<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498</id><updated>2012-01-02T21:45:19.414-05:00</updated><category term='exercise.'/><title type='text'>i love you best</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>221</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7261713625717157025</id><published>2010-12-31T20:51:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-31T21:56:08.526-05:00</updated><title type='text'>2010</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;See you later, 2010.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Don't let the door hit ya. Where the Good Lord split ya.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;(just kidding. kinda.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;2010. Eh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Don't get me wrong.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Some good things happened in 2010.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;(Pardon these not so great photos ... I just use my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;iPhone&lt;/span&gt;.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Disney World&lt;/span&gt; with my great friend, Kim.  It was a work trip for me.  We stayed on the VIP floor.  I was spoiled by this new development in my travel.  This is us on the It's a Small World ride.  Kim was quite gracious in my spontaneous crying jags.  And?  We helped a very small child find his parents in the rain.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NScz0sPI/AAAAAAAAAWo/pW1IJDC4e34/s1600/IMG_0251.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NScz0sPI/AAAAAAAAAWo/pW1IJDC4e34/s320/IMG_0251.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557034338332487922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I completed the Disney Princess Half Marathon with my dear friend, Carmen.  We were at the very end of the walkers.  The very end.  But we had a good time along the way.  She also encouraged me through my crying jags.  See how I cried a lot in 2010?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NSKUgKFI/AAAAAAAAAWg/jMV9LznjIdo/s1600/IMG_0287.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NSKUgKFI/AAAAAAAAAWg/jMV9LznjIdo/s320/IMG_0287.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557034333369280594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We released a ton of balloons on Michael's angel day.  I am always amazed by the amount of people that have been touched by Michael's short life.  I really thought that only my family and a few friends would come to our Balloon release in the park.  Michael's friends from school came out.  Some of my former co-workers and all of my graduate students came out.  My family drove many hours to spend the afternoon with us.  I am blessed to know so many fabulous people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NBGwVRkI/AAAAAAAAAWY/K71tQ-1Z6Ug/s1600/26924_1420005625047_1379876588_31142108_8339035_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NBGwVRkI/AAAAAAAAAWY/K71tQ-1Z6Ug/s320/26924_1420005625047_1379876588_31142108_8339035_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557034040354489922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Stu bought me tickets to spend a weekend in New York City with some sweet friends.  I wanted to go.  But was nervous because I don't like to be away from home.  He made the decision so easy for me.  We had a great time.  I love New York and to be able to spend it with some of my favorite people was wonderfully refreshing for this homebody.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NAzd1NsI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/NTwlaahLWy4/s1600/IMG_0332.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NAzd1NsI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/NTwlaahLWy4/s320/IMG_0332.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557034035176617666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My tennis team went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;regionals&lt;/span&gt;. My partner and I won 2 of our 3 matches.  We didn't win the tournament, but it was a good time.  Eating, swimming, playing tennis - Fun!  And we were so cute in our pink outfits!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NAigUBXI/AAAAAAAAAWI/x0ufy8IWkMg/s1600/IMG_0387.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 208px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NAigUBXI/AAAAAAAAAWI/x0ufy8IWkMg/s320/IMG_0387.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557034030623622514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Every child received a teddy bear at Children's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Healthcare&lt;/span&gt; of Atlanta in Michael's sweet name. My heart was bursting at the seams.  Another instance of my miscalculations.  I thought that we might receive enough for 50 bears.  But people spread the news far and wide.  A &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; fundraiser was put together - by sweet people that just did it.  Without our asking.  Just did it - because they were touched by Michael's story.   The playroom also received a ton of toys.  Wow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NAsGDn3I/AAAAAAAAAWA/KHO98WqmZ-o/s1600/IMG_0540.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NAsGDn3I/AAAAAAAAAWA/KHO98WqmZ-o/s320/IMG_0540.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557034033197850482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We lit Michael's candle in our yearly tradition of his Christmas program now.  The only one that we will get to see.  The cemetery was beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NAWaUS9I/AAAAAAAAAV4/c2oMTVMEv-Q/s1600/IMG_0512.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NAWaUS9I/AAAAAAAAAV4/c2oMTVMEv-Q/s320/IMG_0512.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557034027377249234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It snowed on Christmas Day. In Georgia.  I like to think that Michael pulled some strings with the Big Man.  We spent Christmas with my parents who were so generous, once again.  They take care of my heart.  My mom makes me food that I love.  They fill me with love.  They are good.  To their very core.  But I don't tell my dad that.  For he would get a big head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6QZqHCfNI/AAAAAAAAAW4/ZKkeK0CNgyc/s320/IMG_0562.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557037760696712402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There were other things to happen:  Mr. Bobby received his heart.  Ellen is cancer-free.  Babies were born.  And conceived.  Vacations.  Holidays.  Other things that were great that I can't think of right now.  I had a very generous and loving husband by my side.  the whole time.  Even when I was angry and not such a nice person.  I had friends.  real loving friends.  Who despite my attempts to push them away.  Keep coming back.  And loving me through my ugliness.  I have a family.  And they are wonderful and crazy and generous.  With the biggest hearts of anyone you could meet.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I worked.  On my own time.  With a woman that I am truly thankful for.  I also worked with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;fsu&lt;/span&gt; for a short time.  A real blessing.  And I worked. With my dear friend, Kim.  She can't know how much that helped me through these past dark months.  And it was fun to flex some of my creative muscles and brainstorm fun things with her.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I want to tell you that that I enjoyed every moment.  That I am smiling.  And happy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It would  be a lie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am wrestling with this grief.  And grief is winning.  Big time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I existed.  coasted. though this past year. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The first without my precious son.  Without his imprint.  On the year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I grinned.  And I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;beared&lt;/span&gt; it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am facing big questions of futures.  and the pasts.  and the things in between.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About faith.  and love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So.  Bring it, 2011.  But please bring it gently.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7261713625717157025?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7261713625717157025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7261713625717157025&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7261713625717157025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7261713625717157025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/12/2010.html' title='2010'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TR6NScz0sPI/AAAAAAAAAWo/pW1IJDC4e34/s72-c/IMG_0251.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6447902569168941923</id><published>2010-12-29T15:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-29T15:52:10.663-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a reminder</title><content type='html'>I saw this on another blog.  &lt;div&gt;It needed to be shared here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 22px; "&gt;&lt;b&gt;An Erma Bombeck Column:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); "&gt;A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the empty-nest syndrome -- that lonely period after the children are grown and gone. Right now, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby is teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat without him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;OK.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;One of these days, you'll shout, "Why don't you kids grow up and act your age!"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;And they will.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Or, "You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do ... and don't slam the door!"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;And they won't.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy -- bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;And it will.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;And you'll eat it alone.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;You'll say: "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do you hear?" And you'll have it.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more clothespins under the sofa.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more playpens to arrange a room around.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathrooms.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more iron-on patches, wet, knotted shoestrings, tight boots, or rubber bands for ponytails.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it. No baby sitter for New Year's Eve. Washing only once a week. Seeing a steak that isn't ground. Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No PTA meetings.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No car pools.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No blaring radios.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Having your own roll of Scotch tape.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more sloppy oatmeal kisses.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No more tooth fairy.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No giggles in the dark.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;No knees to heal, no responsibility.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;and the silence echoing, "I did."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6447902569168941923?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6447902569168941923/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6447902569168941923&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6447902569168941923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6447902569168941923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/12/reminder.html' title='a reminder'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-9189579577558067269</id><published>2010-12-18T19:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-18T19:50:48.476-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a message</title><content type='html'>I went to Michael's today.&lt;div&gt;The store.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For crafty items to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tackify&lt;/span&gt; my sweater for the 1st annual Dooley Tacky Christmas Sweater competition.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was perusing the floral aisle.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When  a woman looked at me and waved and said hello.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;From two silk and plastic flower aisles away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I didn't recognize her.  I don't think that I knew her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I am polite.  So I waved back and said Hi.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And went back to looking at the silver sparkled poinsettias.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She came over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And told me that the Lord had a message for me.  Did I want to hear it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;.  I said.  For I wasn't quite certain what else to say.