashamed of myself when I am hurt and angry, and I think I’ve hopefully
learned how to better control that part of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My dad likes to tell his players’ parents at the beginning of each
season, “Everyone has a little crazy in them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Your job is to keep your crazy under control this season because I don’t
want to see it and it has no place here.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think I’ve learned to deal with my crazy, and I’ve learned how to
recognize the things that make me crazy and take care of myself so that they
don’t drive me to do stupid things that I’ll regret later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve learned that sometimes you have to put
others’ needs before your own, you have to let go of things you can’t control,
and I’ve learned that letting go is not the same as giving up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That last one was an especially tough lesson
that I think I am relearning every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Letting go is not the same as giving up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I think about letting go, I think about William, the main character in the movie A Knight’s Tale,
who says, “It is not in me to withdraw.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I often feel this way – like no matter what, if I’ve made a commitment,
I cannot withdraw. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I think I’ve
learned a lot about letting go, I feel like my initial thought is always that
it is more honorable to go down with a sinking ship than to take a step back and
say, “Yeah…no, this really isn’t going to work for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s figure something else out, or I’m going
to have to let this go because the path we’re on is not acceptable to me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, my kids are the ones who forced me to
learn this lesson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no choice but
to learn it, because I quickly realized that these little monkeys are stuck to
me like glue, so if I go down with the ship, they’re coming along for the ride,
and THAT was not acceptable to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
in all of my relationships, I’ve learned that it’s important to remember that
you have to let go of the things you can’t control, and that letting go is not
the same as giving up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently, I was somewhat surprised to learn that I am
something of a feminist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the “burn
your bra” and “never shave your armpits or legs again” kind of feminist, (these
ideas don’t bother me, they’re just <strong>definitely not for me</strong>), but more of a, “Hm, this is
how I’ve always been, and now I realize that maybe feminism is a term that fits
my belief system” kind of feminist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
a long time, I resisted the feminist label.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then one day, I remember reading something derogatory that was written
about feminists, and thinking to myself, “Hey!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They’re talking about us!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then,
I immediately thought, “US?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait…am I a
FEMINIST?! What the freaking hell?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
yeah…SURPRISE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sure surprised the
heck out of me, I’ll tell you that much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Really, like I said, I think it just put a label on something that I’ve
been all along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve always had a strong
sense of “fairness” and I think feminism stems from the part of me that wants
for things to be fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A wise teacher
once told me, “Fair doesn’t mean that everyone gets exactly the same
thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It means that everyone gets
exactly what he/she needs in order to be successful.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love that, and when I think about feminism,
that’s what feels true to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t
all need exactly the same thing, but we all deserve to get exactly what we need
to be successful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, along those
lines, I’ve learned that we all need different things, and I have happily
discovered that I have a love of people that runs much deeper than I originally
thought myself capable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frankly, I’ve
always kind of characterized myself as a people-hater.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Ok, m</span>aybe that’s a little extreme, but for as
long as I can remember, upon meeting new people, my initial reaction was always
to dislike them until they showed me a reason why they were likable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weird, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, I think as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to try to love people
for who they are, as opposed to who I want them to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again with the letting go…it’s so much easier
to love people for who they are when you learn to let go of the idea that you
have any control over who they decide to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My oldest son teaches me this every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are so similar in many ways, and so different in others, and it is a
huge learning experience for me to learn to let go of the things I can’t
control when it comes to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes
I have to take a deep breath and say to myself, “It’s ok if he wants to wear
the same 3 shirts his Uncle Westlee got him on rotation every. single. day. for the rest of
his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s ok that he isn’t
super competitive and isn’t particularly interested in trying new things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let it go, Kalani.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s happy…be happy for him.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Admittedly, sometimes I totally lose it and
yell at him to get back upstairs and change his shirt, or I will spank him like
I spank the other kids when they don’t listen, and don’t think that 9 years old
is too old to be spanked, because it’s not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Or, sometimes I sign him up for things he’s already said he doesn’t want
to do because I’m just SURE that I know better, and that once he gets into it,
he’s going to LOVE it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes it
works out for me, but usually it doesn’t, and in those instances I have to just
chalk it up to another learning opportunity, another reason why I have to learn
to let go, and one more reason to remember that different people need different
things to feel successful, and that’s ok.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So...there you have it. Thirty-five years worth of wisdom boiled down to a single blog post. Thus spake Kalani, aka The Little Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe...</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL87xPs-hf49KfZBxQFgLo7y38_fc1cpRW1lfUd96km72SUnVxDzfDxTQ3YxEqesVxB-ifQ62hRoI4RDHiAvPNywdy9EWL_lwL1uw-3PVfUPyBFCh5AYxUVQpd0oNr8SIEKPfWlSKr8Kg/s640/blogger-image-1556526709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL87xPs-hf49KfZBxQFgLo7y38_fc1cpRW1lfUd96km72SUnVxDzfDxTQ3YxEqesVxB-ifQ62hRoI4RDHiAvPNywdy9EWL_lwL1uw-3PVfUPyBFCh5AYxUVQpd0oNr8SIEKPfWlSKr8Kg/s640/blogger-image-1556526709.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div>
Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-20077791281017060182013-12-05T10:40:00.000-06:002013-12-05T10:48:02.547-06:00Ode to My Naughty Runts<div>
So...I decided to take my parenting frustrations out on my new ukulele, and wrote a song about my runts to the tune of Jingle Bells. It's nothing spectacular, but it made me giggle, so I thought I'd share. Please keep in mind that I've only been playing the uke for a week, and anyone who has played guitar with me can attest to the fact that I super suck at strumming. Also, I have to go back and fix a few of the captions on the bottom, but I'll have to do that later because that's gonna take time I don't have today. So...all things considered, this isn't pro-quality or anything, but it's about as good as it's gonna get. Enjoy! :)</div>
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<a href="http://youtu.be/6R_GujMT9LQ">http://youtu.be/6R_GujMT9LQ</a>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-41501000888304290432013-10-19T06:07:00.001-05:002013-10-19T06:11:20.659-05:00Jammin' with PodSo, I posted a little clip of this from my Instagram account yesterday, but just for fun I am posting the whole song here on my blog. I love my dad and wish he and my brothers and sister lived closer to me so that we could sing together more often. I learned to love music from my parents, and I hope to pass that love on to my own children. Today Ilaiasi has his final audition for the Spring ISD honor choir, so I think it's fitting that my dad was able to come and sing with is last night. Love you Pod! :)<br />
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Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-81850929455294883852013-09-08T13:23:00.001-05:002013-09-08T13:23:14.134-05:00Stupid parents...So, I've been stewing on this for a few days, and I've just got to say something because it's eating at me.<br />
<br />
Two things have happened recently to put Spring ISD in the spotlight in a very negative way. The first unfortunate incident concerned one of Ilaiasi's favorite teachers of all-time, who was arrested on multiple counts involving child pornography. It was a complete shock, and was truly a heartbreakingly awful situation for all involved. Then, as we struggled to recover from the shock of this event, another horrific crime rocked our community when a stabbing at Spring High School left one student dead and four more injured. <br />
<br />
So, in this backdrop of turmoil and heartache, I have seen lots of different things pop up on my Facebook news feed, ranging from intense sorrow to gripping fear to passionate anger that borders on hate. I am a firm believer in the idea that feelings are a normal part of the human experience and that no one should be made to feel ashamed of their feelings, but I also believe that we do not have the right to act in any manner we choose, simply because of those feelings. I decided not to respond to many of the hateful and hurtful comments I saw on Facebook at the time because I acknowledge that many of the people writing them were justifiably scared about the events that transpired, and were likely not thinking as clearly as they might under normal circumstances. However, now that a few days have passed and people are (hopefully) a little calmer and more rational, I have a few thoughts I'd like to put out there.<br />
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More than once, I saw comments that went something along these lines:<br />
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<ul>
<li>"What is this world coming to? The parents of that murderer should be put in jail, too. These things happen because of lazy parenting!"</li>
<li>"...Stupid parents that can't monitor their damn kids!"</li>
<li>"I was thinking the same thing about the stupid parents..."</li>
</ul>
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And on and on and on it went in my news feed and in the comments of those posts afterwards. Like I said, I didn't comment on the posts at the time, because I know that sometimes in stressful situations people just need to vent. However, it's been eating at me all week, so I feel like I need to say something about it. This will probably make me even less popular than I am, and unfortunately I have never been the popular kid in my family -- my brothers and sister have always seemed to find their niche in the "popular crowd" no matter what the situation, but, alas, that is not so much my lot in life. But, I suppose that's a story for another time. Anyway...here we go:<br />
<br />
As a parent, a teacher, and, frankly, just as a human being, I found the assumption that the parents of the child who did the stabbing were lazy, remiss, and stupid to be incredibly offensive. And infuriating on multiple levels.<br />
<br />
Where do I even begin to approach this issue? I guess I'll start with myself. I know I'm biased, but, seriously, I have the world's most amazing parents. My mom is basically a saint and is good at anything she attempts. No lie. It's kind of ridiculous. Need a wedding cake? No problem...give my mom a minute and she'll whip one right up for you. Oh, you need a prom dress? Well, it just so happens that my mom is an expert seamstress as well. She also cuts hair, composes and arranges music, has unending patience, is calm and rational in emergency situations...the list never ends. <br />
<br />
And, growing up, I had the dad that everyone else wanted. He was the guy that came to eat lunch with me and bought all of my friends ice cream. He made time for me and played sports with me and talked to me like I was a competent, capable person. Daily, I would turn away kids from the neighborhood who knocked on our door -- not for me -- but to see if my DAD could come out to play. (Yes, I was a selfish snot and turned them away. He's my dad. MINE!! Sorry I'm not sorry.)<br />
<br />
So, obviously, we have now established that I have the most amazing parents on earth. But, guess what? Even with such awesome parents, I made big mistakes. HUGE. Ridiculously huge ones that impacted not just me, but other people as well. Just to put it out there for you so that you understand where I'm coming from on this, let me just say that my oldest son, Ilaiasi, was born out of wedlock while his dad was serving a 6 year jail term (yes, I was pregnant before he went to jail, so this scenario is most definitely possible). It made for an incredibly rough start to Ilaiasi's life, my parents had to step in and help me in ways that I'm sure they never anticipated they'd have to help any of their children, and I really struggled personally as a result of my actions. That said, I will never, EVER be sorry for that choice I made, as it brought me one of the five most important things in my whole life, but it definitely went against absolutely everything I was ever taught. Is that a reflection on my parents' poor skills? Does it make them stupid or lazy or unable to monitor their children? I'm going to say no, it does not. So, there's my first issue with that train of thought.<br />
<br />
I also take issue with this argument, not just from the perspective of a child, but from the perspective of a parent. Let's face it...parenting these days is really hard work. I know that every generation says this of the one that comes after, but, truly, I NEVER had to deal with so many of the problems that kids these days face at an incredibly young age. It's really, really scary. As a parent, I think I can honestly say that I am doing the very best I can. Many of you know that after about four years of staying out of trouble here in Texas, and being married, and having four more children, Finau went back to prison at the beginning of this year, and will be there for several years to come. So, basically, I am doing this whole parenting thing by myself. If you were to look at my kids on paper, not knowing anything about our personalities, values, beliefs, etc., I wonder what you would see? I'll tell you: you'd see kids who are growing up in a single parent home, with one parent in prison and the other working to try to support a large family on a tiny income; you'd see kids who are receiving free lunch at school, going to daycare, being driven around in a car that doesn't even fit their entire family. Basically, on paper, my kids are trouble waiting to happen. <br />
<br />
I'm sure you understand where I'm going with this, but in case you don't, let me just say that all of these strikes against my kids say nothing about who they are. I think most of you who have had the opportunity to interact with my children would say that they are normal, well-adjusted little people who are full of life and fun and mischief and happiness. Why is this, I wonder? I think it's because <strong><u>I</u></strong> was incredibly lucky, so <strong><u>THEY</u></strong> have been incredibly lucky. My kids are lucky that their mom has an extraordinarily loving and supportive family who took them in and is helping to care for them since she is a single parent. My kids are lucky that before our struggles, their mom was blessed with parents who stressed the importance of education, and pushed her to go to college and get a degree so that, should the need arise, she would be able to provide for her family. My kids are SO lucky that their mom has an exceptional support network that includes family, friends, church programs, and, now, government assistance. Without any one of these things, our story would be very different from what it is today.<br />
<br />
So, what's my point? My point is this: even the best of parents need help. And even the worst of parents are most likely doing the very best they know how to do. When kids do stupid, horrible things, yes, maybe their parents played a role in the ultimate resulting poor decision, but, with many of these kids (and I've seen a LOT of struggling kids as both a coach and teacher), I feel like we as a society are failing their parents, and then blaming them for the actions of their children. <br />
<br />