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Perhaps she approached because I was wearing all black. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And hadn't slept the night before so the bags under my eyes were more pronounced.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She told me that I was suffering.  And had been for a while.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But that the Lord wanted me to know that I would experience joy once again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I started to cry.  I told her thank you.  I probably needed to hear that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She said that she knew.  That the Lord had told her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then she walked away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Leaving me standing there with my basket full of rhinestones and feather boas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my message from the Lord.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I tried to find her.  This Lord message deliverer.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To see if she was sharing this message with many others.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But she was gone.  Disappeared.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is not lost on me that this message delivery happened. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In Michael's.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-9189579577558067269?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/9189579577558067269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=9189579577558067269&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/9189579577558067269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/9189579577558067269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/12/message.html' title='a message'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-945291376513005897</id><published>2010-12-13T21:39:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-13T21:54:56.761-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Team Michael update!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Oh Friends.  My heart is full from this past weekend.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This weekend.  We put all of your generosity to use!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZQFbyXzI/AAAAAAAAAVs/LPs8Ul7jJxI/s1600/IMG_0528.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZQFbyXzI/AAAAAAAAAVs/LPs8Ul7jJxI/s320/IMG_0528.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550362461140574002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Stu and I left Tally very early on Sunday morning.  My sweet friends gave us the latest in Elf fashions with our Team Michael hats.  Loved those!  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We met up with my mom and dad;  my Aunt; and my two cousins.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZPgfy13I/AAAAAAAAAVk/eq0YE7z0Glc/s1600/IMG_0541.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZPgfy13I/AAAAAAAAAVk/eq0YE7z0Glc/s320/IMG_0541.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550362451225270130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;AND IT SNOWED!  This picture doesn't show the snow very well.  But it was beautiful.  And magical.  And the perfect backdrop for our shopping adventures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZPtCnWnI/AAAAAAAAAVc/rFxMez5hBfw/s1600/IMG_0542.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZPtCnWnI/AAAAAAAAAVc/rFxMez5hBfw/s320/IMG_0542.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550362454592543346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Target was on the schedule.  We had four or five carts FULL of toys and crafts for the playroom.  Several other Target shoppers commented on the fun we were having!  And fun we had.  Board Games and push toys and cars and DVDs and crayons and markers and googly eyes and batteries and legos and .... the list goes on and on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZPZSlTXI/AAAAAAAAAVU/czCBFZuQeZc/s1600/IMG_0536.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZPZSlTXI/AAAAAAAAAVU/czCBFZuQeZc/s320/IMG_0536.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550362449290808690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Next Stop:  Build-A-Bear.  Such nice people - the store was so busy when we got there.  The employees made time to talk to us about the bears.  They were just as excited to be a part of Team Michael's bear delivery as we were!  We had boxes and boxes of bears.  Every child at the Egleston campus of Children's Healthcare of Atlanta will receive a bear.  WOW!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A fun day was had by all of us.  I am continually overwhelmed by the love of family and friends.  And complete strangers.  When I am at my lowest, I think of all of you.  And I am buoyed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZPAa-uYI/AAAAAAAAAVM/irfSU0ikX3c/s1600/IMG_0540.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZPAa-uYI/AAAAAAAAAVM/irfSU0ikX3c/s320/IMG_0540.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550362442615142786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We delivered the hundreds of bear and bags upon bags of toys to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta this afternoon.  We knew that we would not be able to deliver directly to the patients - that is against hospital policy.  Our contact person at the hospital was so nice.  And so amazed by how many things we put into her office!  I'm not sure she was expecting that many items.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She doesn't know all of you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you to everyone who donated.  Everyone who sent notes of support and encouragement.  Thank you!   Consider yourself hugged!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-945291376513005897?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/945291376513005897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=945291376513005897&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/945291376513005897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/945291376513005897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/12/team-michael-update.html' title='Team Michael update!'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/TQbZQFbyXzI/AAAAAAAAAVs/LPs8Ul7jJxI/s72-c/IMG_0528.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8064445857684492785</id><published>2010-11-10T23:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T00:08:38.074-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Team Michael</title><content type='html'>I sent this letter out through e-mail and through a new TEAM MICHAEL F&lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Team-Michael/167174689967092"&gt;acebook Group&lt;/a&gt; a week ago:&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"   style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in;   font-family:serif;font-size:12pt;"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" face="serif" size="12pt" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in;   "&gt;Michael was 5 1/2 months old when he went in for his 2nd surgery.  It was December 15, 1999.  I had gotten everything done for&lt;span class="yshortcuts" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_2" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; "&gt;Christmas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; early that year.  I didn't know how long he would be in the hospital.  Being the rock star that he was, he was out in less than a week.  From &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_3"  style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial; border-bottom- background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color:initial;"&gt;open heart surgery&lt;/span&gt;.  Such the trooper.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" face="serif" size="12pt" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in;   "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" face="serif" size="12pt" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in;   "&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" face="serif" size="12pt" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in;   "&gt;While in the hospital, a group came around to deliver toys to the patients in the CICU.  Michael was given something age appropriate - a puppy &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_4" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;plastic toy&lt;/span&gt;.  I remember thinking that it was an odd feeling to be on the receiving end of a donation of this kind at the holidays.  We gave to &lt;span class="yshortcuts" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_5" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; "&gt;Toys for Tots&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, put change in the &lt;span class="yshortcuts" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_6" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;Salvation Army&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; pots at the stores, donated blankets to the homeless.  But never thought we would be a recipient.   It was humbling.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" face="serif" size="12pt" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in;   "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;We still have that toy.  It was a comfort to us while in the hospital.  A way of saying that we were not alone.  That someone had thought of Michael and our family.  That someone, a stranger,  spent time to bring joy to a less than joyous place.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;My family wanted to do something to honor Michael this holiday season.  We decided to give already built Build-A-Bears to patients on the Sibley Heart Center floor at Children's Health Care of &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_7" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;Atlanta&lt;/span&gt;.  A perfect way to remember Michael.  He was a patient there.  And he LOVED his &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_8" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;stuffed animals&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;These Build-A-Bears are $10.00 each.  Our goal is to donate a bear to every patient spending their holidays away from home.  In the hospital.  Will you help us reach that goal?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;You can donate in a couple of ways.  We have set up a PayPal link so that donations may be made on line.  Or you can mail me a check.  Or if you want to raid your &lt;span class="yshortcuts" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_9" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;piggy bank&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, I will totally take your pennies.  Please feel free to forward this e-mail far and wide - the more the merrier!  We will need to have your donations by &lt;span class="yshortcuts" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1289451692_10" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer; "&gt;November 29th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; to be able to receive the bears in time for delivery.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Here is the PayPal link:  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="ecxapple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;a rel="nofollow" target="_blank" href="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&amp;amp;hosted_button_id=CCWUVX4AX7QKJ" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline; "&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts" style="color: rgb(54, 99, 136); "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&amp;amp;hosted_button_id=CCWUVX4AX7QKJ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-family: serif; "&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;Once again, I appreciate your thoughts and prayers.  And for remembering Michael.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;I can report that as of today, we have raised just over $2000.00.  In a week.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;I am truly speechless.  I had no idea what to expect.  Wow.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;This shows me that Michael's spirit lives on.  That my son.  My sweet son.  Has inspired people and touched the hearts of many.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;He would be so excited to see what all of you have done in his memory.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;I would like to give you all a big (bear) hug.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;Consider it done.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 12pt; font-family: serif; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8064445857684492785?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8064445857684492785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8064445857684492785&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8064445857684492785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8064445857684492785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/11/team-michael.html' title='Team Michael'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6805649993319808176</id><published>2010-10-31T18:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-31T19:03:18.042-05:00</updated><title type='text'>my costume.</title><content type='html'>I opened the door.  To find a pirate.  A princess.  Dorothy Gale.  And a witch. On the porch.&lt;div&gt;Each took turns grabbing candy from the pink pumpkin.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The witch proclaimed that I had her favorite candy.  And thanked me profusely.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The pirate took more than one candy.  The princess insisted that he give it back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And Dorothy Gale.  Asked me if I was a mommy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me.  With my t-shirt, shorts and flip flops.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hair in a pony tail.  Bags that are packed for a two week vacation under my eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Was Dorothy wondering this because she thought I had on a costume?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or because she just wanted to know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I simply said Yes. I am.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And realized that it fit.  I am.  A mommy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Happy Halloween.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6805649993319808176?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6805649993319808176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6805649993319808176&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6805649993319808176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6805649993319808176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-costume.html' title='my costume.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-694412551342563710</id><published>2010-10-28T21:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-28T21:12:09.616-05:00</updated><title type='text'>pancake mix</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;My husband grabs an expired box of pancake mix out of the pantry and asks:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Do you have any emotional attachment to this mix?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I burst into tears.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can remember, so clearly&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Making a botched batch of zucchini pancakes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With tofu noodles. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Making these with my sidekick.  My right arm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My Michael.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then going out for pizza instead.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because why would I think that zucchini pancakes, with tofu noodles, would be delicious?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is my state of mind.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Holding onto things because there are memories associated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm a hoarder.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It pains me to throw away anything that has any sort of attachment to Michael.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stu put the pancake mix back in the closet.  For another day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am a crazy woman.  With a very sweet husband.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Who asks first because he knows me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And doesn't think I am losing it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or at least he keeps that part to himself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-694412551342563710?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/694412551342563710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=694412551342563710&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/694412551342563710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/694412551342563710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/10/pancake-mix.html' title='pancake mix'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7892167072376978649</id><published>2010-10-15T16:34:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-15T16:37:57.091-05:00</updated><title type='text'>sometimes.</title><content type='html'>Sometimes.&lt;br /&gt; I feel so sorry for myself.&lt;br /&gt;The grass is greener on every other street.&lt;br /&gt;But not mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart is empty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I remember.&lt;br /&gt;For almost 10 years.  I had the joy.  the pleasure. the love.&lt;br /&gt;Of a boy named Michael.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for that moment. &lt;br /&gt;My heart is full.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7892167072376978649?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7892167072376978649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7892167072376978649&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7892167072376978649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7892167072376978649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/10/sometimes.html' title='sometimes.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5707264430819705638</id><published>2010-09-19T21:19:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-19T23:29:59.382-05:00</updated><title type='text'>lies.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;"Mommy?  Am I going to die?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;We were driving home from a long weekend in Atlanta.  &lt;div&gt;Michael had been feeling what he described as bats in his chest.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I took him to his cardiologist to be checked out.  He was prescribed a 30 day Holter monitor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To monitor his heart rhythms.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was less than pleased about it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was worried about the kids at school.  What they would say.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And it was really the first time that his heart had affected his life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Other than all those surgeries.  And that year of fat free eating.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Which he didn't really remember.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But this time.  Was different.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He kind of understood that not everyone goes to the cardiologist twice a year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That not every kid was monitored so closely.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was in 2nd grade.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And questioning his own mortality.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the ripe old age of 7.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Mommy?  Am I going to die?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I lied to him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I told him that he would live.  For a very long time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that he would be able to date.  When he was 35.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And he balked at that.  And told me of his plans to go to college.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And get married.  But not to worry.  He would come visit me at the holidays.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He had big plans.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I lied to him.  And told him to dream big.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I lied to him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought it was the truth.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5707264430819705638?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5707264430819705638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5707264430819705638&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5707264430819705638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5707264430819705638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/09/lies.html' title='lies.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7426808896133458141</id><published>2010-08-09T23:59:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-27T20:22:05.265-05:00</updated><title type='text'>middle school pondering</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Today, I thought of you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That sounds silly.  I think of you everyday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But today. Today I imagined you as a budding middle school student.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And your first day of school outfit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Would you let me pick it out? Or would you put your Michael-style spin to it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(I am certain I know the answer to that one).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought of what school supplies you would need.  As a middle schooler.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Would you have a locker?  I don't even know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just know that you would have to change for PE. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Would that scare you as much as it did me in 6th grade?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Probably not.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Would you bring your lunch?  Do you eat snack in middle school?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You would ride the bus for the first time.  Maybe.  If I let you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You would want to stay home by yourself.  Another If I let you moment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would struggle with the growing up of my baby boy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How tall would you be?  How big would your feet be?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would lament how time flies and when did my baby grow up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would be so nervous for you.  Because middle school was a rough time for my younger self.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kids can be mean.  Especially when you have a tender heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Would homework be tough for you?  Would changing classes  be fun?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Would you hold my hand?  Kiss me goodbye? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; Would you still call me Mommy?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A week of school has gone by. We would celebrate on Friday. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; With movie night and pizza. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; Just like we always did.  Except now we don't.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because you aren't here.  And I miss you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7426808896133458141?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7426808896133458141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7426808896133458141&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7426808896133458141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7426808896133458141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/08/middle-school-pondering.html' title='middle school pondering'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2255081572850773475</id><published>2010-04-09T07:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-09T08:02:42.910-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a year ago.  today.</title><content type='html'>A year ago.  Last night.  I was sitting on my bed.  Playing UNO with my son.&lt;br /&gt;The phone rang.  It was a girl asking to speak to Michael.&lt;br /&gt;I laughed as he hardly got a word in.&lt;br /&gt;I thought about how this was the first.  Of many more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year ago.  This morning. I was running a little late for work.&lt;br /&gt;So I was able to give goodbye smooches to Michael.&lt;br /&gt;I reminded him to wear his Young Actors shirt.   &lt;br /&gt;I kissed him goodbye. &lt;br /&gt;I told him I loved him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year ago.  At 10:15 (or so).  I received a phone call.&lt;br /&gt;Michael had passed out.  Don't panic, she said. &lt;br /&gt;I ran to my car.  I made phone calls.&lt;br /&gt;We waited in the ER hallway.  Answering questions.  Waiting to see Michael. &lt;br /&gt;To reassure him.  To hold his hand. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year ago.  At 11:46 am. &lt;br /&gt;Michael slipped away.  To the heavens.&lt;br /&gt;And the world crashed around me.   I screamed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year ago.  At 1:30 pm.&lt;br /&gt;I walked out of the hospital. &lt;br /&gt;Clutching my son's shoes.  Because that's all I had of his. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year agao.  Today.&lt;br /&gt;The world lost one of its best.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2255081572850773475?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2255081572850773475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2255081572850773475&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2255081572850773475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2255081572850773475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/04/year-ago-today.html' title='a year ago.  today.