I was lucky. I was taught how to be a parent by loving, nurturing, caring parents. I learned what to value from moral people who were full of love and integrity. But, what of the many, many people who were not so fortunate as to have been born into such a home? Whose responsibility is it to teach them how to be good parents? And, should they fall on hard times like I did, who should they turn to for support if they don't have a family as loving as mine? Or awesome friends...or a great church family to rely on. You get the idea.<br />
<br />
Truthfully, I don't have the answer to those questions. They are hard questions with no immediate answers, and I don't presume to know how to fix this societal problem today. But, with all the things I don't know, there are a few things I do know. I know that blaming parents -- whether that blame is warranted or not -- is an exercise in futility. I know that the world needs less judgment and more compassion. I know that there are lots of parents out there who are doing the best they can and are still failing miserably, and that having others point out their shortcomings will not better the situation in any way. I know that even the best parents can have wayward children. For my LDS readers, who remembers Lehi and Sariah? Last I checked, they had some sons named Laman and Lemuel whose actions most certainly did not reflect the values and teachings of their parents. I don't know...I guess this big rant is just to say that maybe we should give each other a break. I would imagine the parents of the attacker are grieving just as much as the parents of the victims. I can't even fathom what it would feel like to be them. Hopefully I'll never have to know how they feel. To those who were critical, may you never have children who embarrass you, who go against your teachings, or who fail to live up to your standards. But, if you do, I hope that others are kinder in their judgments and comments than what I witnessed this week in the aftermath of the sad events at Spring High.Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-48799470692863047382013-08-13T15:03:00.001-05:002013-08-13T15:26:43.264-05:00So...this sucks...I'm starting this post with some pictures of my kiddos. I love these funny little people. They are my favorite people in the world...even on days when I want to dropkick them all out the window.<br />
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<br />
So, here they are...my reasons for living. I just adore my 5 sweet babies.<br />
<br />
And now...a new blog post.<br />
<br />
Well, if you're my Facebook friend, you've probably seen my posts about my knees. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, I'll do a quick recap and bring you up to speed. <br />
<br />
Basically, my knees have been bugging me off and on for a long time. With the multiple pregnancies/bedrest/weight gain of the past three years, I kind of thought (hoped) that my knee problems were due to hormones/inactivity/stress of additional weight, and thought (hoped) the pain would go away once the babies were born and I could be active again. However, Sofia is now almost 10 months old, and as I've tried to be more active, I've noticed that the more I try to get back into shape, the harder it is, and the more my knees hurt just doing basic everyday kinds of tasks. I can't kneel on the bathroom floor when I give my babies baths, or get up and down to play with them easily. Walking is usually ok, but trying to do anything that requires me to twist or turn quickly sends these horrid shooting pains from my knees down my legs. I tried exercise classes, but quickly realized that "pushing through the pain" only brought more pain, and it made me FINALLY give in and go to the doctor.<br />
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So, a couple of weeks ago I went to see an orthopedist. Upon arrival, they took some x-rays of my knees, then sent me to my little room to wait for the results. While I waited, one of the doctor's assistants came in and chatted with me, asked about what was going on, and basically told me that since I couldn't recall an exact moment of injury, I should probably just do the whole "RICE" (rest, ice, compression, elevation) treatment and hope for the best, and if that didn't work, I should come in and see them in a couple of months. <br />
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I almost cried. I told him that I had been around high level competitive athletics my entire life, that I knew the difference between being "hurt" and being "injured", and that this was not something I could just "RICE" away, or I wouldn't be sitting there talking to him. I think he was still kind of skeptical (and probably thought I was a raving lunatic since I was seriously on the brink of tears), so he said he'd let the doctor make any decisions, but that he didn't really see a need to do any further testing until after I tried the RICE business.<br />
<br />
So, I sat there trying to stay composed and wondering what the heck I could possibly say to get them to take me seriously, and in came the doctor. Thank goodness for him...he was AWESOME. He listened -- like, REALLY listened -- to what I had to say, and then he went to check on the results of my x-rays. When he came back, he told me that I had "significant degenerative arthritis inconsistent with my age" and that this was likely causing meniscal tears. Which, apparently, means that my knees are super old compared to how much my body should have aged. So, yeah...there ya go. Fun stuff.<br />
<br />
Anywhooo...I was given some cortisone injections and a prescription to go for rehab for a few weeks. And, that, my friends, brings us to today, and the reason for the title of this post, "So...this sucks..."<br />
<br />
Let me start by putting it out there that today I'm feeling super sad and sorry for myself. This might be a bummer of a post, so if you're prone to fits of depression, maybe stop reading here. I'll try to throw a joke or something in at the end to lighten the mood, but I'm just saying...I'm feeling rather melancholy, so who knows what's going to come out. But, I digress. <br />
<br />
I went to rehab today and got a chance to chat with the physical therapist for a bit. While he was very encouraging and kind, what he had to say really brought home the serious and permanent nature of my condition. "Condition." He emphasized that word. He particularly wanted me to understand that unlike an injury, which can often be rehabbed until it heals and you can resume similar activities to what you did before you were injured, the "condition" of arthritis cannot be healed, but, rather, must be managed. It's a seemingly small difference that has monumental consequences. In a nutshell, he told me outright that my volleyball playing days are over. Losing weight, strengthening my knee, stretching...all of these things will likely delay the speed with which my knees degenerate, and may improve the symptoms temporarily, but this pain is my new lifelong buddy, and "pushing through" the pain will not fix the problem this time. Rather, it will just cause additional pain. Bummer.<br />
<br />
As I mulled over what this prognosis meant for me, something that kept popping up in my mind was the millions of little memories I have of playing volleyball and being active with my dad. From the time I was tiny, my dad took me with him to his volleyball games. We would pepper on the sidelines, race each other in the hallways at church where we played into the wee hours of the morning, he showed me how to jump, and taught me by example how to hit and block and not be afraid of hitting the floor. <br />
<br />
And, in an instant today, I realized that my girls will never have these memories with me. It took my breath away, and, admittedly, I cried. Ok, I bawled like a little baby in my car as I drove home from rehab. The pain in my knees is real and it really hurts, and I'm sad that I'll most likely never be able to do lots of the things I love anymore. But as sad as that seems, and as physically painful as this is, that pain is nothing compared to the realization of how much I am actually losing by not being able to play with my kids. I'm heartbroken.<br />
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So, I guess I don't really know what the purpose of this post is, other than maybe to vent and get this out because up to this point it has been sitting, heavy and sour, in the pit of my stomach. Seriously, guys, I'm so, SO sad. What do I do? I know that I can't dwell on this or I'll just be bitter and angry about it. I've been really working on putting my trust in God and trying not to force things to happen how <u><strong><span style="color: white;">I</span></strong></u> want them to, and instead focusing on stepping back and letting things unfold the way that my Heavenly Father wants them to, but, seriously, I'm kinda pissed. Throughout all of the rough times I've experienced in the past several years, I can honestly say that I've never thought "why me?" Admittedly, sometimes I've thought, "why the hell is this taking so long to resolve when I'm doing everything I know how to do to make things better for myself and my kids?" or "what more can I do to speed this trial along so that I can get through it and be grateful for it?" But, I never questioned why I had to go through the things I've been through...until today. WHY ME? WHY CAN'T I PLAY WITH MY KIDS? I don't even care about not being able to do things for my own pleasure anymore, but I just can't wrap my head around the idea that I won't be able to do the things with my babies that I loved to do with my parents. It just seems so unfair -- to me AND to them. <br />
<br />
So...this sucks...<br />
<br />Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-20508902124227971912013-04-23T14:59:00.000-05:002013-04-23T15:33:56.651-05:00BraverySo, after almost a year on hiatus, I randomly got an Etsy sale yesterday. Shocking and exciting since I didn't even realize I still had stuff listed for sale. I vaguely remember relisting some pieces at some point just before or after Christmas, but since I haven't been actively keeping up with it, I totally forgot I even had items to sell. Anyway, the Etsy sale made me think about my little blog, so here I am once again. <br />
<br />
This past year has been a doozy. Lots of hard things have happened in my life, but with those difficulties I have learned and grown so much. I'm not going to pretend that I'm completely grateful for all of these hard times, but I do have hope that at some point in the future I will be, and at this juncture I am already learning to be grateful for the experiences that have forced me to grow and think and expand my understanding in ways I never would have otherwise. <br />
<br />
You may or may not know that Finau is back in jail and will probably be there for a while. He says it looks like no more than 3 1/2 years...give or take a few months. This means I'm flying solo trying to provide for our five kids on my own without any support from their dad. So, that's been hard. The 4 babies are still so tiny and get sick so easily that putting them in daycare and working outside of the home is not presently a realistic option for me, so I've had the extremely humbling experience of moving back into my mom's home, applying for and receiving government assistance, and also getting some help from my church. To say it's been rough feels like the understatement of the century. It's extremely challenging to go from being self-supporting and really kind of thriving and excelling in your professional life, to being completely dependent on the kindness of family, friends, and the government to help you care for your family. I see my friends post random angry and abrasive memes or comments on Facebook about "freeloaders" and people who live off of the government, and I cringe inside and think to myself, "they're talking about me and they don't even know it." Watching my mom and Bryan (and other family members, friends, acquaintances...the list is really so vast and help has come from so many unexpected people and places that I couldn't even begin to name everyone) throw thousands of dollars my way to bail me out of car payments so that I'll have something to drive my little troop around in, buy diapers for my kids, enroll Ilaiasi in sports programs...I'm overwhelmed with gratitude, but it's so hard and sad and depressing for me to feel like I am unable to provide for my little family. I don't really want to focus on the sadness, though, because, while real and important to my life, it is most certainly not the only, or even the most pervasive, feeling I've experienced throughout this difficult period.<br />
<br />
I feel like I've grown more in the last six months than I had in most of the rest of my life combined. I've had to ask some really hard questions and accept some even harder answers. I've been working through some things that I'd really rather not have dealt with, but I'm still alive, I'm still as sane as I've ever been (which, if you've ever been to my house while I'm trying to get four babies to go to sleep at night, you know is actually a pretty impressive accomplishment!), and I'm moving forward. It's been a struggle to get to the point of being ready to move forward, and sometimes I wish I didn't have to go through all of the things I've been through in order to get to this point, but by trudging through this messy part of my life, I feel like I've become a stronger, healthier, happier person than I would have otherwise been. And this experience has given me a new and greater appreciation for bravery and for courageous people.<br />
<br />
As I've assessed my relationships, I've come to realize how many truly brave and courageous people I know. I'm so impressed with people who are unafraid and unashamed to be themselves and to show their authentic self to the world. Friends and family, old acquaintances and newfound bosom buddies...so many amazing people in my life have shown me through their example what it means to be brave and strong and honest, even in the face of rejection or disproval or the unknown. The deeper I've looked into myself, the more I realized how scared I've been and how much I had closed myself off to the world. My life was so chaotic that I didn't want to let anyone in, didn't really even want to let my guard down enough to let MYSELF see what a mess I was in, so I hid behind my babies and made excuses for why I couldn't interact with others (ok, being real here, much of it was not an excuse...it's hard and time consuming work taking care of 4 kids that are 2 or younger. Just sayin.) But, I've slowly started doing things that scare me again. I've started, little by little, putting myself out there and I've risked letting people in again. And, guess what? Nothing horrible has happened because of it. In fact, for the first time since before Ovaka was born, I have friends again...the kind that you actually go out and do stuff with and talk to just because you want to chat. I don't feel alone anymore. Even when I'm the only one I know going through the things I'm going through, and even when I know my opinions and ideas set me apart from the rest of the group, I no longer feel like I'm trying to survive this life alone. And, honestly, in my mind I knew I was never alone. There were always people willing to help, willing to listen, willing to lighten the load if I would let them. But, for whatever reason, I didn't feel like I could unload any of what I was carrying without my entire life crashing down around me. Then one day, it all came crashing down anyway, and I realized that "this, too, shall pass" and that really I never was in control to begin with, so I needed to let go and let God do his thing. Once I FINALLY got this concept through my thick skull, I started seeing all of the quiet heroes in my life. So many of you are bravely facing your own giants and are doing so with so much grace and class and serenity. Others of you impress me with the brutally honest way that you go about living your life in spite of everything you struggle with -- and I appreciate the way that you let others into your struggles and allow me to watch you make sense of your own struggles so that I can emulate you in trying to make sense of mine. So, thank you to all the unsung heroes in my life who have shown me how to be brave again. Thank you to those of you who have courageously let your voice be heard, even when you knew your opinions and ideas would be unpopular. Thank you to my friends and family who have shown me how to soldier on in the face of adversity. Your example has not gone unnoticed, and you have been a light to me during a very dark time.<br />
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My little post of gratitude wouldn't be complete without acknowledging how grateful I am for my children. These cute little monsters have kept me going when all I really wanted to do was go lay in bed and never get out. I am so, so, SO grateful for the way they save my life every day by giving me something wonderful and hilarious and beautiful to live for. They fill my life with so much LIVING, and I just adore them. I will be forever grateful for the opportunity I've had to be their mom.<br />
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Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-61234542881881177222012-10-16T10:44:00.000-05:002012-10-16T10:44:39.390-05:00SHE'S HERE!!!After what to me seemed like a VERY long 9 month wait, I'm happy to announce that our little Sofia Sue has finally arrived! My new sweet girlie was born yesterday, October 15, 2012, at 1:06 p.m. She weighed 8 lbs 10 oz and is 21 in long, and I, for one, am completely in love with this beautiful little lady already!<br />
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Sofia has lots of soft, curly dark hair, but almost no eyebrows. She has the most heartbreaking squeaky high pitched cry that has the super sad quality of Kamila's, but with the volume of Elva Kalea's. Her eyes are light right now...my mom and I are hoping that one of her grandchildren finally got green eyes like their grandma, but it's still a little early to tell. Regardless of eye color, we're so very happy that she's here and healthy!<br />