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1412339578576944485</id><published>2010-04-02T11:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-02T11:16:12.665-05:00</updated><title type='text'>this day.</title><content type='html'>Yesterday.  I was filled with dread.  I couldn't shake it.&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't certain why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it hit me.  Good Friday.  And what I was doing that day.  Last year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was picking out Michael's spot in the cemetery.  I was picking out a coffin.  For my 9 year old.  I was putting together plans for a memorial.  And trying to pick out flowers that were not girly.  And I was pinching myself.  Hard.  So that I would wake up from this miserable.  devastating.  nightmare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To think about that.  Made me physically ill. &lt;br /&gt;And I threw up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1412339578576944485?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1412339578576944485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1412339578576944485&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1412339578576944485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1412339578576944485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/04/this-day.html' title='this day.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8361896108369237208</id><published>2010-03-31T13:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-31T13:48:51.604-05:00</updated><title type='text'>time</title><content type='html'>Egads.  I gave myself a weekend.  I took a week and a half.&lt;br /&gt;Whoops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am kind of denying the passage of time.  I am denying that tomorrow is April.  I am denying that in 10 days.  It will be a year. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my heart aches.  And my shoulders are slumped. &lt;br /&gt;And my tears aren't drying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am digging in my heels. &lt;br /&gt;The world keeps spinning. &lt;br /&gt;And I am very still.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8361896108369237208?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8361896108369237208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8361896108369237208&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8361896108369237208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8361896108369237208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/time.html' title='time'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-313099799026696774</id><published>2010-03-18T21:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T21:18:39.849-05:00</updated><title type='text'>road trip</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S6LeMQeAf7I/AAAAAAAAAU8/gE3WiYqMIVw/s1600-h/DSC00498.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S6LeMQeAf7I/AAAAAAAAAU8/gE3WiYqMIVw/s320/DSC00498.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450162801232347058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm taking my show on the road this weekend.  Hanging out with my cousins on Friday night, hanging out with my mom and dad on Saturday, and hanging out with great friends on Sunday.  I'm looking forward to it.  Very much.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Which means ... I think I am going to not blog this weekend.  I know.  I totally challenged myself to blog the whole month of March.  But sometimes, life happens.  And I want to savor my moments.  And unplug just a bit.  I'll extend my month of March into April a little.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Have a wonderful weekend, sweet blog reader.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-313099799026696774?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/313099799026696774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=313099799026696774&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/313099799026696774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/313099799026696774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/road-trip.html' title='road trip'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S6LeMQeAf7I/AAAAAAAAAU8/gE3WiYqMIVw/s72-c/DSC00498.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6447018638662900305</id><published>2010-03-17T21:04:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T21:14:43.951-05:00</updated><title type='text'>bouquets of clover</title><content type='html'>I am back on campus twice a week.  Today was my first official day with real hours.  &lt;div&gt;After my day was finished, I walked back to my car.  A further park from when I was full-time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I spotted my car from half a block away, I noticed some greenery on my windshield.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was rainy and windy today.  I assumed a leaf or branch had fallen on my car.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It wasn't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a bouquet of clovers placed under my windshield wipers.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On St. Patrick's Day.  From my very own secret leprechaun.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What a sweet surprise!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6447018638662900305?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6447018638662900305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6447018638662900305&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6447018638662900305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6447018638662900305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/bouquets-of-clover.html' title='bouquets of clover'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-4500812926874517690</id><published>2010-03-16T21:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T22:09:42.756-05:00</updated><title type='text'>random.</title><content type='html'>Having to put only two people live in my household makes me cry.&lt;br /&gt;Stupid census.&lt;br /&gt;(And we don't say that word in our house. But I am too tired to choose my words this night.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--------------&lt;br /&gt;Stu is right at this very moment watching YouTube videos of guys with nunchuck skills. And he has declared that he wants a set for his birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everybody needs a hobby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------------&lt;br /&gt;I am two days into being a vegetarian. My cousin read the book, The Kind Diet. And she warned me that Chapter 2 turned her off of meat. I read Chapter 2. And now I can't eat meat either. I am a pretty picky eater. But I'm willing to try now. I tried Soy Milk for the first time tonight. Delicious. Of course, it was &lt;em&gt;chocolate&lt;/em&gt; Soy Milk. That makes a difference.  Everything is better with chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------------&lt;br /&gt;I am now a member of 3 tennis teams. And I take a lesson during the week. And I usually play on Sundays. I like it because it is an hour and a half (sometimes longer!) that I don't think about anything else but getting a little yellow ball across the net. And I sweat. And I remember that I am still here. I am still breathing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am also starting the Couch to 5K program. My mom is doing it. My friend Angelyn is doing it. And I just saw that another friend, Jenn, is also doing it. I plan to up the ante on my next Half Marathon ... a little worst to middle of the pack action. Most improved, that's me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-4500812926874517690?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/4500812926874517690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=4500812926874517690&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4500812926874517690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4500812926874517690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/random.html' title='random.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7873645048076406031</id><published>2010-03-15T21:51:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T22:01:22.263-05:00</updated><title type='text'>movies.</title><content type='html'>I will not pay to be sad.  Anymore.&lt;div&gt;No sad movies.  No sad songs.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went to see a war movie. I'm sure the movie was fine.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I could only think of the boys in the movie.  Of their mothers.  Of the news they would get.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know.  This was a movie.  A suspense movie.  I should have been on the edge of my seat.  And that these were actors.  Acting a part.  They will get up.  They will be with their families.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But instead all I could think about was how sad it was for the families. The fictional families.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have enough going on to be sad about ... I don't need a movie.  Or a lyric.  To make me cry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm great at doing that all by myself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7873645048076406031?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7873645048076406031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7873645048076406031&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7873645048076406031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7873645048076406031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-will-not-pay-to-be-sad.html' title='movies.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-921904058582447700</id><published>2010-03-14T21:04:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-14T21:15:09.532-05:00</updated><title type='text'>groceries</title><content type='html'>I haven't been to the grocery store in almost a year. &lt;div&gt;I think I went with Michael the Monday before that terrible Thursday.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that was the last time.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For the first few months after, I didn't sleep.  Just couldn't.  I was so tired.  But I didn't think it fair that I should feel comfortable.  That I should rest.  I also couldn't go to the grocery store.  A great friend told me that I could go years without going to the grocery store.  But I couldn't go years without sleep.  To choose one.  And not the other.  To choose not going to the grocery store.  And to sleep.  Good advice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stu goes to the grocery store for us now.  Or I pick up the basics from Target.  I can shop in their little section, but not Publix.  I know. It's weird.   Michael was my grocery store partner.   I don't like grocery shopping to begin with ... neither did he, really.  Together it was fun.  We laughed.  We timed ourselves to see how much time it would take.  But could never remember the last time score.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It seemed that every time we bagged our apples or oranges, we started an avalanche.  Same with carrots.  We made it a game.  Would the carrots jump off the shelf this time?  Another silly game that we enjoyed together.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't really explain the reason that I can't get past the grocery store parking lot now.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I pull in.  I sit in the car.  I leave.  Without going inside.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-921904058582447700?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/921904058582447700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=921904058582447700&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/921904058582447700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/921904058582447700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/groceries.html' title='groceries'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-9207712050189833061</id><published>2010-03-13T22:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-13T22:38:00.164-05:00</updated><title type='text'>picture</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;My own version of Wordless Wednesday ... Silent Saturday.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I am not great at silence.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think that this picture was taken at the end of a timeout for little Michael.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't remember the timeout offense (though backtalk is an easy option).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A sweet face, regardless of the crime.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5xZY0Cl52I/AAAAAAAAAU0/k3SHGZ9HdmM/s1600-h/img053.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5xZY0Cl52I/AAAAAAAAAU0/k3SHGZ9HdmM/s320/img053.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448327932032706402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-9207712050189833061?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/9207712050189833061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=9207712050189833061&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/9207712050189833061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/9207712050189833061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/picture.html' title='picture'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5xZY0Cl52I/AAAAAAAAAU0/k3SHGZ9HdmM/s72-c/img053.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2552477420973402546</id><published>2010-03-12T20:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-12T21:23:48.542-05:00</updated><title type='text'>five for friday</title><content type='html'>I've seen this idea on other blogs.  And decided to copy.   The point is to write a short list ... five to be exact ... of things I am thinking/doing/contemplating.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  I'm still kind of on a little high from this past weekend's half marathon.  Again.  I was seventh from the last person to finish.  But still.  I hadn't trained.  And I was sad.  I finished.  With the help of my friend, Carmen.  My own stubborn ways.  And  a little threatening from the balloon wearing pace lady.   She was one serious walker.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was glad to meet two new friends ... Tina and Kelly.  These girls know how to bring it.  I'm going to need to practice bringing it before I see them again.  Which I really hope is soon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Because I like to challenge myself (but you all knew that from my one of my previous posts), I am going to start the Couch to 5K program.  Or one like it (thanks, Ang!).  Stu is doing it.  My mom is going to do it.  My friend Angelyn is doing it.  Accountability all over the place.   My next challenge is to run.  Not walk.  A Half Marathon.  I could go from worst to first ... or somewhere in the middle, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  Today was a rough day.  I have these with increasing frequency.  I think it is the thought of the upcoming one year date.  And I just feel overwhelmed.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  I have had two dreams about Michael recently.  But when I wake up, I can't remember any of the details of what we did, or what we said.  I only have this feeling of visiting with him.  It is a wonderful feeling.  And it is a terrible feeling. Because I feel like I missed out on an important visit with him.  I want more.  Because I am greedy like that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  We got a new washing machine.  Stu had ordered a toilet.  It was delivered.  Broken in half.  So Stu traded it in for a washing machine.  That's logical, right?  Remind me that I need to dedicate a blog post to my husband's large appliance purchases.  Five microwaves.  &lt;i&gt;at one time.  &lt;/i&gt;And then I will blog about the demolition of our master bathroom.  Stu makes for good blog fodder.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;----------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I never know how to comment back to people that comment in my comments.  (How many times could I write comment in that last sentence?  Three.)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wanted to address a comment on yesterday's post from Tammy.  So I will do it here, because I think it might be a common question.  Tammy asked if strangers were could come to the Celebration of Michael's life in April.  To that I answer, ABSOLUTELY.   I'd love to meet people who have been impacted by Michael's story.  Who have prayed for us.  (And Tammy?  I kind of feel like I know you from your comments on this blog.  Is that weird? )&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2552477420973402546?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2552477420973402546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2552477420973402546&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2552477420973402546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2552477420973402546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/five-for-friday.html' title='five for friday'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2762143868305423536</id><published>2010-03-11T21:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-11T21:53:50.645-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a celebration of life</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;The support that &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1268280003_0"&gt;Stu&lt;/span&gt; and I have received over the past 11 months has been truly wonderful.  Thank you.  Thank you for praying for us, calling, e-mailing, checking on us.  We appreciate it.  More than you could know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;On April 9, 2009, our world collapsed.  Michael was our lives.  Our greatest joy.  And in an instant, he was gone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;And so ... it is our hope to continue to celebrate the great joy that Michael was to us.  To you.  To the people that he knew.  We would like to invite you to join us &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1268280003_1" style="border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer; "&gt;on April 10, 2010&lt;/span&gt;, at Tekesta Park in &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1268280003_2"&gt;Tallahassee&lt;/span&gt; from &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1268280003_3" style="border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer; "&gt;2:00 pm to 5:00 pm&lt;/span&gt;.  Bring a snack to share.  Bring a lawn chair.  There is a playground and open fields to run and play in.  We'll have a balloon release - and papers to fill out messages to put into the balloons.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;We will celebrate the life of Michael.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;Join us!  I would love to meet some of you!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2762143868305423536?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2762143868305423536/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2762143868305423536&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2762143868305423536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2762143868305423536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/celebration-of-life.html' title='a celebration of life'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8867147591890766089</id><published>2010-03-10T22:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T22:45:50.113-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the missings.</title><content type='html'>I have these days where I just want my old life back.    Where I talk about normal things.   And do normal things.  And think normal things.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today was one of those days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to be planning Spring Break.  I want to be stressing about FCAT testing.  I want to be looking forward to the summer.  And making dinner for my TWO boys.  And waiting for my one little boy to come home from school.  To talk about his day.  To do homework together.  And tell him twelve times to pick up his room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to go to dinner and enjoy it.  Instead of struggling with our little two seater booth.  Of being "just two for dinner tonight".  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss our family.  I miss the crazy normalcy of it all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss my old life.  I want to freeze those crazy moments of getting ready in the morning.  Of the reminders to walk straight home from school.  I miss packing lunch.  I miss signing my name as Michael's mom.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Most of all.  I miss the normalcy of grabbing a hand as we cross the road.  Of one last snuggle and kiss goodnight.  Of the I love you's.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of looking for Michael in a crowd and my heart leaping for joy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That he was MY child.  MY son.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What a blessing!  What an imagination!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What a wonderfully weird kid!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(That is a compliment in our house)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once again, this grief reaches up.  Punching me in the throat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Grief is a jerk.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8867147591890766089?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8867147591890766089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8867147591890766089&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8867147591890766089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8867147591890766089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/missings.html' title='the missings.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2603305128951481775</id><published>2010-03-09T23:04:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T23:12:53.971-05:00</updated><title type='text'>relaxing.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Today was for relaxing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5cbhfD7EDI/AAAAAAAAAUs/2HQK_WKMlfQ/s1600-h/DSC00701.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5cbhfD7EDI/AAAAAAAAAUs/2HQK_WKMlfQ/s320/DSC00701.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446852536415490098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;For enjoying a latte.  With a friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5cbg_UjlZI/AAAAAAAAAUk/hqAAO-4xhrk/s1600-h/img029.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5cbg_UjlZI/AAAAAAAAAUk/hqAAO-4xhrk/s320/img029.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446852527895319954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;For massages.  That worked out kinks in my back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5cbgVf_4OI/AAAAAAAAAUc/sDIx7b7nSKM/s1600-h/img002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5cbgVf_4OI/AAAAAAAAAUc/sDIx7b7nSKM/s320/img002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446852516669022434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And for eating delicious foods.  Without care for how it might have looked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2603305128951481775?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2603305128951481775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2603305128951481775&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2603305128951481775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2603305128951481775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/relaxing.html' title='relaxing.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5cbhfD7EDI/AAAAAAAAAUs/2HQK_WKMlfQ/s72-c/DSC00701.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-3810384311531436689</id><published>2010-03-08T22:50:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T23:55:20.598-05:00</updated><title type='text'>challenges</title><content type='html'>I feel this need to continually challenge myself. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mostly, it is physical challenges. Like the 3 Day (and the fundraising that comes with a walk like that). Or the Disney Princess Half Marathon. Or play tennis four (or sometimes more) days of the week.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think it is to remind myself that I am alive. That I am able to feel and experience life in a physical way. I don't train well for these events. But I do them. I feel the pain of the blisters. I feel. Which is important because I mostly try not to feel.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I wonder what it is about these challenges that draw me in? Is it something to look forward to? Is it the pushing of myself to get out of this cocoon of comfort and silence? Is it because my child can't do it now? And couldn't do it before?  Is it to remind myself that I AM alive?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know. I just know that I am currently planning my next challenge. Putting together a training schedule that my feet are begging me to follow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-3810384311531436689?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/3810384311531436689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=3810384311531436689&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/3810384311531436689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/3810384311531436689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/challenges.html' title='challenges'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7482242559746179723</id><published>2010-03-07T21:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T21:38:02.002-05:00</updated><title type='text'>we did it.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;We did it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We might have walked a little slow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We might have been just seven people from being the last to cross the finish line.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Seriously.  We were 11260 and 11261.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But we finished. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tiaras were on straight.  Smiles on our faces.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We did it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5RfimXTjDI/AAAAAAAAAUU/cuB4TrzzS1c/s1600-h/IMG_0281.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5RfimXTjDI/AAAAAAAAAUU/cuB4TrzzS1c/s320/IMG_0281.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446082897416260658" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I might a few rather large blisters on my feet.&lt;div&gt;I might have my very first blood blister.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I might need new shoes because these have been through two 3 Day Walks.