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My labor with Sofia was different than any of my others. With each of my other children, once my water broke, the baby/babies arrived within about 15 minutes to half an hour. I assumed this one would be similar, but after my doctor broke my water around 8:45 a.m., my labor progressed very slowly and the nurse kept commenting about how "high" Sofia was. In other words, the contractions were not making her progress down into the birth canal. So, that was unfortunate. Also, to add another layer of discomfort to the situation, my nurse had a nursing school student shadowing her...lucky me! I love having people learn new skills by shoving their hand into my vagina. <br />
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IT.IS.AWESOME. <br />
NOT. <br />
Definitely NOT awesome. <br />
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But, nursing student jokes aside, my actual certified nurse really WAS awesome. I feel very fortunate to have had her because she was the one who got Sofia into position for delivery. After about 3 1/2 hours of non-productive labor, my nurse checked me and said that she felt like Sofia was "sunny-side up," meaning that she was facing the wrong direction for delivery, which is why she remained so high up in my uterus and wasn't decending like she should have. So, she had me lay on my side for what was literally like maybe 45 seconds, Sofia turned and dropped into position, and VOILA! a baby was born mere minutes later! Happy day!<br />
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Another fun thing about Sofia's birth is that she was the first of my babies that they placed directly on my chest after she was born. That was really fun. My other ones were whisked away to be cleaned and weighed and measured before I had a chance to hold or see them, so I was grateful for the little bit of time I got to spend with Sofia before they got down to all of the technical stuff. Thanks to my mom, I got some really good pictures of Sofia and me just after she was born:<br />
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So, there you have it, folks! Peanut #5 is officially part of the Tukuafu family. We love you sweet Sofia Sue!!Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-16461565069432794672012-09-11T13:47:00.000-05:002012-09-11T13:47:44.345-05:00Summer 2012 RecapSo, it's been quite a while since my last post. There have been lots of changes in my life that prompted me to stop writing for a few months, but for the past few weeks I've been feeling a need to get back to blogging -- if only to document the wonderful things that happen in my life so that I can look back and smile at them when I need a quick "pick me up." So, here I am again...<br />
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Since my last blog post was way back in April, I thought a Summer 2012 recap would be an appropriate place to start back up. I guess the easiest way to recap will be through pictures and captions (after all...pictures ARE worth a thousand words, right?):<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer started off on an exciting note. After picking Ilaiasi up on the last day of school, we went straight to my ultrasound appointment and found out that we are expecting another GIRL in October!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last day of school was also Ilaiasi's 8th birthday, so, of course, a trip to Chuck E. Cheese's was in order.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And we can't forget the cake and ice cream. Ilaiasi cut his own cake this year...which was...well...<em>interesting</em>. ;)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We took a trip to the Children's Museum of Houston.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilaiasi had fun building and launching paper rockets.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilaiasi was baptised on the first Saturday in July.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of cousins from Utah made it down for his big event!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pod came down from Dallas.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunny, Steven, and Westlee also came down for the weekend...it was so fun to have everyone here!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mid-July 2012 will forever be known as "Barf and Poo Fest 2012." Ovaka and the girlies spent the better part of a week and a half in the tub, while their lucky mother spent this time cleaning lots and lots and LOTS of barf and poo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poor little sickie.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bHbhMgD19XfwuF3ruSoZr-IuwCffLCqT8v3s0-PP-piiG8kNi_dr5aWGkQ4GKJ6d91ejz8jwLaxxeNJKoyAT_ecVMp48iVa6pUtkGI-HoSyCmFo4oLb8NeTGSvooFCSm2WHQJtbR23g/s1600/358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bHbhMgD19XfwuF3ruSoZr-IuwCffLCqT8v3s0-PP-piiG8kNi_dr5aWGkQ4GKJ6d91ejz8jwLaxxeNJKoyAT_ecVMp48iVa6pUtkGI-HoSyCmFo4oLb8NeTGSvooFCSm2WHQJtbR23g/s320/358.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilaiasi is the World's Best Helper. Seriously. This kid is amazing. He was so helpful and kind to his sick siblings.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PN5mtWZBTmao_mV1z8adK6fWSZS5I56BiJgUnXSOCCRAcyyYUalTNApwFuWX1M2e7RnVQJ525JuEWE49XTiHMi7Bh43mb6gz6-JIOBUo3CL3yO1C99s8frKKk9zi4qCW9jouqLE6ElI/s1600/348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PN5mtWZBTmao_mV1z8adK6fWSZS5I56BiJgUnXSOCCRAcyyYUalTNApwFuWX1M2e7RnVQJ525JuEWE49XTiHMi7Bh43mb6gz6-JIOBUo3CL3yO1C99s8frKKk9zi4qCW9jouqLE6ElI/s320/348.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another sad, sick baby picture.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid0WlguHH9FI5U_-w-Czc6eMgKjzVTjph_z8rKA_L_VBgdq-RRrdRmk6mqvcIiO3rY5KxvhGUOkYwQlG-zxliXF9qDqf67Ic7Y4T3buS_WDTo6WfOpnrHO2O4Hdeo27t6RCdfhOhg-wL0/s1600/366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid0WlguHH9FI5U_-w-Czc6eMgKjzVTjph_z8rKA_L_VBgdq-RRrdRmk6mqvcIiO3rY5KxvhGUOkYwQlG-zxliXF9qDqf67Ic7Y4T3buS_WDTo6WfOpnrHO2O4Hdeo27t6RCdfhOhg-wL0/s320/366.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barf and Poo Fest 2012...not the best week of my life.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORgpBf37ZlUVckSj4pNu86g2CioD_s8kahzY0ud2pCSD8N9eS8gBai1QNiKUPD8ARTZTsZudSUTa5xM9kKrLjwF2mFBJPLCkEfe48oqHj-nFR9Y1BASg2gFoM2-d1VnU0QUduW2-sLQo/s1600/486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORgpBf37ZlUVckSj4pNu86g2CioD_s8kahzY0ud2pCSD8N9eS8gBai1QNiKUPD8ARTZTsZudSUTa5xM9kKrLjwF2mFBJPLCkEfe48oqHj-nFR9Y1BASg2gFoM2-d1VnU0QUduW2-sLQo/s320/486.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">During the last week of July and first week of August, the kids and I went to Salt Lake City to visit Finau's family.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-VJ2hZZ6bWmHXQz8pxMwlKMKQAWZMzlN_3IReUhV_P35iAgKi-ZogBDzs9Y0CiLraQNyYtRp0gXsyJVgry8MgykpvKso-dXdeh57ij9z2DTfb6t1J0S843HqilzRXuVuFdqAdnmH7fcU/s1600/436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-VJ2hZZ6bWmHXQz8pxMwlKMKQAWZMzlN_3IReUhV_P35iAgKi-ZogBDzs9Y0CiLraQNyYtRp0gXsyJVgry8MgykpvKso-dXdeh57ij9z2DTfb6t1J0S843HqilzRXuVuFdqAdnmH7fcU/s320/436.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilaiasi got a nice little war wound at the beginning of our trip that has finally healed after over a month of bleeding, tenderness, and swelling. Ouch!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPA67GWyo2o-_68p04M7AT-VYAIICFgiWJkPSUWcYEY_OVTPkMnY58U950mQoIPj06X244Yi7agz4rkO2zD3US4RmBylwPo7S0onZ55gC0YoXSvrehIP4Cr3OuMwjX0B3vRVFnhtw5J2A/s1600/487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPA67GWyo2o-_68p04M7AT-VYAIICFgiWJkPSUWcYEY_OVTPkMnY58U950mQoIPj06X244Yi7agz4rkO2zD3US4RmBylwPo7S0onZ55gC0YoXSvrehIP4Cr3OuMwjX0B3vRVFnhtw5J2A/s320/487.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Ovaka with his best buddy/mortal enemy Olivia. He had a blast with all of his cousins, but he and Olivia were super funny together because their personalities are so similar.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8IWa1VzX7gyUSAWgnvfUBise1qFbUHW5aaOSytAAMaPPdwwygyyJpqgsetiPNLaW8tL595AtYRpSBmgMCTu4ZZ9fSJFgywnX32w4aZSdLG9A1Eo-gEgICq0r4NIwK8d_mFcsONH4ijfM/s1600/438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8IWa1VzX7gyUSAWgnvfUBise1qFbUHW5aaOSytAAMaPPdwwygyyJpqgsetiPNLaW8tL595AtYRpSBmgMCTu4ZZ9fSJFgywnX32w4aZSdLG9A1Eo-gEgICq0r4NIwK8d_mFcsONH4ijfM/s320/438.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elva Kalea got plenty of love from Finau's sister Elva and all of Elva's kids!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDIyanuBsMSxlvOo7XZ0Ja2eohi1kNTPW6vIwAqQ-YSQWZuHazy8sihhQdeaJemkAKDJlDP6zCNX16_sPWhpGyX1HUAbZOQV-tWxeICTrIN0ESuhs-5_q93Xh8ZBeeCssattjlmmr15g/s1600/430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDIyanuBsMSxlvOo7XZ0Ja2eohi1kNTPW6vIwAqQ-YSQWZuHazy8sihhQdeaJemkAKDJlDP6zCNX16_sPWhpGyX1HUAbZOQV-tWxeICTrIN0ESuhs-5_q93Xh8ZBeeCssattjlmmr15g/s320/430.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Billy Goat at lunch time...need I say more?</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVk316m3aRL7EOJtJEcelNonybsLv7ICRjxKbPktRbwSPTyoNNf920YUPpPifQlN2BtK7IF5YxVGtcGWHOu5pZcKrFfs61fN6S5BnR5OvM5kG1L-_PL5FT7ulV87HTGbCleFUGCDPp7jI/s1600/458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVk316m3aRL7EOJtJEcelNonybsLv7ICRjxKbPktRbwSPTyoNNf920YUPpPifQlN2BtK7IF5YxVGtcGWHOu5pZcKrFfs61fN6S5BnR5OvM5kG1L-_PL5FT7ulV87HTGbCleFUGCDPp7jI/s320/458.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girlies were spoiled by all of their cousins. This is Kamila with Finau's sister Tina's daughter, Za'rya.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEVcRZM12IBr-cC5QDuxfVkDPGk86hFoMuBnYMGWPAtfxDwIKjGGEdfKnwhw477CG4tlVlTpCARCn_2IS3j-zAI-pyqqPlOITR2msMgFY8BXt1_APeLQWCWfpZrbXOcwJ_VwHWjyOciw/s1600/457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEVcRZM12IBr-cC5QDuxfVkDPGk86hFoMuBnYMGWPAtfxDwIKjGGEdfKnwhw477CG4tlVlTpCARCn_2IS3j-zAI-pyqqPlOITR2msMgFY8BXt1_APeLQWCWfpZrbXOcwJ_VwHWjyOciw/s320/457.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This cutie pie with The Goat is named after Finau, and his dad is Finau's brother, Vili.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrK0HhRXDC9CNP55iCu_6I6X-1W9dD57vn660ZvGUkCVnCkkuVVAHkZXZax0FPDBlUlLnKWCMdDisGqgyxErRJiVdLB0Prr6BG7u_MMhS7zBjUGptiwXUq5ouEJ2iDS5k1mIIMsbyos4/s1600/459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrK0HhRXDC9CNP55iCu_6I6X-1W9dD57vn660ZvGUkCVnCkkuVVAHkZXZax0FPDBlUlLnKWCMdDisGqgyxErRJiVdLB0Prr6BG7u_MMhS7zBjUGptiwXUq5ouEJ2iDS5k1mIIMsbyos4/s320/459.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another of Vili's kids -- Tivinia -- who spoiled my girlies rotten! She and her sister had the "magic touch" and were good at getting my girls to go to sleep!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0-vFw87CkRMuI6EQy2ZUDsyyXvx_B_MGvV1qvykbWvTA-9NZSJj0rNAouk7ZwGh2Up51TlaeBijlT_xCzPEnEUUvayJLHuXn-yq7PkaRngRDaLyXzNZitQm_nN-yesC8L3P5DY351Fo/s1600/440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0-vFw87CkRMuI6EQy2ZUDsyyXvx_B_MGvV1qvykbWvTA-9NZSJj0rNAouk7ZwGh2Up51TlaeBijlT_xCzPEnEUUvayJLHuXn-yq7PkaRngRDaLyXzNZitQm_nN-yesC8L3P5DY351Fo/s320/440.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ovaka, the girlies, and my best friend Angela's daughter, Marla. It was so good to see them while we were in town!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC77NGUr9k8zIIFlK_IBjnVlaUloz_U5SaGPLvRHIYCSZOhd3WsuDlc4lND41opdLzTz36ILYgmnV9H42Gq7G6BHAZlXWCLCYWYpNhXdAlJ5Kkqdy9kMlwlWpIlYkQ8kkUjUsxgbnYz6M/s1600/471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC77NGUr9k8zIIFlK_IBjnVlaUloz_U5SaGPLvRHIYCSZOhd3WsuDlc4lND41opdLzTz36ILYgmnV9H42Gq7G6BHAZlXWCLCYWYpNhXdAlJ5Kkqdy9kMlwlWpIlYkQ8kkUjUsxgbnYz6M/s320/471.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what it looks like when naughty little goats won't be quiet during church. Ear flicking is a swift and just punishment for noisy irreverent monsters! :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFNkY3dZ98w5uJyCjtW2F3eusOPNKgAl36l29Pcekm9p6xfJTiPPja2ofAdesegf2BsHMzUeY3YH19tQaffR5k5v0P21K7Id7CA558B0AXNNVgzU5wfGcr0nt73-gIbILr3D1jqvRfeeE/s1600/464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFNkY3dZ98w5uJyCjtW2F3eusOPNKgAl36l29Pcekm9p6xfJTiPPja2ofAdesegf2BsHMzUeY3YH19tQaffR5k5v0P21K7Id7CA558B0AXNNVgzU5wfGcr0nt73-gIbILr3D1jqvRfeeE/s320/464.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By the end of our Salt Lake trip, my four monkeys were exhausted. They had SO much fun with their cousins!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafJWO_xo8MMdgRx8FHlcaTsqSKiduSi-MiRD0YcJt5l31Hbj1kxsacVeVuP5P60RpsIpWOXfturgSnNfoEBYFK8_LIv0OrmJ8d2EfaUCOboNo2hZLJsGe_mA4zf7LHn1IKCaKEngNNtk/s1600/614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafJWO_xo8MMdgRx8FHlcaTsqSKiduSi-MiRD0YcJt5l31Hbj1kxsacVeVuP5P60RpsIpWOXfturgSnNfoEBYFK8_LIv0OrmJ8d2EfaUCOboNo2hZLJsGe_mA4zf7LHn1IKCaKEngNNtk/s320/614.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girlies are FINALLY eating baby food without problems. Milk, on the other hand, still gives them SERIOUS constipation. Yeah...probably too much info there. Sorry.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hIh_dDoXDLYkEdg8SkD6rLk2HYJKe0_y5oasbuFYpuzWgXTcXVmXhqcn3HQWJcEl0xW1WJeBSRJtVB6fiy0WsT8LL7jA9JLJQLdKGZDPclM_BdMrEPUEQrjZce6GfHx5FRmuvIPdYiA/s1600/686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hIh_dDoXDLYkEdg8SkD6rLk2HYJKe0_y5oasbuFYpuzWgXTcXVmXhqcn3HQWJcEl0xW1WJeBSRJtVB6fiy0WsT8LL7jA9JLJQLdKGZDPclM_BdMrEPUEQrjZce6GfHx5FRmuvIPdYiA/s320/686.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When we got home from Utah, the kids were happy to be reunited with Daddy. Finau was happy, too...can't you tell?! Hahaha...his face in this picture is awesome. It looks exactly like how I FEEL inside multiple times a day EVERY day! ;)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkUY3UPLwMlqis-7Y_6ACdb7De_Q7t8eWbrSWo3cYtO-ShpjWQwGcGel845dy6F0iGauK5aiak511w95je0Q3Bm9KHv1-3QTqveS87fqYvN3XTLkbKxPfBv_WyqpYyOo6k4G8THFT5Hd0/s1600/688.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkUY3UPLwMlqis-7Y_6ACdb7De_Q7t8eWbrSWo3cYtO-ShpjWQwGcGel845dy6F0iGauK5aiak511w95je0Q3Bm9KHv1-3QTqveS87fqYvN3XTLkbKxPfBv_WyqpYyOo6k4G8THFT5Hd0/s320/688.JPG" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently outdoor photo op's in Houston in the summer make my babies grumpy. Can't imagine why...it was only like 102 degrees that day with 90% humidity...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdwM6LJ_NWdJ7Mjr1R-297X5qBNqfLYenA9KLir62Ne_-kRy9Vojzhm8Eb0ekYXw_V8vHwIbf4s9nO7qdGVug67HMRXRKWX351e4qoI_LoIX98dIAXhI70qgz7aLVH4LQP7j7zONDOR70/s1600/687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdwM6LJ_NWdJ7Mjr1R-297X5qBNqfLYenA9KLir62Ne_-kRy9Vojzhm8Eb0ekYXw_V8vHwIbf4s9nO7qdGVug67HMRXRKWX351e4qoI_LoIX98dIAXhI70qgz7aLVH4LQP7j7zONDOR70/s320/687.JPG" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my girlies</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing special happened on this day...this is just one of my favorite pictures of the girls. I love how they always find ways to hold hands while they sleep.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had pictures taken of the runts right before Ilaiasi started back to school. Man, I love these kids!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, finally...the week school started back up, these little monkeys turned ONE! This year has flown by...I can't believe my girlies are a year old already!</td></tr>
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So, there you have it, folks. Our summer in a nutshell. Lots of good times with friends and family...who could ask for more??!Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-38641513910131417332012-04-19T18:03:00.001-05:002012-04-19T18:03:21.921-05:00Videos of the Runts...Today I just feel like sharing some videos of my funny little runts. All four of them are fun and funny in their own special way, and the twins are really starting to develop their own little personalities. <br />
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This first video is of Ovaka dancing. My boys love, love, LOVE to dance, and avidly watch the shows Shake It Up and America's Best Dance Crew searching for "new moves." Ovaka has started trying his hand at break dancing. It consists mostly of sitting on the floor, occasionally waving his booty or feet around, and then getting back up and dancing again. You'll get a good surprise if you watch this video all the way to the end -- he surprised even me with his exciting finale. Pretty sure it's an ABDC ending he picked up along the way. :)<br />
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</div>The next video is of my two boys playing in the water. This is very typical behavior for my boys: Ilaiasi teasing Ovaka, and Ovaka thinking it's great fun. So far, this has been a symbiotic interaction, with each child getting his needs met without annoyance or injury to the other -- Ilaiasi doesn't get bored because he is entertained by the fact that he can do crazy things to Ovaka, and Ovaka thinks they are having a grand old time playing together. However, I am constantly reminding Ilaiasi that he is older and bigger and needs to be careful because he could potentially hurt Ovaka's feelings if he teases him too much, or could really hurt Ovaka if he is too rough with him. After an incident this afternoon where Ilaiasi hurled a beachball full-speed at Ovaka's face, I also had to remind Ilaiasi that at some point it's likely that Ovaka will be equal to or bigger than him in size, and that little brothers don't forget earlier mistreatment very easily. It brought back memories of my brothers, who had some seriously funny all-out wars that sometimes turned a bit...physical. They pranked each other ALL the time. I remember coming home one day and my mom saying to me, "That glass of lemonade on the table looks SO good. I've been eyeing it all afternoon. But, I'm pretty sure that there's a good possibility it's PEE. The boys have been at it again, and I'm not willing to risk it." Hahaha. (For the record, I believe it turned out to be lemonade in the end, but could just as easily have been urine.) Inevitably, the pranks would escalate until one of the boys got mad, hit the other one, and a small scuffle ensued. It really freaked my mom out when the boys got into high school and were both bigger than her, because once that happened, she was pretty much powerless to stop them once a fight started. Luckily, they both have great senses of humor, and got over things quickly, so the actual fights were few and far between. Anywhooo....when I was talking to Ilaiasi this afternoon, it occurred to me that in a few years, I could be in the position my mom was in a few years ago. Yikes! But for now, I'm enjoying the fact that they love to play with each other, and I'm happy that Ovaka is oblivious to the fact that Ilaiasi is sometimes a little too rough or slightly unfriendly with him. This video makes me laugh every time I watch it because they are both having a great time together.<br />