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And countless training walks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I might not have trained much.  Or at all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But we did it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5RfibNalEI/AAAAAAAAAUM/EMlE5O8p6h0/s1600-h/IMG_0285.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5RfibNalEI/AAAAAAAAAUM/EMlE5O8p6h0/s320/IMG_0285.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446082894421988418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I might have cried as we walked into Magic Kingdom.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I might have slowed my friend Carmen down.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A lot.  She is a runner.  But stayed with me the whole time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Helping me through it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We might all need cheerleaders like Carmen.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We did it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I might never take my finisher's medal off my neck.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7482242559746179723?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7482242559746179723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7482242559746179723&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7482242559746179723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7482242559746179723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/we-did-it.html' title='we did it.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5RfimXTjDI/AAAAAAAAAUU/cuB4TrzzS1c/s72-c/IMG_0281.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1907049422838857273</id><published>2010-03-06T15:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T15:07:00.568-05:00</updated><title type='text'>princess castle.  green army men.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5EewxlDpZI/AAAAAAAAAUE/HG-8NMFVXlM/s1600-h/DSCF6109.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445167247758960018" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5EewxlDpZI/AAAAAAAAAUE/HG-8NMFVXlM/s320/DSCF6109.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Every princess should have a castle.  And her own legion of green army men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael's green army men.  Our neice, Jordyn's pretty pink princess castle. &lt;br /&gt;They found a way to make it work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1907049422838857273?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1907049422838857273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1907049422838857273&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1907049422838857273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1907049422838857273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/princess-castle-green-army-men.html' title='princess castle.  green army men.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5EewxlDpZI/AAAAAAAAAUE/HG-8NMFVXlM/s72-c/DSCF6109.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8525601318255383649</id><published>2010-03-05T10:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-05T10:06:56.889-05:00</updated><title type='text'>parade</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5Ed0u8sR5I/AAAAAAAAAT8/hm0W-40mFqw/s1600-h/DSCF6206.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445166216260634514" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5Ed0u8sR5I/AAAAAAAAAT8/hm0W-40mFqw/s320/DSCF6206.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5Ed0OL_UdI/AAAAAAAAAT0/hl0gRYWCYPA/s1600-h/DSCF6205.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445166207466426834" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5Ed0OL_UdI/AAAAAAAAAT0/hl0gRYWCYPA/s320/DSCF6205.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Since I am on my way to Disney, I thought I would share a moment of our trip to the Magic Kingdom. Our last trip to Disney as a family. It was for Star Wars Weekend. We spent one day at Magic Kingdom and the other day at the Star Wars Weekend hub, Hollywood Studios.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael and I were chosen to be flag wavers in the Family Fun Day Parade. There was a routine. I stuck to it, being a professional drill teamer and all. Michael was mostly content to just wave his around a bit. And wave to the people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our PAPA-razzi, Stu. (Get it ... PAPA as in DAD. Oh. I bring the funny.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway. Stu followed us the whole parade with his video camera. Jumped in front of people. Just to film us. I don't have that video to share - but will soon. &lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael and I thought we should be parade professionals. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's not exactly true. I thought we should. He was mostly content just to watch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A sweet memory from a fun family trip.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8525601318255383649?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8525601318255383649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8525601318255383649&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8525601318255383649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8525601318255383649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/parade.html' title='parade'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5Ed0u8sR5I/AAAAAAAAAT8/hm0W-40mFqw/s72-c/DSCF6206.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7008152558900784433</id><published>2010-03-05T00:15:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-05T00:23:21.554-05:00</updated><title type='text'>headed out...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5CVESkkG0I/AAAAAAAAATs/EUy7YLlT-HQ/s1600-h/IMG_5459.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5CVESkkG0I/AAAAAAAAATs/EUy7YLlT-HQ/s320/IMG_5459.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445015850428144450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5CVD_D7TRI/AAAAAAAAATk/u8mW2b6pRDU/s1600-h/DSCF6129.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5CVD_D7TRI/AAAAAAAAATk/u8mW2b6pRDU/s320/DSCF6129.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445015845190978834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Headed to Orlando tomorrow for the Disney Princess Half Marathon.  Wish me luck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7008152558900784433?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7008152558900784433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7008152558900784433&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7008152558900784433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7008152558900784433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/headed-out.html' title='headed out...'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S5CVESkkG0I/AAAAAAAAATs/EUy7YLlT-HQ/s72-c/IMG_5459.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-4939644106813236332</id><published>2010-03-03T23:26:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T23:36:55.291-05:00</updated><title type='text'>snow</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I have been so envious of the snow falling in other parts of the South this winter.&lt;div&gt;I love snow in the South ... it is beautiful when it falls. Work and school cancelled. Fun times outside. And then it melts. Good times.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought I would post some photos of Michael's first experiences with the snow...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S483KL7EqeI/AAAAAAAAATY/Ev0Ooc9Sz40/s1600-h/img051.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S483KL7EqeI/AAAAAAAAATY/Ev0Ooc9Sz40/s320/img051.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444631122652998114" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm certain that it was snowy outside when I put Michael into this very big coat.  For a very little buddy.  I laughed.  And laughed when putting him into this coat.  His little eyes peeking out.  His arms that stayed outstretched. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S483JpfXZqI/AAAAAAAAATQ/xuvZG2dn_a4/s1600-h/img058.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S483JpfXZqI/AAAAAAAAATQ/xuvZG2dn_a4/s320/img058.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444631113409980066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S483JBM3ZVI/AAAAAAAAATI/3iMiw4GjzsA/s1600-h/snow066.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S483JBM3ZVI/AAAAAAAAATI/3iMiw4GjzsA/s320/snow066.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444631102594966866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;First snow in Georgia.  Evidence that we didn't get snow often in our state...socks used as mittens.  Mismatched clothing.  Canvas sneakers.  Big cheesy grin at the sight of the white stuff. We didn't last long outside in this winter weather before high tailing it back inside.  For hot cocoa.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then this video.  Taken a little over a year ago.  Michael and I had just stopped on our way to Nana and Pa's house.  When we got out of the car, it was snowing.  We took a little video of it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre; "&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/A6dCfWyrMoI&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/A6dCfWyrMoI&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-4939644106813236332?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/4939644106813236332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=4939644106813236332&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4939644106813236332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4939644106813236332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/snow.html' title='snow'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S483KL7EqeI/AAAAAAAAATY/Ev0Ooc9Sz40/s72-c/img051.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1616984936059742717</id><published>2010-03-02T22:34:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T23:21:57.797-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the one where i am the winner...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Thank you for all of your welcome back comments.  I appreciate your thoughts and prayers and well wishes for me and my family.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S43Y_Bl-82I/AAAAAAAAATA/4wS0hi3SfLg/s1600-h/Blog+Award.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S43Y_Bl-82I/AAAAAAAAATA/4wS0hi3SfLg/s320/Blog+Award.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444246101831906146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a winner.  &lt;div&gt;Kind of.  I will at least keep repeating that statement to myself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A positive affirmation?  Sure.  We'll go with that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My sweet friend, &lt;a href="http://houseoftexasjustice.blogspot.com/"&gt;Jackie&lt;/a&gt;, nominated me for this award.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She has the best name.  Jackie Justice.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I nominate her for superhero.  Of the world.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She needs a cape.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you, my friend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Right. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are rules.  They are:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"&gt;The rules for accepting this award are:&lt;br /&gt;1) Post a thank you and the link to the person that gave you the award.&lt;br /&gt;4) State seven tidbits of information about yourself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"&gt;(I took out rules 2 &amp;amp; 3.  They were kind of a lot of pressure.  So I took them out. And I like all of you.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Here are my seven (very random) tidbits...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;1.  I am headed to Orlando this weekend to participate in the Disney Princess Half Marathon.  Have I trained for this event?  Nope.  But I will wear my tiara and hope for the best.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;2.  My coffee table is an orange bench.  We bought it that way.  And it is an orange-safety-cone, vest-you-wear-to-hunt-in kind of orange.  Bright.  I liked the shape of the table and planned to paint it.  My husband thought we should keep it orange.  We did.  I love it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;3.  At Christmas time, the Husband and I were in Books-A-Million.  A local wildlife author was there selling books.  Giving autographs.  There was no one at his table.  He looked sad.  I listened to his attempts at enticing people with the wildlife of North Florida.  To no avail.  I watched him from the safety of the Biography section.  I convinced the Husband to go talk to him and buy a book.  He did.  I think more to stop my tears than because he wanted to talk wildlife.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;I have a really sweet Husband.  And I am kind of crazy sensitive.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;And by kind of, I really mean very.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;4.  I don't like to leave my house.  It is not so much about the going out.  It is about the coming back home.  This house is too quiet.  Too still.  Too filled with memories.  And it's just better to stay in.  So that I am not always reminded.  Of what is missing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;5.  My favorite go-to clothing item is my black hoodie.  It is faded.  It is a magnet for my dog's yellow hair.  It should probably be retired.  And I wear it all the time.  I'm not what one might call fashion forward.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;6.  I can sing all the name of all Fifty states.  In alphabetical order.  I learned this song in fourth or fifth grade.  It was my favorite song to sing to Michael when he was a baby.  It was his favorite song for me to sing when he was big.  Even up until last April.  I sometimes sing it at his grave side.  And by Connecticut, I am a mess of tears.  Because of the do-do-do at that part of the song.  His part as my back-up singer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;7.  I prefer to write with mechanical pencils and fine point sharpie pens.  I think it makes my handwriting look neater.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;Coming up with seven tidbits is not as easy as I thought it might be!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:medium;"&gt;And with 44 minutes left to spare!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1616984936059742717?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1616984936059742717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1616984936059742717&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1616984936059742717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1616984936059742717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/one-where-i-am-winner.html' title='the one where i am the winner...'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S43Y_Bl-82I/AAAAAAAAATA/4wS0hi3SfLg/s72-c/Blog+Award.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6798504184808667903</id><published>2010-03-01T13:59:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-01T14:06:11.717-05:00</updated><title type='text'>i'm back.</title><content type='html'>I'm back from my unintended blogging hiatus. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;February came.  And went.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I sort of coasted through the month.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been very weepy these past few weeks.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Proctor and Gamble "Thank you Mom" commercials during the Olympics did nothing to stop those tears.  Egads.  Same with the Visa ones.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I'm back.  I discovered that I missed the blogging.  The writing out of these feelings that I try for most of the day to suppress.  Because I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have issued myself another blog every day of the month challenge.  Today it begins.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks for keeping up with me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6798504184808667903?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6798504184808667903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6798504184808667903&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6798504184808667903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6798504184808667903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/03/im-back.html' title='i&apos;m back.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2143323095874406693</id><published>2010-01-27T21:19:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-29T10:23:22.003-05:00</updated><title type='text'>jump rope</title><content type='html'>Michael met his sweet friend, Brantley, in kindergarten.  The two of them, along with their great friend, Tony, were big buddies.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Brantley is participating in Jump Rope for Heart at his and Michael's school.  I received an email from Brantley's mom asking if it was OK if Brantley raised money in Michael's memory.  Of course!  I cried when I read her email. What a sweet way to remember Michael.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here are Brantley's words:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;"&gt;I am raising money for Jump Rope for Heart in honor of my good friend, Michael Hall, who died from heart problems last year.  Michael was born with a sick heart.  He was 9 years old when he died. I miss Michael very much, and I wish he was here today.  I want to help other kids like Michael by raising money in his name.  Please help me raise a lot of money to help the American Heart Association so that other kids don't have to lose their friends too.  Thank you for helping.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Here I am crying again just looking at his words.  Will you help him?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://honor.americanheart.org/site/TR/JumpforHeart/JRFH-GSA?px=1817403&amp;amp;pg=personal&amp;amp;fr_id=1282&amp;amp;et=HJ-LHOfR2iPOrsofDMW8Jg..&amp;amp;s_tafId=3905"&gt;Click here to go to Brantley's donation page.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2143323095874406693?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2143323095874406693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2143323095874406693&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2143323095874406693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2143323095874406693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/01/jump-rope.html' title='jump rope'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1402079466915988291</id><published>2010-01-24T19:54:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T19:59:44.557-05:00</updated><title type='text'>pages</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I am a scrapbooker.&lt;div&gt;This weekend I went to a crop.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I only cried twice. I call this progress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wanted to share the pages I completed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I enjoy playing with glue. And paper.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And photos of my cute kid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S1zsS7CLKSI/AAAAAAAAAS4/BZqjc6X17mE/s1600-h/Brilliant-web.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 248px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S1zsS7CLKSI/AAAAAAAAAS4/BZqjc6X17mE/s320/Brilliant-web.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430475060530587938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S1zsSiKxotI/AAAAAAAAASw/dcY1a3uIgps/s1600-h/Cousins-web.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S1zsSiKxotI/AAAAAAAAASw/dcY1a3uIgps/s320/Cousins-web.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430475053855777490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S1zsSaRtbbI/AAAAAAAAASo/Ai_O0u4rZ-U/s1600-h/Truck-web.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S1zsSaRtbbI/AAAAAAAAASo/Ai_O0u4rZ-U/s320/Truck-web.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430475051737378226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I want to continue to keep Michael's memory alive.  And so I want to continue to put his photos down .  To continue to tell his story.  To smile when I think of the the things he said, the things he did, and the life that he lead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1402079466915988291?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1402079466915988291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1402079466915988291&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1402079466915988291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1402079466915988291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/01/pages.html' title='pages'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S1zsS7CLKSI/AAAAAAAAAS4/BZqjc6X17mE/s72-c/Brilliant-web.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5998438875181771475</id><published>2010-01-17T21:35:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-17T21:39:44.728-05:00</updated><title type='text'>golden globes</title><content type='html'>I find it strange the things that remind me of my loss.&lt;div&gt;Like the Golden Globes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In typical years, I had not seen a single nominated movie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Unless it was in the animated category.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went to all of those.  On the opening weekend.  Usually.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This year, I have not seen a single animated movie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And most of the others in the big category.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When Michael Hall won the award for Best Actor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I gave a little cheer.  For my own Michael Hall.  Who was my Favorite Actor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And superstar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5998438875181771475?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5998438875181771475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5998438875181771475&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5998438875181771475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5998438875181771475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/01/golden-globes.html' title='golden globes'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7722051679740744529</id><published>2010-01-13T15:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-13T15:40:53.018-05:00</updated><title type='text'>sirens</title><content type='html'>There are emergency vehicles screaming their way down the main road outside of our neighborhood at this moment.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can only think of that day in April.  And wonder if the way the sound is reverberating around my living room walls is the same as it was that day.  I wonder if the same people are driving the trucks.  If they too are remembering a different day that they worked on a 9 year old boy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wonder if another family is beginning a nightmare of a journey.  And I pray for them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7722051679740744529?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7722051679740744529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7722051679740744529&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7722051679740744529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7722051679740744529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/01/sirens.html' title='sirens'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5077969378193270636</id><published>2010-01-12T17:14:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-12T17:20:15.289-05:00</updated><title type='text'>evidence.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I don't leave my house much.&lt;div&gt;If I do it is quick and I am anxious to return. This is my safety zone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I have evidence that I should get out more....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had a photo shoot. With my dog.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm ridiculous.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0wH5mTpI/AAAAAAAAASg/_k5h8U5He4k/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.08+%232.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0wH5mTpI/AAAAAAAAASg/_k5h8U5He4k/s320/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.08+%232.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425980758666137234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This dog.  Such the snuggler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0v_w9U2I/AAAAAAAAASY/Psxe7ixAzdc/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.04.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0v_w9U2I/AAAAAAAAASY/Psxe7ixAzdc/s320/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.04.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425980756482413410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Beauty Shot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0vj1FjfI/AAAAAAAAASQ/jCUO55Zchfc/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.04+%233.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0vj1FjfI/AAAAAAAAASQ/jCUO55Zchfc/s320/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.04+%233.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425980748983537138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My lame attempt to get her to look at the camera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0vnwpiiI/AAAAAAAAASI/ve1nzUyAZ84/s1600-h/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.07.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0vnwpiiI/AAAAAAAAASI/ve1nzUyAZ84/s320/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.07.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425980750038665762" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;She doesn't listen. Unless there is bacon involved. &lt;div&gt;I didn't have any bacon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We'll save that for tomorrow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael was much more willing participant to the self photo shoot.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And he didn't require bacon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5077969378193270636?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5077969378193270636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5077969378193270636&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5077969378193270636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5077969378193270636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/01/evidence.html' title='evidence.