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And, finally, here's a little video of my sweet baby girlies. They are just the funniest little things because they love to snuggle and are constantly touching each other and sucking on whatever appendage they can get their little lips on. Usually they go for each others' ears, fingers, or toes, but they are just as happy with hair, forearms, and necks. Funny, funny girls! Kamila has a new trick that you'll see a little bit of in the video: she loves to stick her tongue out. And my funny Ovaka makes a cameo...such a grump! You'll have to excuse my "mom-talk"...when I took the video, I didn't expect to be posting it on here. Otherwise, I would probably not have done all the background talking. ;)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/5P7AIWu19Ms?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-45565679625336371332012-03-20T08:03:00.002-05:002012-03-21T06:22:21.278-05:00Fitting in...So...it's been a while since my last post. I haven't felt much like blogging. It's a combo of having a lot going on, being super tired because of the three monkeys and their frustratingly irregular sleeping patterns, and being PREGNANT AGAIN and therefore feeling somewhat under the weather due to morning sickness and first trimester fatigue. That's right...we're having ANOTHER BABY! I figure, what's one more when you've already got 3, right? We were actively preventing, so this little one comes as a definite surprise, but although unplanned, this is most certainly not unwanted. It's funny, because about 5 years ago, Finau and I talked about how many kids we wanted to have, and he told me he wanted TEN. Yes, TEN. For those of you who don't know us well, you're probably about to find out way more than you ever thought you wanted to know about us, and be prepared because the upcoming info might throw you for a loop. Finau was in prison (yes, I said prison) serving a 6 year sentence at the time that he made the comment about wanting ten children. I didn't think ten was a very reasonable number, considering the circumstances, and so I told him that the way I saw it, we had one already, he used up six chances in the six years he would be absent, so I figured we had two kids, MAYBE three more in our future. Well...looks like the joke's on me. Ready or not...here they come! I'm definitely excited about the prospect of our new arrival...I'm just trying to figure out how we're going to fit four carseats into our car (we're not...we HAVE to get a bigger car), how I'm ever going to be able to leave the house on my own again (I'm not...at least not for a while. Slowly coming to terms with this concept. My loss of autonomy is probably the most difficult thing I've had to deal with thus far), and how we're ever going to provide for another tiny monkey when we're barely hanging on as it is (faith and a whole lot of prayer...that's pretty much all I got so far on this one!). So...number five it is! Can't wait to see your little face. :)<br />
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On a completely different, yet very interconnected note, this morning I've been lamenting the fact that I feel "stuck" between two cultures. Being half Tongan and half "palangi" (or "white"...specifically Swedish) is a tricky thing. I've been hesitant to blog about my feelings on the subject for a couple of reasons. Mostly, it's because this subject is very personal to me and it make me feel vulnerable and, well, the word NAKED comes to mind. I would say that I'm a fairly confident person, but this area of my life makes me feel extremely inept. The other reason I hesitate to blog about this is because I feel like no matter how delicately I treat the subject, it will inevitably cause offense to someone, and although confrontation doesn't really bother me, as of late, I've been trying really hard not to cause or go looking for unnecessary contention or offense. But, after much contemplation, I decided that, hey...this is my blog. These are my feelings. I'm not asking anyone to agree...or even to read this. So, if you don't want to hear my thoughts on being biracial, I'll let you know when to stop reading. (Not yet...I just thought of a mildly amusing story you might like to hear on your way out.)<br />
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One of the few "Tongan" things my dad did involved dating. I was the only person I knew who was frequently required to take my younger siblings with me when I went on dates. Now, I can't say for certain that this is a purely Tongan practice, but I do know that I was the only one out of my entire group of high school friends who left the house to go on dates or to go to parties with her six year old brother in tow. One of my very first dates was with this guy that I had been eyeing for quite some time. He was funny and good looking and popular, and was just someone that I definitely was excited about getting to know better. He had his own truck, and when he came to pick me up, he brought me a single red rose, which was, of course, the highlight of my young life up to that point. I remember my little brother Westlee, who was maybe in first or second grade at the time (just the same age as my sweet Ilaiasi is now, come to think of it!), asking if he could hold my rose. He was so excited to have it, and I remember his little eyes lighting up as he swished the rose back and forth like a sword. Well, unfortunately, in his overexcitement, his swish-swish-swishing got a little out of control, and with one fatal swoosh the beautiful rose went flying off its stem and, as fate would have it, hit my date squarely on the forehead. Alas. <br />
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I remember fighting to hold back the giggles that bubbled up as I watched the unfortunate scene unfold. I'm ashamed to admit that I frequently laugh at the MOST inappropriate things. This was no exception. My date was VERY put out about being smacked in the face with his offering, and was even more offended that, rather than chastise my baby brother, we instead had a good laugh at my date's expense. This was not one of the times that I was supposed to bring Westlee with me on my date, but I remember having the distinct feeling that I could never truly love someone who didn't think my baby brother was as hysterical as I did because it was entirely possible that Westlee would be hanging out with us more often than not.<br />
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Ok, this is where you people who don't want to read anything mildly controversial hop off the Pink Persimmon train and go back to Facebook or Pinterest or whatever you were doing previously because I'm about to share my experience with being biracial from my perspective, and I understand that not everyone is going to agree with me or like what I have to say. Hopefully, though, there is someone out there that can relate to this. Maybe someone will have insight to the struggles I've had, and will share something eye-opening and life-changing with me. I don't know exactly what I hope will happen...I guess I'm just tired of having all of this bottled up in my brain, and I need to unload it.<br />
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Like I said before, I've been thinking a lot lately about how being biracial makes me feel like I'm trapped between two cultures. It's hard. Really hard. Growing up, we lived out in the middle of nowhere. My interactions with the Tongan community were somewhat few and far between, and until high school, involved mostly just my extended family. I was not "raised Tongan." My knowledge of the Tongan culture was limited to a few Tongan words and songs, some yummy ethnic foods, and the occasional dances I learned for luaus or weddings. My dad was the best father I could ever have hoped for -- he was involved in my life, I knew he loved me, he was my coach and my friend and he taught me SO many things that have shaped who I am today. But, as far as the Tongan culture goes, it just wasn't a focus in our household, and he didn't teach us a whole lot about what is and is not socially acceptable for Tongans. As a result, I think I have a MUCH more liberal view of life than most Tongans would approve of. Some of my friends from the Tongan community will probably gasp as they read this, but here's a short list of very "palangi" things that I did growing up:<br />
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- I had more male friends than female ones. We hung out together on a regular basis, and my two very best friends from high school were both guys. Once I even went on an overnight camping trip with them and their parents. And one time, one of my guy friends ran away from home and spent the night at my house. My parents knew about it and called his parents to let them know where he was, but he stayed with us nonetheless. Gasp...I know. Scandalous.<br />
- I wore swimsuits to pool parties. And swam. In mixed company.<br />
- I watched tv with my brothers. And it wasn't the Disney Channel.<br />
- I wore shorts and skirts that didn't completely cover my knees, and was known to sport a tank top from time to time.<br />
- I didn't "stay at home with the girls" when my cousins came into town to visit. I went outside and played football and soccer and tag with the boys. <br />
- I dated. One-on-one dates, group dates, you name it. The guys I dated were all very respectful and were good people, and I had a blast. <br />
- I questioned why my parents did things. I was encouraged to ask questions if I didn't understand, and was rarely told that I had to do something "just because I said so." Questioning authority if something seemed amiss was not only acceptable, it was expected. It was not seen as disrespectful in our household...it was seen as part of the learning process.<br />
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These are just a few things that I thought of off the top of my head, but there are innumerable instances of other things that were completely normal to me growing up, that are big no-no's for a "good" Tongan girl. I didn't know they were abnormal or unacceptable until I got to college and started mingling with Tongans outside my extended family. It was very eye-opening to me to realize how much liberty I took for granted. I didn't realize that not everyone lived like me. And I certainly didn't realize that the way I grew up was not only frowned upon, but was considered "wrong." <br />
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It's a very strange feeling to be an "insider" and an "outsider" at the same time. I can honestly say that I've never felt uncomfortably different around any group EXCEPT for Tongans. It's so weird and hard to explain. I feel like I can walk into a room full of people of all ethnicities and feel like I can fit in, but if I walk into a room full of Tongans I'm like a fish out of water. I'm different. And not "different in a good way." Different in a "look at her...she doesn't act right" kind of way. One of the hardest things about the Tongan culture for me to grasp is the "I'm older, therefore, I'm right" mentality. Age is a very important thing to Tongans. Younger siblings are expected to defer to their older siblings no matter what, simply because they are older (which is fine because I'm the oldest, but it still doesn't sit right with me.) It is disrespectful to question or disagree with family members who are older than you, because they are to be respected simply because they are older. I understand the importance of respecting your elders, but I just can't wrap my head around this. I've seen people do things that they KNEW were wrong, simply because, to them, it was MORE wrong to go against what someone older than them said. I don't know...maybe I'm dense, but I just don't get it. To me, respect is earned by your actions, not simply by your birth order. I don't understand this part of Tongan culture, but I recognize that it is important and I respect that. It just doesn't work for me.<br />
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It's taken me a good 15 years to process the information and figure out for myself who I am and what I'm all about, but I feel like I can finally look at my two cultures objectively, take the good, leave the bad, and be ok with the fact that there will be many people who judge me and don't like what they see. The reason this has been brought into focus in my life is because I am trying to figure out exactly what I want to teach my children. Finau and I were raised SO differently, and we have different, often conflicting views of what we want to teach our children. It's a constant struggle, and I know it's not just because of the culture...every marriage has to find a balance between where each spouse came from and where they want to go together...but culture does play a big role in our parenting struggles. <br />
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I hope I teach my children that "different" doesn't equal "wrong." I always tell my volleyball players that there are lots of right ways to do things in volleyball. Some things are definitely wrong, but, for the most part, there are lots of right techniques that will give you desired results, and just because I have them do things one way, that doesn't mean that if their school coach asks them to do it another way then she is wrong. It's just different. I feel the same way about culture. When Finau tells me that our girls will never wear shorts, I just smile to myself and wonder what he's going to do when they start playing volleyball. I'm sure if he had it his way, they'd be playing in their warm-up sweat pants, but that's obviously not going to happen. And that's ok. I hope my children are respectful towards all people, and that they are considerate of their elders, but I hope they also learn to think for themselves and question the things that don't seem to make sense. I think you can disagree without being disrespectful, and I hope I teach my children that you don't have to agree with something to acknowledge that it is important to somebody else. Most of all, I hope my children learn to be loving and compassionate, and that they are able to fit into our two worlds more easily than I do. I hope they can learn all of the good things that I never knew about the Tongan culture from their dad, and still have room for my mostly "palangi" ways. And I hope that when the time comes, they will enjoy taking their siblings with them on their dates! :)Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-39224519601539417252012-02-07T07:49:00.002-06:002012-02-07T11:39:18.616-06:00It's Ok to be Sad...So, I've been feeling sad. I put off writing, hoping that week one of my little Happiness Project would lend itself to more happiness than it has thus far. However, it is now Tuesday, the 7th, and I have resigned myself to the fact that my first week did not go as planned. And after a good deal of contemplation yesterday, I realized that even though I am working on being happier, sometimes feeling sad is ok.<br />
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The past month or so has seemed like a big, long, drawn out, stressful trial for me. It started before Christmas, and is on-going, and I have been feeling this undercurrent of sadness that seems to always be just below the surface, eager to rise up and swallow any positive feelings I have if I'll let it. I'm thinking that's probably why I was drawn to the <u>Happiness Project</u> book when I saw it on the shelf. Something about the idea of working towards happiness -- and the concept that it DOES actually require WORK to be happy -- appealed to me. The author, Gretchen Rubin, begins her project by working on her energy, and I decided that it seemed a logical place for me to start also. Specifically, I want to work on eating healthier, getting more rest, and clearing away the clutter from my house to improve the atmosphere and energy in my home. <br />
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I realized rather quickly that my three babies have obviously not read <u>The Happiness Project</u>, and were definitely NOT on board with these resolutions I've made. In fact, after a week of trying to work on the resolutions, I've come to realize that maybe at this point in my life, these are not the most attainable or realistic goals I could have chosen. I mean, come on...MORE REST??!! SERIOUSLY?? Who am I kidding? Immediately upon making this resolution, both of my girls came down with ear infections. Which, in turn, resulted in lots and lots and lots and LOTS of cranky screaming at all hours of the day and night. You can probably guess that this is not the most effective sleep aid. And because they've been super needy, Ovaka, OF COURSE, has been like a human suction cup that doesn't want to let me go ANYWHERE alone, because CLEARLY if the other two are crying and want to be held, it only makes sense that he should cry and want me to hold him, too, right? So, these little curve balls coupled with the fact that I had already been feeling down about some other non-baby-related issues created a kind of energy-vacuum that seemed to suck what little energy I was previously able to muster right out of me.<br />
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But, my epiphany that it's ok to be sad came not because of the personal stress I've been feeling, but rather as a result of my contemplating the struggles of my loved ones. This has been a truly heartwrenching week for several of the people I care about, and I've been super sad for/concerned about many of my friends or family members who are struggling under much greater weight than the burdens I've been carrying. I have become aware of multiple friends who were/are pregnant and received devastating news about their unborn children, had both friends and family members lose close loved ones, and had friends or family members of friends suffer serious, life altering injuries. The trials of my loved ones have been weighing heavily on my mind, and last night as I thought of these people that I care so much about, I wondered how feeling sad because they were hurting fit into the grand scheme of my resolutions to be happier.<br />
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As I was turning this idea over in my mind and trying to reconcile the ideas of pursuing happiness vs feeling sorrow because of my own trials as well as the trials of my friends and family, a bunch of Bible and Book of Mormon verses started coming to my mind. It's funny, because it seems like the more I pursue happiness, the more open my mind is to spiritual ideology. Well, I guess that's not actually all that funny. Or surprising. It only makes sense that if "men are that they might have joy," (2 Nephi 2:25) and I am seeking to be happy and joyful, then greater spiritual awareness would be the natural consequence of striving to do something that God wants me to do. Anyway, most of the biblical verses that came to my mind were from the epistles of Paul. Oh, how I love Paul! I took a New Testament class at BYU that turned me into a big Paul superfan. I love his steadfastness. I love his unwavering resolve. I love that he threw himself wholeheartedly into the cause of whatever he believed to be right, and that he had the humility to recognize when he was wrong and change his course. His conversion brings to mind a saying that I've heard Oprah say many times. It is something along the lines of, "we do the best we can with what we know, and when we know better, we do better." Now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure she was quoting Maya Angelou. But don't quote me on that. ;) At any rate, there were several little nuggets of wisdom that Paul imparted to the Galatians and the Romans that bubbled up in my mind as I was thinking last night. <br />
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I was thinking about my Aunt Sue and my cousin Adam, who this weekend had to put their dog to sleep that had been their companion for the past 16 years. I was thinking how silly it seemed that I had been crying over a stupid dog that I didn't even particularly care for, and wondering why I was such a big crybaby. As I was tearing up YET AGAIN just thinking about how sad Sue looked when I saw her, a verse from Romans 12 (ok, ok, I had to look up the scripture...I am admittedly not a Biblical scholar, but I DID know that it was in the Pauline epistles!) came to my mind. In verse 15, Paul encourages the Romans to "rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep." AHA! This is the first part of my "it's ok to feel sad" epiphany. If we are instructed to "weep with them that weep," then obviously some sadness is acceptable. I had unwittingly been feeling guilty about the fact that my happiness project hadn't magically transformed my life into one big happy shiny never ending broadway musical, but this short passage eased my mind a little bit and allowed me to feel ok about being sad. Conversely, it also had the beneficial effect of making me feel HAPPY about my crybaby-ness, as I realized that we are commanded by a prophet to cry with those who are crying. (I come by it very naturally -- my mom is quite possibly the biggest crybaby I know. Not in a bad way. In an I'm-sad-because-you're-sad kind of way. Ok, maybe I'M the biggest crybaby I know. She would definitely be a close second, though. Whatever. Moving on...)<br />
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The second part of my epiphony is found in Galatians 6, where Paul instructs the Galatians, saying, "bear ye one anothers burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ...<span class="strongs" sn="1161">And</span> let <span class="strongs" sn="1573">us </span><span class="strongs" sn="3361">not</span> be <span class="strongs" sn="1573">weary</span> in <span class="strongs" sn="2570">well</span> <span class="strongs" sn="4160">doing</span>: <span class="strongs" sn="1063">for</span> in <span class="strongs" sn="2398">due</span> <span class="strongs" sn="2540">season</span> we shall <span class="strongs" sn="2325">reap</span> , if we <span class="strongs" sn="1590">faint </span><span class="strongs" sn="3361">not. </span><span class="versetext" id="ga6-10" style="display: inline;"><span class="strongs" sn="5613">As</span> we <span class="strongs" sn="2192">have </span><span class="strongs" sn="3767">therefore</span> <span class="strongs" sn="686"></span><span class="strongs" sn="2540">opportunity,</span> let us <span class="strongs" sn="2038">do </span><span class="strongs" sn="18">good</span> <span class="strongs" sn="4314">unto</span> <span class="strongs" sn="3956">all</span> men..." I realized that by crying with/for those of my friends who have been struggling, I was doing my part to "bear another's burdens." I think, also, I realized that by sharing in the burdens of another, we are sometimes able to find meaning in our own struggles. I've been thinking a lot about one of my friends who miscarried last week, and her current trial brought back feelings I had when I miscarried. I think that although the pain and sadness of my experience will always be there, it has made me more sensitive to and empathetic of the needs of others who have had a similar experience. But this morning as I was pondering the passage in Galatians, I realized that just sharing a common experience isn't enough. The rest of Galatians 6 is what really brought everything together for me. "Let us not be weary in well doing...and if we have opportunity, let us do good unto all men." I think this is the key to my epiphony that it's ok to be sad. Yes, I've been feeling sad. And, quite honestly, <u>weary</u> describes the mood of my entire week (ok, MONTH) quite nicely. However, although it is ok to be sad, that sadness should move me to ACTION. In order to "bear the burdens" of those that I've been mourning with, I need to take the trials as an opportunity to "do good." So, that is my new resolution for the month of February. If I can't find a way to get more sleep or keep my house clean because I have three screaming banshees hollering in my ear, I resolve to at least generate more positive energy by taking the sadness I've felt over the struggles of my loved ones and using it as an opportunity to do good. I will bear the burdens of my friends and family and "faint not," and I will ACT so that they know that I love them and I am thinking about them. It's not enough just to feel sad. The important part is choosing to ACT. So, there you have it...my epiphany. It's ok to feel sad.</span><br />
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">I hope this post didn't thoroughly depress you. In an effort to bring more happiness to your life as well as to mine, I will leave you with a few pictures of my funny little munchkins, and bid you all a good day!</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNE3zygtEAgQvYO5YVKvIqX9XQQWBwqH_5In0xXkVdIF5TslCs1-gaA-LxQeMc-Q8-JwgUlXx0tMyQpCzqvZdzB1eiuys6SyafH8YFvhaxftMf4N-2l9K_2t19LDVfnzhr60rrc99YGqw/s1600/049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNE3zygtEAgQvYO5YVKvIqX9XQQWBwqH_5In0xXkVdIF5TslCs1-gaA-LxQeMc-Q8-JwgUlXx0tMyQpCzqvZdzB1eiuys6SyafH8YFvhaxftMf4N-2l9K_2t19LDVfnzhr60rrc99YGqw/s320/049.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet kisses from my funny Ovaka. True story: last night, he came up to me and did this very thing...put his chubby little hands on each side of my face, puckered up, leaned in...and then SNEEZED A BIG LOOGEY ONTO MY FOREHEAD!! AHAHAHAHA...super gross! Best part? I don't know who was more surprised, him or me!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBAHxNtIejN5glYbwpsZJkiL3087odswVJ9oLhS9B1Bff7YglA6JzkeJ5m0UA63bPGMVjlgRMAZBGKQ00SwBMd-Yv68MqzQwD7MOai01L2DnPw5Udpc6rX381aGdvNYxtg5mZ9px-5c8/s1600/053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBAHxNtIejN5glYbwpsZJkiL3087odswVJ9oLhS9B1Bff7YglA6JzkeJ5m0UA63bPGMVjlgRMAZBGKQ00SwBMd-Yv68MqzQwD7MOai01L2DnPw5Udpc6rX381aGdvNYxtg5mZ9px-5c8/s320/053.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another picture of my cutie pie Ovaka</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiubS4kUTysByJo5hWOIDPtFS2xWc2bP0njMQ-OoHMT5qyLQpQiyeVo8bAfcQD7xaqY9Skzom4FfsidMxV4qHUGCLLEuSw0IIO5QQZSEdNUYyMLCqkul1T7MOrUOO_79ya8StYmsmc5nMg/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiubS4kUTysByJo5hWOIDPtFS2xWc2bP0njMQ-OoHMT5qyLQpQiyeVo8bAfcQD7xaqY9Skzom4FfsidMxV4qHUGCLLEuSw0IIO5QQZSEdNUYyMLCqkul1T7MOrUOO_79ya8StYmsmc5nMg/s320/028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Funny little sleeping girls with cute flowers on their butts</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0laQqemKJ5F1wZ9JywclOtpGTw_2yPqaeaaOqXFGR6aeP93772ctXbu94GOCoGfqlbTKFxnoS-2LhrDCEZ8qQrlQdOIJYIO3IS19jSa9zmI2g3wwOZEFMGA9r6fdJkGxboPXCRqOkB4/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0laQqemKJ5F1wZ9JywclOtpGTw_2yPqaeaaOqXFGR6aeP93772ctXbu94GOCoGfqlbTKFxnoS-2LhrDCEZ8qQrlQdOIJYIO3IS19jSa9zmI2g3wwOZEFMGA9r6fdJkGxboPXCRqOkB4/s320/035.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HAPPY GIRLIES!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXRAgWbnO2q7anFbaLVrMVV51PaElP8_UwIOa30pnkOgxZRnKHpF44hrLBk_cAatxIVr3NtvxCjlLMAoCqX4-tRzTfYPxgkZsMqgjGqK51Y6YPX4Sgkvg79TWfbEAd7qX9Vwf9zpijm0/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXRAgWbnO2q7anFbaLVrMVV51PaElP8_UwIOa30pnkOgxZRnKHpF44hrLBk_cAatxIVr3NtvxCjlLMAoCqX4-tRzTfYPxgkZsMqgjGqK51Y6YPX4Sgkvg79TWfbEAd7qX9Vwf9zpijm0/s320/043.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, how I love my sweet helper Ilaiasi. Such a good big brother!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5fkymWW56C_QoTXqs3KZW5XhcDAYBpFbdL1cZHojTiCFGX1ASXo8Hjy6poqGdcDcgnsc8aXA62k1fmw0nDSJI5e5lKc5F73_JwNhCNDzxPWYObWQDjdTIJHpWsLfuLMAUIRGJJuAwhw/s1600/081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5fkymWW56C_QoTXqs3KZW5XhcDAYBpFbdL1cZHojTiCFGX1ASXo8Hjy6poqGdcDcgnsc8aXA62k1fmw0nDSJI5e5lKc5F73_JwNhCNDzxPWYObWQDjdTIJHpWsLfuLMAUIRGJJuAwhw/s320/081.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elva Kalea minutes after getting 3 immunizations. Definitely NOT HAPPY. (but still cute)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDqwSlSbLnOvj40zmvFJTazKh1xcS7RjAgXWJCZEgwzw7WcvXIWI7bye4i4x6hPLN3NYYpLQnnNyhfODWfHkmLHXT-IYYCUubFeU7b2Uv68p7B1WEMgAK79XIpc99iA6LR6iCShe4VXQ/s1600/082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDqwSlSbLnOvj40zmvFJTazKh1xcS7RjAgXWJCZEgwzw7WcvXIWI7bye4i4x6hPLN3NYYpLQnnNyhfODWfHkmLHXT-IYYCUubFeU7b2Uv68p7B1WEMgAK79XIpc99iA6LR6iCShe4VXQ/s320/082.JPG" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Kamila cried herself right to sleep after her shots. Look at her big wet eyelashes. :(<br />
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AAAAAND FOR THE GRAND FINALE:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/4c7PznxIpHI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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</div>This is currently my favorite video of Ovaka dancing. This guy swears he should be a member of the Disney Channel tv show Shake It Up. :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-29149449897883886502012-01-23T19:24:00.000-06:002012-01-23T19:24:50.471-06:00When I Grow Up...Well, it's official: when I grow up, I want to be like Julia Child. Or, at the very least, I want to be like the Julia Child that is depicted in the movie <u>Julie and Julia</u>. Have you ever seen it? Such a great movie. For those who haven't had the good fortune of watching it, here's a little recap:<br />
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Julie is a young secretary for a government agency who wants to be a writer. On a whim, and with the support of her husband who suggested the project, she decides to cook her way through Julia Child's cookbook and blog about the experience. The movie cuts back and forth between Julie's cooking/blogging experiences and Julia Child's life. Meryl Streep is amazing as Julia Child, and portrays her as such a fun, energetic, accessible person. <br />
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Anyway, after watching the movie, I decided I wanted to know more about this Julia Child person. Was she really as great as she seemed to be in this movie? Was her life depicted accurately? Did she really do all the things the movie said she did? From what I gathered in my 2 or 3 hours of online research (ok, possibly not the most reliable sources, but when one is home bound due to an overabundance of little screamy munchkins, one takes what is most readily available!), Julia Child seems to have been a person that I would like to emulate. <br />
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I know what you're probably thinking, and while I <strong><em>would</em></strong> like to "master the art of French cooking," that's not really the trait I most admired about her. Actually, what most impressed me about Julia Child was the fact that she didn't let any of her circumstances keep her from achieving her goals. Specifically, I was drawn to the fact that this lady was SIX FOOT TWO back in the 1930s, when the average height of a female American was FIVE FOOT FOUR (yes, I researched this information...again, I'm aware that I am a nerd, but weird random facts like this fascinate me). So, basically, she was gigantic -- almost an entire foot taller than most other people -- and yet she went on to be a famous tv personality with a cooking show. <br />
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Why did this feat strike such a chord with me? Well, to be honest, I have a love-hate relationship with my height. I'm not absurdly tall like Julia was in her day...pushing 6' is really just slightly taller than average now a days. However, I've been this height since 8th grade. And six feet tall is mighty stretchy for an 8th grader. My height made me a force to be reckoned with on the volleyball and basketball courts, but also made me vulnerable to lovely nicknames like the "Jolly Green Giant" (obviously every adolescent girl's dream nickname...I know you're jealous.) As I continue to gather information and refine my goals for my big New Year's Resolutions project, I've done a lot of reflecting on my life, trying to figure out why I have the strengths and weaknesses I currently possess, and trying to determine what pieces of my past and present I need to confront in order to make my future happier. When I see someone whose traits I admire -- as I did with Julia Child when I watched the movie -- I've been trying to also figure out WHY I find those characteristics so admirable. What deficit in my own character is causing me to pause and take notice of her particular strengths?<br />
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Anywhooo...long story short, or at least slightly shorter, I don't want to let the things that I can't change about my physical appearance keep me from reaching my goals. Sadly, I have come to the realization that my body will NEVER EVER <strong><em><u><span style="background-color: white; color: #cc0000;">EVER</span></u></em></strong> be the same after carrying two almost 7 pound twins to 35 weeks. <em><strong><u><span style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">EVER.</span></u></strong></em> It makes me a little sad, I'm not gonna lie. Sometimes I look in the mirror and don't even recognize the person staring back at me. Occasionally, on a particularly bad day, I look in the mirror and wonder if I am witnessing an evolutionary miracle, and hippos have begun to walk upright on two legs. Ok, maybe that's a little extreme. But you get the idea. I'm tall. I've always been tall. After thirty-something years, I've come to terms with the fact that I will be the tallest person in the room approximately 80% of the time. People will probably look at me and think, "Wow...she's pretty tall!" And that's ok with me. However, I have NOT always been "big and tall." Alas. But I've decided that on those awful days when I look in the mirror and feel like Shirley Temple would have been thrilled to unwrap me for Christmas (please tell me you've heard this song...it is by FAR my favorite non-spiritual Christmas song, and you seriously need to look it up if you haven't heard it), I will think of Julia Child and remember how, at six foot two, she boldly took on the cold, often snooty culture of the French and MADE them love her. She waltzed into a male-dominated, highly respected culinary institute and did whatever it took to make herself successful. At six foot two, she didn't think to herself, "I'm humongous...what will people think if I do a COOKING show?" Or, maybe she did. I don't know. But I do know this: if that thought ever ran through her head, she silenced it, conquered her fear, and went on to greatness. So, add this to my list of things to incorporate into my magnum opus of a Resolution project: Someday, I want to be like Julia Child.<br />
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<img alt="" class="rg_hi" data-height="189" data-width="267" height="189" id="rg_hi" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQZQWj7GMzTZwZOum5U481IDcJzjm9wJ8BzCULojKlEKXMIy-SG" style="height: 189px; width: 267px;" width="267" />Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-54570862593434016652012-01-17T07:06:00.001-06:002012-01-17T07:42:04.205-06:00BECAUSE OF or IN SPITE OF?I can't remember if I've said this in my blog or not, but I've decided to start my New Year's Resolutions in February this year. January has been, and will continue to be, my planning period, as I am cooking up something really special for 2012. I've been reading like crazy, and I have some REALLY good ideas for what I want to do. I just have to organize those ideas into one cohesive, massive project. Have any of you read <u>The Happiness Project</u> by Gretchen Rubin? I'm almost through with this book, and it will be the foundation for my 2012 Resolutions. I'm also reading a really beautiful book called <u>A Simple Act of Gratitude</u> by John Kralik, and I'm hoping to incorporate elements from this book into my project as well. Anywhooo...I'll update you on my resolutions as soon as I get them down on paper and organize them coherently. But, in the mean time, I have an interesting question for you to consider. Typically, when I begin reading and pondering a subject, ideas about that subject seem to inundate my brain from all directions. Such is the case right now as I strive to better myself and create a happier, improved version of myself in 2012. A question was posed to me the other day that I've been thinking about a whole lot ever since: <br />
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Are you who you are today BECAUSE OF the people in your life, or IN SPITE OF them?<br />
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In other words, do the people around you lift you up and encourage you to become the best version of yourself that you can possibly be, or are you striving to become a better person even though the people around you are (either intentionally or inadvertently) weighing you down or holding you back? Isn't that an interesting question? I had never really thought of the people in my life in these terms, and it has really made me step back and take a good look at the people I've surrounded myself with and the relationships I've fostered and nurtured. I'm happy to say that, for the most part, I think I am who I am today BECAUSE OF the people I've let get close to me, with only a few exceptions. <br />
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This question, in turn, made me think about my role in the lives of others. Am I the kind of person that others would say helped them become better people? Or would they say that they have become who they are despite my influence? My mind immediately went to coaching and teaching, and I started wondering how much of a difference I really made in the lives of those I've taught. It's funny, but I think the years when I struggled the most are the ones where I made the most difference in the classroom. <br />
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My first year of teaching at Magnolia West HS was such a challenge. I was given classes FULL of kids who, to me, seemed to be striving to survive or even excel IN SPITE OF the people around them. My students struggled with absentee parents, poor choices in friendships, even other teachers who had written them off as "stupid" or "problem children"...the list seemed to go on and on. These kids seemed to have so many problems that teaching them the content of my class seemed kind of trivial and ridiculous. How do you teach a kid whose parent just went to jail AGAIN for selling drugs to care about what is going on in South America? How do you get a kid who lives in a tiny trailer with no electricity and has never traveled outside the area of his zip code interested in Chinese culture? In the grand scheme of things, did learning World Geography REALLY matter to this group of students?<br />
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I think it did. Not because they will ever need to identify a fjord in real life...they will probably never travel to Scandinavia. I can't imagine many of them having a practical use for knowledge about quipu (for you non-geography buffs, quipu were these cool knotted cords used in the Incan empire for record keeping even though they had no written language...yeah, I find this stuff fascinating...I know, I'm a nerd. I've come to terms with it.) Realistically, they probably won't ever even need to use most of the information we discussed about the United States. However, I do think that it was important for me to teach these concepts to this particular group of students. I think the message I sent that very first year at MWHS was this: YOU MATTER. YOU CAN LEARN. YOU CANNOT JUST SLIP THROUGH THE CRACKS IN MY CLASS BECAUSE YOU ARE IMPORTANT TO ME. I hope that some of these kids felt my love for them, and that it made a small difference in the way they saw themselves and in the choices they made.<br />
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My mind was also immediately drawn to the kids I've coached. The girls I had my very first year as a club coach will always have a special place in my heart. I was blessed with the most amazing little team of 13 year old girls that year, and they have since grown up to become the most wonderful, talented, smart group of young women. Who they have become, in my opinion, is a testament to the many wonderful people they've had in their lives. I have seen first hand the HUGE advantage kids with involved and interested parents have over kids who lack this support, and this team of girls had some of the best parents ever. Many of the moms and dads I got to work with that first year helped shape who I am as a parent today. These were people who, through their example, became "BECAUSE OF" people in my life, and I hope that I was able to give back to them by being a "BECAUSE OF" person to their child.<br />
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So, to you, my one or two loyal readers, I pose the question: Are you who you are today BECAUSE OF the people you've made important in your life, or IN SPITE OF their influence? And, likewise, are others that share their lives with you better off BECAUSE OF you, or IN SPITE OF you?Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-71313884597226989502012-01-11T13:38:00.000-06:002012-01-11T13:38:54.343-06:00Mental Tantrums and Other Lovely Side Effects of Sleep Deprivation...Ok, how many of you have seen the movie Meet the Parents? This morning, I had a Meet the Parents moment. You know the part where Greg is on the airplane and they want him to check his bag, but he doesn't want to, so he gets into an argument with the flight attendant? Well, here's the exact quote from the movie, and then I'll explain how it relates:<br />
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Greg Focker: If you would take a second...and take the little sticks out of your head and clean out your ears, maybe you would see that <u><strong><em>I'm a person who has feelings,</em></strong> <strong><em>and</em><em> </em><em>all</em></strong> </u><strong><em><u>I have to do is do what I wanna do! All I wanna do is hold onto my bag and not listen to you!</u></em></strong><br />
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Hahaha...just thinking about that part of the movie makes me giggle. But, this morning, I seriously thought I was going to have a meltdown. Here's a very condensed version of the backstory:<br />
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Last night, the girls didn't go to bed until around 3:00 a.m. Then, Finau woke me up at 4:00 when he went to work and I didn't get back to sleep until around 5:00. Then, Ilaiasi had to be at the bus stop by 6:30 (I'm ashamed to admit that I slept through my alarm, and Ilaiasi had to come and wake ME up at 6:15 to tell me he was ready for school...love that kid!). And, to top it all off, Ovaka woke up at 7:00, just as I was drifting back off to sleep, and I had to get up for the day. DANG IT!!! So, needless to say, my morning has been a little rough since I'm running on almost no sleep. Anywhooo...at one point this morning, all three kids were screaming their adorable little faces off, and for just a split second, the Meet the Parents scene flashed before my eyes and I wanted to crumble up in a little ball and do my own version of Greg's airplane rant. In my mind, I screamed, <strong>"I'm a <u>person</u> who has <u>feelings</u>, and all I have to <u>do</u> is do <u>what I wanna do</u>! All I wanna <u>do</u> is <u>GO TO SLEEP</u> and <u>not listen to you</u>!" </strong>Hehehe...the moment has passed, so I can giggle about it now, but there was definitely a second there when I was seriously contemplating throwing my own little fit, sticking every baby in a crib, and crawling back under the covers for a little mid-morning snooze.<br />
<br />
So, three cheers for me for NOT neglecting my sweet babies this morning! Sadly, it's come to that: me patting myself on the back for doing just slightly more than the bare minimum. Pretty much all day long, I give myself little pep talks and kuddos for things I totally took for granted once-upon-a-time-in-a-lifetime-far-far-FAR AWAY. I vaguely remember the days when I was able to clean my entire kitchen -- or, heck, my entire HOUSE if I was ambitious enough -- without interruption. Now, I feel like I deserve some grand award if I'm able to do multiple loads of dishes and/or laundry in the same day. Seriously. No, SERIOUSLY. It's either very comical or extremely depressing, depending on your viewpoint. I'm choosing to see it as funny. The smell eminating from my undone dishes...somewhat less funny. Luckily, I got one load of dishes done yesterday and another done this morning, so I only have about half a load left, and my kitchen is decidedly less smelly than it was yesterday. What's that, you say? You'd like to congratulate me on my awesome time management and parenting skills? AND you want to give me an AWARD for my efforts? Well, WOW...I don't know what to say...this is so unexpected...HAHAHAHA...yes, I am having another mental conversation with myself. I'm really hoping the continuous mental dialogue is a side effect of the sleep deprivation and not a permanent personality defect. It may also have something to do with the lack of adult interaction in my life...I'm not sure. At any rate, it's nice to blog because then at least it FEELS like I'm talking to someone besides myself...whether or not that's actually true is a bit irrelevant to me at this point.<br />
<br />
So, to update you on my Christmas presents from Pod (if you don't know what I'm talking about, read the previous blog post), I did, in fact, get a soldering iron, a MINI blowtorch (thank goodness it's tiny...not at all what I was picturing, and much more useful than what I had envisioned as well!), some solder (I don't think it's the right kind for my jewelry, but I'm not sure yet), some flux (used with the solder to fuse pieces of metal together), and he also threw in some random junk for good measure: wood touch-up markers in varying colors, a $15 Olive Garden gift card, and I know there's something else I'm forgetting, but I can't think of what it is just now. Have I mentioned how much I love my dad's presents? I mean, come on...how many of you got an assortment of markers designed to touch up any nicks or scratches on your wood furniture from YOUR dad for Christmas? I'm betting none of you were so fortunate. I love my Pod...he's NUTS. Anyway, my stepdad Bryan came over and showed me how to use the soldering iron. Not nearly as scary as I thought it was going to be. It seems pretty straight forward...you heat up the item you want to stick something to, slather on a little bit of flux, melt the solder onto the flux whilst holding your two pieces together, and voila! your pieces are joined for good. Bryan made it look easy. I'll be honest...I'm still kinda scared. I'm going to go to the little bead and jewelry shop that I frequent and see if they can give me any tips. They have a soldering class that I want to take, but they only do it once a month, and this month I have to coach a tournament on that day, so maybe February will be my month. We'll see. Until then, do any of you have any words of wisdom or good soldering advice for me? Does anyone out there know if it's even possible to solder non-tarnish wire without ruining the color of the wire? I may have to get some new wire...I'm not sure yet. I'm very eager to learn, though, and can't wait to get started. One of these days, when my kitchen is FINALLY clean and the 3 ft. deep pile of laundry is done, I'll start making jewelry again. Don't worry...it's one of my New Year Resolutions...along with my resolution to "keep this year's resolutions." No, really...I'm going to do it this year. No, REALLY. What, are you calling me a liar? Oh, sorry...conversing with myself again. Another resolution? POSITIVE SELF TALK. But, let's save my resolutions for another post. Until then...HAPPY NEW YEAR everybody!! Have a marvelous day. Get some sleep if you're fortunate enough to have that luxury. And feel free to leave me a comment so that I know I'm not talking to myself on here, too. ;)Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-63535345360258751642011-12-13T07:52:00.001-06:002011-12-13T08:01:07.495-06:00If you want a surprise, don't tell my dad.My dad is a mixed bag of enigmas. Sometimes I go years thinking he does things for absolutely no reason, only to glimpse the illogical logic in his thinking years after the fact. But that's neither here nor there...I'm just prepping you for the ridiculousness to follow. Bottom line: my dad does awesome, crazy things, and the way he gives gifts makes me laugh. <br />
<br />
Let me just say, first of all, that I really do love the presents my dad gives. They are usually thoughtful -- or at the very least, they are purchased from my list so that I will definitely like them, and, depending on whether he went shopping on his payday or not, they are also frequently rather...um...bounteous. The best example I can think of to illustrate this point happened on my 16th birthday. The year that I turned 16, sweater vests were the "it" item of the year. Argyle, solid colors, flowers...you name it. Sweater vests of all colors and varieties were very in style. So, a couple of weeks before my birthday, my dad and I were window shopping at the mall, and I happened to point out a sweater vest or two that I really liked. Fast forward to the morning of my birthday. I distinctly remember sitting on my parents' bed, anxiously awaiting my presents (because I knew that one of them was the paperwork for my DRIVER'S LICENSE!), and in walked my dad with a MOUNTAIN of presents in his arms. I was speechless. As I tore into the gifts, I was really excited to find that he had purchased BOTH of the sweater vests I had taken a liking to when we shopped at the mall. So, I opened the next box...score! another cool sweater vest! And another box...wow...ANOTHER great sweater vest! I'm sure you get the idea by now, so let's skip the rest of the unwrapping and I'll just tell you the end results: Ten. Ten sweater vests. <u><strong><em>TEN SWEATER VESTS.</em></strong></u> And the best part? My mom said, as I was opening the last box, "If you can believe this, I made him put back HALF of the ones he picked out." HAHAHAHA...yep, that's my dad. Why settle for one when you can find ten?! So, keeping this story in mind...<br />
<br />
This morning, I'm sitting on my couch chuckling to myself about another facet of the way my dad gives presents. I think I've mentioned my little brother Steven, who sometimes wraps his gifts in whatever random nasty thing he finds lying around when he goes to look for wrapping paper: old blankets, trash bags, stuffed inside the pocket of an old pair of pants...you get the idea. He typically gives AMAZING gifts, but you'd never know it by looking at the wrapper. Well, the more I thought about it, I realized that Steven comes by this crazy habit quite naturally because my dad does the exact same thing. The only difference between them is, Steven can keep a secret when it comes to gifts, whereas my dad is THE WORST secret keeper EVER. No, really...this guy cannot keep a secret to save his life as far as gifts are concerned. He called me last week, and the conversation went something like this:<br />
<br />
Me: Hi Pod...what's up? [I call him "Pod," which is short for "Padre."]<br />
Pod: Hey...I got your Christmas present today! Wanna know what it is?<br />
Me: Nah, I think I'd like to be surprised on Christmas Day.<br />
Pod: Well, I'm not gonna wrap it, so it really won't be that much of a surprise. I think you'll really like it. You'll probably want to know what it is ahead of time, that way you can ask for stuff to go with it. Wanna know what it is?<br />
Me: (realizing that he is going to keep harassing me until I cave and let him tell me what he bought) Ok, Pod...what's my present?<br />
Pod: A SOLDERING IRON! I got it for your jewelry so that you can make lots of different stuff!<br />
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For those of you who aren't familiar with soldering irons (as I wasn't before I got back into this whole jewelry making world), a soldering tool helps you fuse two pieces of metal together. It's basically sort of a miniature hand-held welding device. I'm really happy my dad is getting this for me because having access to a soldering tool will open up a whole new world for me in terms of jewelry design, and I am REALLY excited about that. So, Pod and I discuss some of the great things I'm going to be able to do with this tool and try to figure out what other accessories I might need in order to take full advantage of this amazing present. A couple of days later, I get another call from him:<br />
<br />
Me: Hi Pod...whatcha doin?<br />
Pod: Oh, just driving to work. Guess what I have sitting here in the front seat with me????<br />
Me: My Christmas present?<br />
Pod: Yep, and you're gonna love it! And guess what?<br />
Me: What?<br />
Pod: I got you TWO soldering tools. A big one and a smaller one...just in case you need to work on different sized projects. And then, while I was at it, I also got you a BLOWTORCH!<br />
<br />
HOLY CRAP. A BLOWTORCH??!!! Seriously? So, basically, there's still two weeks until Christmas, and I'm thinking if he doesn't slow down, I'm going to have full blown welding gear to open (read: look at, since it won't be wrapped) on Christmas morning. Again, why stop at one when you can have two? And really, while we're at it, why stop at a soldering tool when you can have a BLOWTORCH!? Oh, how I love my funny dad.<br />
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Anyway, I added a coupon to my Etsy shop for those happy few of you who take the time to read my ramblings. Type "BLOG12" in the coupon code at checkout and get free shipping! Be sure to look for my new SOLDERED jewelry after the holidays, and until then, here's some of my latest stuff:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQfh83xz8jdtCDjGziTqmDWKs0i-BnMvkwB3Yq6Utb1wh76O4BdqSx1H4AiJx6R1DXo-W9gZDRR3dsGYs2rPYr5y63a7ZPl6ABqYiqiAzfm3skHtL_D2uu4UYNaUbQRSCAY43Q3bfcOE/s1600/IMG_0116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQfh83xz8jdtCDjGziTqmDWKs0i-BnMvkwB3Yq6Utb1wh76O4BdqSx1H4AiJx6R1DXo-W9gZDRR3dsGYs2rPYr5y63a7ZPl6ABqYiqiAzfm3skHtL_D2uu4UYNaUbQRSCAY43Q3bfcOE/s320/IMG_0116.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-17469943366070838322011-11-10T15:26:00.001-06:002011-11-10T15:34:06.501-06:00Persnickety.So, the title says it all. Today I am feeling rather persnickety. Ornery. Irritable. Grumpy. Yes, you could even call me crotchety. In fact, my facebook updates from today are the very definition of persnickety:<br />
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Super early this morning, I queried: "Is there anyone in your life that you love dearly, but still find yourself wanting to punch in the face on a regular basis? Oh, right...um...yeaaaah...me neither."<br />
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Yes, I had a specific person in mind when I typed that update. And, yes, I definitely wanted to punch this person in the face. I know, I know...why so violent?? I have no excuse. Punching people in the face is just my immediate thought when people annoy me. Unless I've been watching Phineas and Ferb with the boys, in which case, my initial response to any irritation is to mutter under my breath, "Curse you, <insert name of irritant here> the Platypus!" followed quickly by the inevitable thought, "man, I wish I could punch you in the face."<br />
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My next facebook update was around 11:00 a.m., and had a visual aid:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnL9UqmYojv3h6mxdeGfHMM9v0EmcDnGnuTq3CW4ehUhY-W05lrPP_Gwmaj-HmqbAWo7iQYy62bPYwrL1eZE71gbZM-hVbSn2TWv2iiG2anjIObfnyelDKgDthkbsUAPEZxibBl5zwV9s/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnL9UqmYojv3h6mxdeGfHMM9v0EmcDnGnuTq3CW4ehUhY-W05lrPP_Gwmaj-HmqbAWo7iQYy62bPYwrL1eZE71gbZM-hVbSn2TWv2iiG2anjIObfnyelDKgDthkbsUAPEZxibBl5zwV9s/s320/019.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Update: "If you work at McDonalds and I order a small chocolate peppermint milkshake, and you bring me a chocolate milkshake with a shot of peppermint syrup in a separate cup, please expect this look from me right before I ask you to go back and mix them together. Seriously?"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Again, persnickety. My apologies to the hapless Mickey-D's worker who incurred the wrath of my persnickety-ness this morning. But, come on...are you serious right now, lady? I know you're not working at Burger King, so "have it your way" isn't your official mantra, but I really don't feel like it's asking too much to have the peppermint infused into my milkshake before it's handed to me through the drive thru window. You wouldn't hand me two all beef patties in one container and put the special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, and sesame seed buns in another, now would you? Ok, then.<br />
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Most recently, I've had another little bout of persnickety-ness that also requires a picture for you to get the full effect. Take a look at this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFA8vB1R5zC3g0Hp5BH0vxXjRae37WzAK9KnsaEPMKayfDC-_ZPMJYaYy18IWa2gHux7EHY_GnIqWX7cUQx6cYBRkX7dWI5xZ5tZXYbDHdwuM0Xav0h3DcLrtm33xaftHtYiJEBDNMcC8/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFA8vB1R5zC3g0Hp5BH0vxXjRae37WzAK9KnsaEPMKayfDC-_ZPMJYaYy18IWa2gHux7EHY_GnIqWX7cUQx6cYBRkX7dWI5xZ5tZXYbDHdwuM0Xav0h3DcLrtm33xaftHtYiJEBDNMcC8/s320/022.JPG" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Said the night wind to the little lamb, DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE??? Or maybe I should say, said the night wind to the little Billy Goat. Yes, you're seeing this correctly...my goat of a son ATE THE LEATHER OFF OF HIS SHOE!! WHO DOES THAT??!! Are you for real? Did this really just happen? Yes, it's true. My son, whose stupid baby shoes cost more than mine do, ruined his nice church boots by chewing the leather off of them like a freaking goat. Unbelievable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ok. Deep breath. Relax.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was going to add some pictures of some of the new pieces of jewelry I've been working on, but I decided that this entry is not one that I wish to associate with my jewelry, for obvious reasons. So, instead, let's turn that frown upside down and focus on the positives here:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">GOD'S UGLY OLD BLANKET-WRAPPED GIFTS VOLUME 2 (see earlier post for clarification if you're completely lost right now):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Gift: being surrounded by loved ones</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wrapper: said loved ones doing annoying things for which a good punch in the face seems the practical solution</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Gift: a new McDonalds opened up within walking distance of my house</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wrapper: incompetent workers who bring out my earlier violent tendencies and make me want to punch them in the face</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Gift: a super cute one year old son who is getting new teeth</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wrapper: the Billy Goat, and, you guessed it, an unnatural desire to punch my own child in the face.</div>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-63026681793320294522011-11-04T12:22:00.001-05:002011-11-04T12:22:35.376-05:00Sleep Deprivation, Babies, Babies, Babies, and a Little Bit of Good Jewelry NewsWell, here I am. I should definitely be sleeping. But, sadly, I think I've gone from tired to exhausted to delirious, and now I'm in a semi-vegetative state where I'm so super tired I can't even get to sleep. So, here I am...blogging away the few precious minutes where all three babies are sleeping. Eh, what can ya do? <br />
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Last night the twins were TERRIBLE! Well, maybe not TERRIBLE...they weren't really screamy or super loud, but they were wide awake and looking to be entertained. I didn't even have to hold them or stand up or anything, but they were a captive audience and insisted that I sing or talk to them. So, we had a very eclectic impromptu concert last night consisting of mostly folk ballads, 80s variety, and 90s country. I've gotta say, I really out did myself last night: Dan Fogelberg, Garth Brooks, Faith Hill, Chicago, Jim Croce, Journey, Simon and Garfunkel, Jo Dee Messina, the Judds, Don McClean, and I even threw in a little Madonna and Queen for good measure. At any rate, my concert served to keep them quiet, but did nothing in the way of getting them to close their little eyes and let me rest. And by the time they finally got to sleep somewhere around the crack of dawn, it was less than an hour before I had to get Ilaiasi up to get ready for school. And then, of course, there's my early bird Ovaka who woke up just as I was finally drifting off after getting Ilaiasi out the door to the bus stop...you get the idea. So, here I am at 11:31 on Friday morning, running on approximately an hour and a half of sleep. But enough with the complaining. The good news is, I did get some really cute pictures of the runts last night and this morning:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB23J8k_ZRpMFEHEFy0hS-uy8tUzulAfxIau2cUdnfVt12qhObKWSDxVK3aAqn8NRbomx1v2NgSPt1rC_dkjuXPEuzdICI_ylQitL3v7O4UH3FL_Iy7i4sMrWieNsOwtclKNZ26wzsHj8/s1600/IMG_0431%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB23J8k_ZRpMFEHEFy0hS-uy8tUzulAfxIau2cUdnfVt12qhObKWSDxVK3aAqn8NRbomx1v2NgSPt1rC_dkjuXPEuzdICI_ylQitL3v7O4UH3FL_Iy7i4sMrWieNsOwtclKNZ26wzsHj8/s320/IMG_0431%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bed at approximately 12:45 last night: two bright-eyed, bushy-tailed girlies, and one sleeping monkey boy</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9xCJHBySF4E2DK6R3eNCj2ZS3KRXGcbGS4Dw44dTzww2K8Mr-nZm7N07UlbBDpDDBQg11VIQ5FY3EJdG9AthlJ3QK6COMmgLpFkpby6RFVbCJoApZ2i-4M5-M1PI08djU_2r3fnN9-Y/s1600/IMG_0427%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9xCJHBySF4E2DK6R3eNCj2ZS3KRXGcbGS4Dw44dTzww2K8Mr-nZm7N07UlbBDpDDBQg11VIQ5FY3EJdG9AthlJ3QK6COMmgLpFkpby6RFVbCJoApZ2i-4M5-M1PI08djU_2r3fnN9-Y/s320/IMG_0427%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good boy Ovaka sleeping soundly to the melodious tone of my croaking...er, I mean SINGING...at 2 a.m.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0XHAetSpFvseWC7Mxu-d0yV2goP0NIvw5vIkcWoyGYuksmqeQbuliRT1HxJ2qmSy2MF8O8yQDBGzPxNbUBZeea5zaLg3NrSljIr9aUL9uQBUTiE2ncs8th4YGFbJskg2fQ8Y6yEVrN4/s1600/IMG_0428%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0XHAetSpFvseWC7Mxu-d0yV2goP0NIvw5vIkcWoyGYuksmqeQbuliRT1HxJ2qmSy2MF8O8yQDBGzPxNbUBZeea5zaLg3NrSljIr9aUL9uQBUTiE2ncs8th4YGFbJskg2fQ8Y6yEVrN4/s320/IMG_0428%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naughty girls, wide awake and watching me expectantly: "Perform, slave, or suffer our wrath!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNKICtorFCk6CLguFbhSVR_Zo21k4DWB8QfhyphenhyphenceqcFWudE9_wSpdQmDzf7FgZRZjpLfx5O7t3DFIldr9jTrMMPMuCxtVpqj31Z99k7AUmk18qmTn3ft4C06Yk3vde7irz2U-R4IcToo0/s1600/IMG_0434%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNKICtorFCk6CLguFbhSVR_Zo21k4DWB8QfhyphenhyphenceqcFWudE9_wSpdQmDzf7FgZRZjpLfx5O7t3DFIldr9jTrMMPMuCxtVpqj31Z99k7AUmk18qmTn3ft4C06Yk3vde7irz2U-R4IcToo0/s320/IMG_0434%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture cracks me up: "What are you looking at? You're looking a little on the fluffy side yourself!" Hahaha</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLLmG5LdAK5RkZzgJOJfSL179zEtHaONo01mYAe3qao_Z9NkrFOJKhRhoxAKXvweyKhX4W0zNVDp08xZtMRQ2fqKTkhyt8wZwbS_d3cJ-4dNaLjSKygoDup8m8cQgJg4y4NRL_NXSqbA/s1600/IMG_0439%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLLmG5LdAK5RkZzgJOJfSL179zEtHaONo01mYAe3qao_Z9NkrFOJKhRhoxAKXvweyKhX4W0zNVDp08xZtMRQ2fqKTkhyt8wZwbS_d3cJ-4dNaLjSKygoDup8m8cQgJg4y4NRL_NXSqbA/s320/IMG_0439%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:30 this morning: Ovaka chillin sucking his thumb, twins FINALLY knocked out</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYka9Ka6v4wxwi0ZpgbStcaSxRw2350SBK-C9atWvWG5yK3sCc78WNhX0xy5XcUqEJnlY0EPAEif6r3S8TCNtFWf8Fn07waVFfm7gihO69yLI4ohv8GL1W4vhP47Bs3EKnfU-270UtIo/s1600/IMG_0463%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYka9Ka6v4wxwi0ZpgbStcaSxRw2350SBK-C9atWvWG5yK3sCc78WNhX0xy5XcUqEJnlY0EPAEif6r3S8TCNtFWf8Fn07waVFfm7gihO69yLI4ohv8GL1W4vhP47Bs3EKnfU-270UtIo/s320/IMG_0463%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what utter exhaustion looks like: 11:30 a.m...three soundly sleeping babies and a mom who's too tired to fall asleep!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In other unrelated, but hopefully more exciting news, I'm back on the jewelry wagon and things are looking up! Had a little booth at the craft fair at my mom's office last week, and it was pretty successful. Something REALLY exciting came of this craft fair, though. One of the ladies at my mom's work bought some of my earrings. She wore them when she went to a salon to get her hair cut, the owner of the salon saw my earrings and liked them, and asked if I'd be interested in selling my jewelry in the salon! So, I'm pretty excited about that. I have to come up with a way to display my jewelry while it's inside baggies...the owner thinks the chemicals from the hair products might cause my wire to tarnish, so she asked that I bag all of the jewelry prior to bringing it in...but once I come up with a display idea, I'm going to set up shop and see how it goes! Anyone have any good ideas for displaying jewelry that's already in clear plastic bags? I was thinking of maybe just getting a platter and laying everything out on it...I don't know. Anywhoo, your ideas would be most appreciated! Ok...Ovaka's up and hungry, so I guess I'd better get going. Happy Friday everyone!!Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-57630439929203222092011-11-04T10:39:00.000-05:002011-11-04T10:39:16.341-05:00A little quality time...So...don't call the truant officer on me or anything, but yesterday I picked Ilaiasi up 45 minutes early from school and took my gaggle of goofballs to Chick-fil-A for a late lunch so that Ilaiasi and Ovaka could have some fun on their indoor playground. Ilaiasi's been struggling a lot lately...too many changes, too much stress, too little of Mom to go around...and it's taken a toll on my sweet eldest son. He's been acting out a little bit -- nothing major, but my normally obedient boy has been talking back, pouting, being sneaky, and basically just doing things that are very out of character for him. So, I wanted to do something fun with all the kids, but specifically, I wanted Ilaiasi to feel special. I just finished the book <u>The 5 Love Languages</u>...have you read it? It's a really remarkable book, and I would highly recommend it if you're looking to improve your relationships with others. It's directed towards the marital relationship, but the lessons learned can be applied to any relationship you have. It basically says that there are 5 "love languages," or ways that people feel love. Ilaiasi's "love language" is Quality Time. In other words, spending time with him is the thing that makes him feel most loved, and even if you do lots of other things to show your love for him, if you don't spend quality time with him he will not feel like you truly love him. As you can probably guess, my three little runts have made spending quality time with Ilaiasi somewhat difficult lately, and I really believe his acting out can be directly attributed to my inability to focus my attention on him like I used to. So, even though he can't be the sole center of my universe anymore, we spent a little quality time together yesterday, and I hope Ilaiasi went away from the experience feeling special and knowing that his mom loves him more than anything in the world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt5G7owBXBxzfCvW94jyDQFGjmh5sKbWgbXNv2vkZoLwPzHM0IebV9fMBVQj7gipFGNc6nyslm1kAeVFxMaKfGOJEi0TvrE5hMcKhbXW9UuNrxOP2jd7ZwC6p8G8IhOCPM_il2HnVcfds/s1600/IMG_0416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt5G7owBXBxzfCvW94jyDQFGjmh5sKbWgbXNv2vkZoLwPzHM0IebV9fMBVQj7gipFGNc6nyslm1kAeVFxMaKfGOJEi0TvrE5hMcKhbXW9UuNrxOP2jd7ZwC6p8G8IhOCPM_il2HnVcfds/s320/IMG_0416.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, really, I SWEAR they had fun at the playground today!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE3xxMvT1ZARHlJjMXvPeUTOSR2cgaqczyru7DtAD5lXJ5SzFMh5dAHx0fPvCrFA3iXPKOyynYHmWNUpybztSlYxYk2Eg0em6PJHIge_f8E1_4hIooipJvfVbnbrHbGVcxlMmX_2nujg/s1600/IMG_0417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE3xxMvT1ZARHlJjMXvPeUTOSR2cgaqczyru7DtAD5lXJ5SzFMh5dAHx0fPvCrFA3iXPKOyynYHmWNUpybztSlYxYk2Eg0em6PJHIge_f8E1_4hIooipJvfVbnbrHbGVcxlMmX_2nujg/s320/IMG_0417.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brothers at play</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfOgKkt9F8JuoS4FrHR3ZGCv0qsUNf0t0927Wm3WT38dn7bWvZbLmZzWgujbzCSrPhw3CUyyl-4qwlrwPY8K5LwR_kMhGn5rf_CLdyNf_4b6J7vz8Vpzmz5QF2V5OqHzMsckvprSqhuk/s1600/IMG_0421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfOgKkt9F8JuoS4FrHR3ZGCv0qsUNf0t0927Wm3WT38dn7bWvZbLmZzWgujbzCSrPhw3CUyyl-4qwlrwPY8K5LwR_kMhGn5rf_CLdyNf_4b6J7vz8Vpzmz5QF2V5OqHzMsckvprSqhuk/s320/IMG_0421.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilaiasi being a good big brother and playing with Ovaka</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-17451634380445299322011-10-24T15:43:00.000-05:002011-10-24T15:43:49.254-05:00Well...not quite what I was looking for, BUT...Ok all...thanks so much for the critiques of my first attempt at masculine jewelry. I don't think I own the right thickness of wire to make the changes that most people suggested, so I'm going to go and get some tomorrow and try again. In the mean time, I did try out your suggestions on other "prototypes," and while they didn't turn out quite as masculine as I had hoped, I REALLY like the results, and even decided to make a metal flower pendant. Check out these new necklaces...what do you think??<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdNwxWXvcuSUhOaLifvD1ZfD6LrPx1wifcGXENWgDnWbzl-hOIfzY0UknFXBogOgRqNBGXeCxdW7rCsoZ5APbOAQpYlzOpOy9mGJw-a4XgiV-gY7csnYtU4NpfA6Kg2aP4KfeeioVbm4/s1600/IMG_0239%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdNwxWXvcuSUhOaLifvD1ZfD6LrPx1wifcGXENWgDnWbzl-hOIfzY0UknFXBogOgRqNBGXeCxdW7rCsoZ5APbOAQpYlzOpOy9mGJw-a4XgiV-gY7csnYtU4NpfA6Kg2aP4KfeeioVbm4/s320/IMG_0239%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGW42tAmh3-6hk4L5HyAgkVku9dDCfgW-6lS2n_qE31GyQ128pMrKsMKFLLEg8naLfgVJksqTDNisUiS5LOK1v_buJt78xuyekFR2AlNbr_zkyUq_rAeekm1TQckPcbCMD39bc79ZoW0k/s1600/IMG_0237%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGW42tAmh3-6hk4L5HyAgkVku9dDCfgW-6lS2n_qE31GyQ128pMrKsMKFLLEg8naLfgVJksqTDNisUiS5LOK1v_buJt78xuyekFR2AlNbr_zkyUq_rAeekm1TQckPcbCMD39bc79ZoW0k/s320/IMG_0237%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDt9VPM0a__OQE2dmHWMo0cN-jX49JtqLq-WZOEw1naccYSTeniAkHKS5EoYzzIWzGXlo1llxNSvpMby2DlcqJCZeFM3jOYA1dfI_17Tib0jFt_NrU6npHmCNnLYV8fs9lPbfFM8ZTVGA/s1600/IMG_0238%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDt9VPM0a__OQE2dmHWMo0cN-jX49JtqLq-WZOEw1naccYSTeniAkHKS5EoYzzIWzGXlo1llxNSvpMby2DlcqJCZeFM3jOYA1dfI_17Tib0jFt_NrU6npHmCNnLYV8fs9lPbfFM8ZTVGA/s320/IMG_0238%255B1%255D.JPG" width="257" /></a></div>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-40300483813413576582011-10-24T10:30:00.000-05:002011-10-24T10:30:48.795-05:00Opinions NeededOk, so since I started making jewelry again earlier this summer, my husband Finau has been harassing me to make him a necklace. I have put it off this long for several reasons. They are (in no particular order of importance):<br />
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1. My jewelry style is decidedly girly. I've never designed jewelry with a mens audience in mind, and I don't really have a good sense of what will look appropriate.<br />
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2. Finau is a harsh critic when things don't measure up to his standards. For my own mental health and in order to avoid what I perceive to be an inevitable argument since I admittedly don't really know how to design mens jewelry, I've avoided making him a necklace.<br />
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3. Finau doesn't wear jewelry. Ever. Therefore, I have no idea what he might like. Additionally, when I ASKED him what he wanted, HE didn't even know what he might want. He gives me the "just make me something you think I would like" routine. Great...I'm envisioning myself handing him the necklace and having him say, "SERIOUSLY??!! You REALLY though I would like THIS??!!"<br />
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So, I've been really apprehensive about making anything for him. However, this morning I woke up and decided to at least TRY to come up with something he'd like. I figured I might as well try to come up with a few masculine pieces to put in my Etsy shop before the holiday season anyway...you never know who might be looking for a gift for a brother or boyfriend or something like that. The piece I made this morning is kind of an abstract cursive "F" in hammered metal with a single greenish stone, attached to a thin double leather cord. I would love to hear what you guys think about it. Specifically, I need to know if the "F" initial idea is too girly, if the actual design is masculine enough, if I should lose the stone bead or keep it, and if you have any other ideas about how I can improve it. If you think the whole design should be scrapped, please let me know what you think might work better. My feelings will not be nearly as hurt by you guys critiquing it as they will be if Finau shoots me down, so please be honest (but kind!). Ok...here it is (I'm inwardly cringing...I don't know why this freaks me out so much, but even just posting it on here is giving me anxiety! Hahaha)<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">WELL?????????</div>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-48016039782070075382011-10-21T12:24:00.001-05:002011-10-21T14:19:02.931-05:00God is a jokester...Those of you who know my family understand why I believe my brothers are two of the funniest people on earth. My brother Steven is particularly funny, and likes to play jokes on people by either wrapping really crappy gifts in very nice packages (for example: a single, dirty, matchless old sock wrapped in beautiful shiny paper with a big bow), or he wraps really nice surprises in ridiculous wrappers (he got me a Coach purse for Christmas one year, but was too lazy to wrap it, so instead he folded it up in the middle of an ENORMOUS old blanket and handed the whole nasty bundle to me!)<br />
<br />
Anywhooo...yesterday in the midst of my crazy, crazy day, it occurred to me that God's sense of humor is really very similar to Steven's (who knew? It's actually a pretty shocking epiphany since Steven is one of the more irreverent people in my life!) See, I realized that both Steven and my Heavenly Father like to give me very nice gifts wrapped in rather unfortunate-looking disguises. So, for my own amusement, I came up with a little list:<br />
<br />
Gift: 3 super snuggly babies who adore their Mommy<br />
Wrapper: 3 screaming banshees and a Mom with less arms than children<br />
<br />
Gift: The twins finally slept for an almost 5 hour stretch on Wednesday night<br />
Wrapper: I woke up and realized I was the sole contestant in a wet t-shirt contest, thanks to boobs that didn't get the memo that my girlies weren't waking up to eat at their regularly scheduled time, so they just went ahead and let loose a lovely breastmilk shower at the normally appointed feeding hour.<br />
<br />
Gift: Fall is finally here!!<br />
Wrapper: Woke up in said wet t-shirt in the middle of a frozen tundra that was once my room<br />
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Gift: Living in a country where we have the blessing of running water<br />
Wrapper: Water running out of Ilaiasi's bathroom and completely soaking the carpet in his bedroom closet...so not looking forward to pulling it all up to air dry. :/<br />
<br />
Gift: a generous husband who would literally give his friends the shirt off his back<br />
Wrapper: $105 in overdraft fees because he didn't check the account to be sure his direct deposit had cleared before he pulled money to let people borrow "just for one day to tide them over until payday on Friday."<br />
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I'm thinking of making this an every Friday post because it's been kind of fun looking for the "gifts" hidden in God's special "old, enormous blanket" wrapping paper. Hope you guys got a chuckle or two...again, feel free to laugh because I'd definitely laugh if I heard about some of these things happening to you! Happy Friday all!!Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4107587216459491535.post-81047294336170467782011-10-20T16:11:00.000-05:002011-10-20T16:11:25.587-05:00A Day in the Life...So, today's been rough. All three babies have diarrhea...which, as you can imagine, is less than ideal. And by less than ideal, I obviously mean incredibly, horribly, disgustingly, hideously gross. Let's face it: one kid with diarrhea is terribly nasty. Multiply that by 3 and, well...you get how my day is going so far. I keep reminding myself that someday I will look back on this and laugh. Or, as my dear friend Analyn reminded me, I will at least be able to use this terrible day as ammo to embarrass my children with later in their lives. Which, truth be told, is just as good if not better than being able to laugh at it later. Nevertheless, by about 9:00 this morning, I was already ready to call it a day. So, I decided I needed something else to focus on -- you know, something besides stinky runny poo seeping into my sheets AGAIN (the third set of the morning), squirmy poo-smeared legs kicking nastiness all over my shirt (also the third of the morning), and bath water running for -- you guessed it -- the THIRD time before 9:00. What could possibly divert my attention from such loveliness?<br />
If you've read any of my former blog posts, you've probably noticed that I adore my crazy children. I admit it unabashedly...I think they are the funniest, smartest, cutest things around. And, fortunately for me, this is MY blog, so I can write whatever I want. And that allows me an outlet where I can voice my admiration for my little runts. I wish I could say that they are the result of my amazing parenting, but, truthfully, they just came the way they are. At any rate, I decided late this morning that rather than focusing on all the "muck and mire" I am literally knee-deep in today, I would instead document a day in the life of my little runt Ovaka. I adore this kid. He is so funny in his own little way. Ovaka is half of my second set of identical twins...he is SO much like his dad, it's scary! Their looks, their personalities...everything is the same. Ovaka is a kid who is extremely easy going, but it's extremely difficult to make him laugh. He's equal parts sweet and sour -- he'll lovingly pat his sisters' heads, and then without provocation he'll slap them in the face. He's fearless -- if you scold him, he'll turn and scold YOU back -- but his feelings are incredibly fragile, and after he's done trying to hit you or yell at you for yelling at him, he'll burst into unconsollable tears and stick out his lip because you hurt his feelings. So, in a series of pictures that perfectly depict my funny little guy, here we go:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning snuggles with Mom</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wide awake and ready to watch cartoons while Mommy changes and feeds the girlies</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical Disney Channel-watching posture</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Losing interest in cartoons...hm...maybe she won't notice that I'm getting ready to bug the twins if I stand here nonchalantly...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep...time to annoy my sisters.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhByTlkdX-yIB37KYkAG4Dc4r0mN2YqEw9PndeL-o-G-FzUo1saSF7f6FCKWGo66ANXT2PFdlKXGp-B69p0w_cjS1fpNqHa4ZaUuWNx7CR_tzNlsEGe4NTxCvWAfnZfCuEtm_ThRnLek/s1600/IMG_0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhByTlkdX-yIB37KYkAG4Dc4r0mN2YqEw9PndeL-o-G-FzUo1saSF7f6FCKWGo66ANXT2PFdlKXGp-B69p0w_cjS1fpNqHa4ZaUuWNx7CR_tzNlsEGe4NTxCvWAfnZfCuEtm_ThRnLek/s320/IMG_0108.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What? I'm not doing anything...see?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0WGOtBYhyphenhyphenCT7UE9C6hW2tszDI0NmlZR3z7YgxVyhWvgWi6QaDCpjjmEQk4D0ihclgHxukp_XWB3on6yQxA0H9EBX84sBWHkrrlI-4A_qMoXZ7_ffq7arfvYSna4OXNm3Rmdo5rINhCg/s1600/IMG_0113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0WGOtBYhyphenhyphenCT7UE9C6hW2tszDI0NmlZR3z7YgxVyhWvgWi6QaDCpjjmEQk4D0ihclgHxukp_XWB3on6yQxA0H9EBX84sBWHkrrlI-4A_qMoXZ7_ffq7arfvYSna4OXNm3Rmdo5rINhCg/s320/IMG_0113.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After Mom told him to sit down and leave the girls alone: "No, YOU don't tell ME what to do...I tell YOU what to do!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pouty face...busted harassing the twins.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ok, time for a nap.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I own this bed."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">15 minutes later...already up...dang it...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7czoLxZpqAu2pNu6YisTcyUsKbeokyDS7OPlyF054zgsDnnuGtpEsP9Xy5h96cr5ztsJ14aMzshqC8OFupWkzZXXqYrMXrqLr35zO_i6i2XsR9XmYw7BILU7ZAIqKHQib2loducksipg/s1600/IMG_0133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7czoLxZpqAu2pNu6YisTcyUsKbeokyDS7OPlyF054zgsDnnuGtpEsP9Xy5h96cr5ztsJ14aMzshqC8OFupWkzZXXqYrMXrqLr35zO_i6i2XsR9XmYw7BILU7ZAIqKHQib2loducksipg/s320/IMG_0133.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Special Agent Oso </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjAecYBCUGcJ1oSPaH8BopynUcE3n5KCW1GvurG4EotXmvslDoGk-w3DU4nIGW2SDs4t51st18mIpsAaHcRFlZSePBlU9xHj6ErfRSuihV6t33IMLTyCkgYQJXWWhFqld5z7IVDn2U74/s1600/IMG_0137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjAecYBCUGcJ1oSPaH8BopynUcE3n5KCW1GvurG4EotXmvslDoGk-w3DU4nIGW2SDs4t51st18mIpsAaHcRFlZSePBlU9xHj6ErfRSuihV6t33IMLTyCkgYQJXWWhFqld5z7IVDn2U74/s320/IMG_0137.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uh, Mom...?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8HtFBhyv2psGeFWvg32dJXuQiOX62IrNvKBuiZN9AxzYE8JSgk5L3aFmY-uaKPgyRljGLkHJ54bsQlSB4TT5nfM5Ct_SXktjgpRABxPKk2hYhtOVY3FhQ7LlvKd0ckbu70yh0ormRaw/s1600/IMG_0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8HtFBhyv2psGeFWvg32dJXuQiOX62IrNvKBuiZN9AxzYE8JSgk5L3aFmY-uaKPgyRljGLkHJ54bsQlSB4TT5nfM5Ct_SXktjgpRABxPKk2hYhtOVY3FhQ7LlvKd0ckbu70yh0ormRaw/s320/IMG_0135.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not feeling so good</td></tr>
</tbody></table>***Brief intermission while we take yet ANOTHER bath due to nasty diarrhea***<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPWv5kzROgy3Qf8olK8H46LScGvkf5gD-JxIJNiZqqvWB_dZ_4zeAvzeO6NgYFaQcoras4RvOeujPA5UHrFGv8zx20t4bPG-Y1vT0MOZxBFuTB12PqNOK1F5lsCeUjsjSUeqcOooVO8w/s1600/IMG_0141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPWv5kzROgy3Qf8olK8H46LScGvkf5gD-JxIJNiZqqvWB_dZ_4zeAvzeO6NgYFaQcoras4RvOeujPA5UHrFGv8zx20t4bPG-Y1vT0MOZxBFuTB12PqNOK1F5lsCeUjsjSUeqcOooVO8w/s320/IMG_0141.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling better...must be time to bug my sisters again...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNO93Se67zk-Qh5sP1z6bihMJsTB2Y4ksD7Oqlar-S-6Xf4hSFgRQlE1-DPSMYoj6-tdneJcoQBN_iNwDEHcOAAbNQybAy2R44nyG4AyrZ0nhkg37mQ1gOACg9ecfuy-u0pMv9IbCrI0/s1600/IMG_0142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNO93Se67zk-Qh5sP1z6bihMJsTB2Y4ksD7Oqlar-S-6Xf4hSFgRQlE1-DPSMYoj6-tdneJcoQBN_iNwDEHcOAAbNQybAy2R44nyG4AyrZ0nhkg37mQ1gOACg9ecfuy-u0pMv9IbCrI0/s320/IMG_0142.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Let's see what happens when I take this thing out.."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6MOR23cFZZtRRPiMRPqD__h7F6DftwpZnSx7IHA1AIW8zeimBv7JVWvLLIk_8QYQ9pfRrx3JO0FZgwO-kgZ4ZEEjYqPkVgVQ4NGlImNxkCq06aMcj1rc_ykUTXgRRrupyPJrLMWF4r0k/s1600/IMG_0143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6MOR23cFZZtRRPiMRPqD__h7F6DftwpZnSx7IHA1AIW8zeimBv7JVWvLLIk_8QYQ9pfRrx3JO0FZgwO-kgZ4ZEEjYqPkVgVQ4NGlImNxkCq06aMcj1rc_ykUTXgRRrupyPJrLMWF4r0k/s320/IMG_0143.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"YIKES!! Let's put that back in!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-QDYzsd4yownr-8g0m4_Lz7-OLXl4SxTr4QgTEy4npMNeFs4gkxxoNmESO3bL8RP-5cy5Y9hf3lU-fpp8owb0vZMf6Fzd3ye7n8lyEWXTyEauKvhU1V8Ed-x31pFmLiZ6TACrE4l8frw/s1600/IMG_0144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-QDYzsd4yownr-8g0m4_Lz7-OLXl4SxTr4QgTEy4npMNeFs4gkxxoNmESO3bL8RP-5cy5Y9hf3lU-fpp8owb0vZMf6Fzd3ye7n8lyEWXTyEauKvhU1V8Ed-x31pFmLiZ6TACrE4l8frw/s320/IMG_0144.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You don't want it? Fine, then...it's mine."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdEipB3jW1dMUiwPs3Cld8wNiPfdFD_NbQvbus-sHKKI8WRDsKjZdT7TNzbwY5YRRyZoeYjjs5gtzW8EtMzDIJEXbIE5OSUvH32UugEXZbOO5FoX9SfgBMO5aG-Zfy1WGPIjN7HW2oIqs/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdEipB3jW1dMUiwPs3Cld8wNiPfdFD_NbQvbus-sHKKI8WRDsKjZdT7TNzbwY5YRRyZoeYjjs5gtzW8EtMzDIJEXbIE5OSUvH32UugEXZbOO5FoX9SfgBMO5aG-Zfy1WGPIjN7HW2oIqs/s320/IMG_0145.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Just keep staring forward...Mom has NO IDEA that I'm pulling my sister's monitor wires off..."</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFA2Q1AagefjdZos7HMwelwLPEwFei1y-eGAtmvpeIHDaxOT-6HpXrRxYPbAjmSZMW6uAaNZLSzqIGqKOaiao_QS5tmhaHvonKPOjGzZqpM9ea_rEijVdFkuSzIMkmVUG946LkPrY3Fk0/s1600/IMG_0146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFA2Q1AagefjdZos7HMwelwLPEwFei1y-eGAtmvpeIHDaxOT-6HpXrRxYPbAjmSZMW6uAaNZLSzqIGqKOaiao_QS5tmhaHvonKPOjGzZqpM9ea_rEijVdFkuSzIMkmVUG946LkPrY3Fk0/s320/IMG_0146.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Mom, please, please, PLEASE make it stop!! He's BUGGING ME!!!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGoPo0iIodOjA0NVarGjQe6rWOQk6SnbLyidlAMk2FKlEFHIFjnGkmlR9M0O4HVX_AtRRnVHlqSUmk2QFHlUOlDLk5TKD3fV-MtLcRMuUCusiWeHGdT7u78oE6U3jzLLydKwY4sIRLj0/s1600/IMG_0151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGoPo0iIodOjA0NVarGjQe6rWOQk6SnbLyidlAMk2FKlEFHIFjnGkmlR9M0O4HVX_AtRRnVHlqSUmk2QFHlUOlDLk5TKD3fV-MtLcRMuUCusiWeHGdT7u78oE6U3jzLLydKwY4sIRLj0/s320/IMG_0151.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling sorry...maybe I'll give her a little kiss...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-jT7GqqR_GAvmQ09NzXzbjQKMfy7i_v7SfMaHwZtsrVrEvVxTt5WVOQC38QDUWBEgy3-X2BeduN3O0OvFLYXaoJKcE5l3GxvAueGjDtAwYMS8m1H5z4LwawQhzEV3ug9qxkOl2UqWOAk/s1600/IMG_0159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-jT7GqqR_GAvmQ09NzXzbjQKMfy7i_v7SfMaHwZtsrVrEvVxTt5WVOQC38QDUWBEgy3-X2BeduN3O0OvFLYXaoJKcE5l3GxvAueGjDtAwYMS8m1H5z4LwawQhzEV3ug9qxkOl2UqWOAk/s320/IMG_0159.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What should we do now, Mom?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcUr1HjJIW5cnVoYZaZDIi41u3euRRXiE3i-ddMSsWUb2f6o61is-eNV6LWgQQK9Oa-sdPYYfSQlwNvOUobU3jZ_ElZz3ykXPN6YoAsuPAPWaosypPNT2XP-6mqT5bM78otwfkCjLZtA/s1600/IMG_0150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcUr1HjJIW5cnVoYZaZDIi41u3euRRXiE3i-ddMSsWUb2f6o61is-eNV6LWgQQK9Oa-sdPYYfSQlwNvOUobU3jZ_ElZz3ykXPN6YoAsuPAPWaosypPNT2XP-6mqT5bM78otwfkCjLZtA/s320/IMG_0150.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know...Phineas and Ferb!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqChmJwQ6gf06Z0vnaZqJECgHk5I1rzIoFjF_VxEH395HL3dI3kTPq7CSUedEYEdRU928PeL1DnCFuxKRyofXvIjq38QTUgyS_USJwTgs7DmGaDYZtwwZkaz861xpGkSRGzi-sHqcuHg0/s1600/IMG_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqChmJwQ6gf06Z0vnaZqJECgHk5I1rzIoFjF_VxEH395HL3dI3kTPq7CSUedEYEdRU928PeL1DnCFuxKRyofXvIjq38QTUgyS_USJwTgs7DmGaDYZtwwZkaz861xpGkSRGzi-sHqcuHg0/s320/IMG_0154.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That Perry the Platypus is HILARIOUS!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl84SFqw6TpP_l5G41FstWnunPES5OFOQ0Cz5ji-0TXGOPBIdSxt3eyZUXC2O9PW8BRdw12l_Hi0yT_xsM5z-PZPZnLOLj-jOaNsYmDNB0xRmbe6fOU52PuS9qhGVCCE4xGVI3hnVt2Dg/s1600/IMG_0160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl84SFqw6TpP_l5G41FstWnunPES5OFOQ0Cz5ji-0TXGOPBIdSxt3eyZUXC2O9PW8BRdw12l_Hi0yT_xsM5z-PZPZnLOLj-jOaNsYmDNB0xRmbe6fOU52PuS9qhGVCCE4xGVI3hnVt2Dg/s320/IMG_0160.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting bored again...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitYhN_8g0bNySEG9bdjXLV-3fD9Gijw1074IcURtjjyfDPub5tLOWlpiOaz5qXhKwBF2IH97r4nhYVoOwhRWvFliINLRUkIMNp7FxROFoa8GrzIQIkSmQqyrBNt7cbm23OcJmJWUQ0PE/s1600/IMG_0161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitYhN_8g0bNySEG9bdjXLV-3fD9Gijw1074IcURtjjyfDPub5tLOWlpiOaz5qXhKwBF2IH97r4nhYVoOwhRWvFliINLRUkIMNp7FxROFoa8GrzIQIkSmQqyrBNt7cbm23OcJmJWUQ0PE/s320/IMG_0161.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hm...what else can I get into?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNZYcIBM7wwxCy3LELsUhaDeeFgeNT5I5EEmhrlysQVxwISK7taiVMkNFu2-HBBLQ8UcSs9MzIuetxRi6zBTcdj7ygfy4wIUAV7gLGbLXDzkK86qOsN9BPOTonbAr7-BCQPdW57mlNpo/s1600/IMG_0164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNZYcIBM7wwxCy3LELsUhaDeeFgeNT5I5EEmhrlysQVxwISK7taiVMkNFu2-HBBLQ8UcSs9MzIuetxRi6zBTcdj7ygfy4wIUAV7gLGbLXDzkK86qOsN9BPOTonbAr7-BCQPdW57mlNpo/s320/IMG_0164.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I know...let's eat baby wipes!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-E_oeB9KCaxw7_Rsuc3lX7hwd-t0VS3GhSJtU5Y_DWmP91XA_fhMoILyx0L2cG7Hy1afX1NQYC8OkV1DCspbXt5AP0X8clawdEwEXq0bJVBlIh_UejIkFn0ElREZSMzzaYTPhT3htgw/s1600/IMG_0166%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-E_oeB9KCaxw7_Rsuc3lX7hwd-t0VS3GhSJtU5Y_DWmP91XA_fhMoILyx0L2cG7Hy1afX1NQYC8OkV1DCspbXt5AP0X8clawdEwEXq0bJVBlIh_UejIkFn0ElREZSMzzaYTPhT3htgw/s320/IMG_0166%255B1%255D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aaaaaaand...I'm spent!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Love you, Ovaka!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Kalanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11748529540363379111noreply@blogger.com2