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/S0z0wH5mTpI/AAAAAAAAASg/_k5h8U5He4k/s72-c/Photo+on+2010-01-12+at+17.08+%232.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-395307138350222681</id><published>2010-01-09T22:10:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-09T22:20:35.072-05:00</updated><title type='text'>nine</title><content type='html'>Nine months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have rearranged every room in my house in that time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Except one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael's room has remained, for the most part, untouched.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His bed is rumpled.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His pajamas from the night before remain in the dirty clothes hamper.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His toys are left where he put them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Only his shoes are back. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The one item of his that I walked out of the hospital with on that day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His clothes were in no shape to come home with us.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just his shoes.  Placed back in his room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His door is closed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't go in to his room often.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And we have no plans to change it.  Any time soon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That time will come when we are ready.  And we are not yet there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It has been nine months.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The missing.  The aching.  Doesn't stop with time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I now know what it is to be without Michael.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I don't like it.  A bit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-395307138350222681?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/395307138350222681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=395307138350222681&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/395307138350222681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/395307138350222681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/01/nine.html' title='nine'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7590893207373212370</id><published>2010-01-05T21:50:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-05T22:09:26.248-05:00</updated><title type='text'>this week</title><content type='html'>If I had to pick a favorite week of the year.  &lt;div&gt;I would pick this one.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week.  Just after New Year's and not yet time to go back to school and work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week.  That begins with a late morning after a very late night.  And is spent in pajamas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week.  To gear up for real life.  But still live in that time of twilight.  Where the world is new again and work/homework are not yet back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week.  Where the calendar starts over and is bright with new beginnings.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week.  This new year.  Is different for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(That is not a surprise to anyone reading this blog.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have hunkered down.  I have been reclusive.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In this week that is thought to be full of thoughts for a new future.  I am thinking only of the past.  I am not looking forward to more tomorrows.  I am pining for more yesterdays.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week, last year, Michael and I went to two movies.  And put together Lego Star Wars pieces.  And played Uno.  He tried to teach me Stratego.  But I didn't get it.  He filmed army men videos.  And we stayed in our pajamas and watched Elf for the hundredth time.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the favorite week ended.  Life began again in the form of school and work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week, this year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am struggling.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My heart is broken into a million tiny little pieces. And just when I think I have it together.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That I can function through my grief.  That I can glue some of the pieces back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I start all over again.  With another million tiny little pieces.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7590893207373212370?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7590893207373212370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7590893207373212370&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7590893207373212370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7590893207373212370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2010/01/this-week.html' title='this week'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2866823820138574120</id><published>2009-12-30T22:32:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-30T22:47:21.711-05:00</updated><title type='text'>2009:  i bid you adieu</title><content type='html'>2009 is coming to a close and with it a decade.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the end of December in 1999, I was in Cincinnati, Ohio.  With my almost 6 month old.  He had undergone two heart surgeries, two catheritizations.  Many doctor visits.  He came through all like a champ.  With Mighty Mike embroidered on a blanket.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The promise of not only a new year but also a new decade.  A very new chapter in my life as a new mom.  To this most fantastic little one.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was ready for the adventures that awaited us.  In this new decade.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the end of this December in 2009, I am in Tallahassee, Florida.  With my son's memory.  He had undergone three heart surgeries, seven catheritizations.  Many doctor visits.  He came through those like a champ.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And yet.  On the morning of April 9th.  He died.  Inexplicably.  Without warning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2009, and this decade, are coming to a close.  And I should be ready to leave them behind.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have this need to hold onto this year.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This last year that I spent with my son laughing.  And talking.  And playing.  And dreaming. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The last year of Michael's life.  Not a full year.  Just three months.  Nine days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And so as we usher in 2010, it is not with joy.  Or the promise of a better year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is just the first, of many, years.  That Michael will not be with us.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to hold onto 2009, as horrific as it has been.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because at least for part of it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael was running.  And laughing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And living.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2866823820138574120?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2866823820138574120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2866823820138574120&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2866823820138574120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2866823820138574120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/12/2009-i-bid-you-adieu.html' title='2009:  i bid you adieu'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-281789005811561661</id><published>2009-12-18T11:45:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-18T11:57:08.546-05:00</updated><title type='text'>favorites</title><content type='html'>Thank you, my sweet family and friends, for your calls, e-mails, text messages, and comments from yesterday.  I hit a wall.  Hard.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have another video to share.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is, of course, of Michael.  and what he likes best about Christmas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then he has a question for all of the viewers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-6932353054370ac0" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v7.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D6932353054370ac0%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329879802%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D78B9CB8D24019272AA24BBA58120EE355D202AC4.278BDBAFBA8B83721A3C87B569C3E463FE0FA74D%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D6932353054370ac0%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DqmnrMVSjpi1_gg8Wrm4xYpo1lU4&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v7.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D6932353054370ac0%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329879802%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D78B9CB8D24019272AA24BBA58120EE355D202AC4.278BDBAFBA8B83721A3C87B569C3E463FE0FA74D%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D6932353054370ac0%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DqmnrMVSjpi1_gg8Wrm4xYpo1lU4&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So.  Do tell.  What is your favorite part of Christmas?  I want to hear it.  And Michael did ask so sweetly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This isn't my favorite part.  I'll share that later.  But one of my favorite funny memories of Christmas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We had one of those Rock Around the Christmas Tree Santas.  The one where Santa shows his dance moves and shakes his hips back and forth.  They were pretty popular a long while ago.  He was a gift (from mom?  my grams?  My memory isn't what it used to be!) We got this Santa his 2nd Christmas - he was a year and a half old. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, I thought Michael would have been delighted by the dancing Santa.  As Michael was quite the dancer himself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I turned on the Santa.  Michael would cry.  Scream really.  Not a fan.  Couldn't stand the sight of the jolly man shaking his hips either.    Michael would go out of his way to not walk past Santa.  It was hilarious.  The following Christmases were the same way.  He would run really fast past him.  Or cut a wide berth to avoid him.   So Santa never really had the chance to dance.  And that was just fine with Michael.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now your turn.  Tell me your Christmas favorites.  or memories.  or hot cocoa flavor.  or tradition.  I need a little Christmas now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-281789005811561661?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/281789005811561661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=281789005811561661&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/281789005811561661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/281789005811561661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/12/favorites.html' title='favorites'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7302783173837632963</id><published>2009-12-17T12:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-17T13:03:40.895-05:00</updated><title type='text'>breaking point</title><content type='html'>I hit my breaking point today.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been building towards it for a long while.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have this ability to push things aside.  To deal with at another time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today was that other time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This past month has been difficult.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First holidays without Michael.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A time of remembrance.  A time to reflect. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not making new memories with him.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is difficult. To put it mildly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also.  My debit card number was stolen.  A spending spree at Walgreen's and Staples ensued.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I filed a police report at the request of my bank.  The money was put back into our account.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm fighting the urge to pull back from everyone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am a downer.  This time of year is joyous for most.  As it should be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't want to put a damper on anyone's fun.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I struggle with being real.  And putting on a brave face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the tug of war between the two.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't want to be a burden on anyone.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I received a phone call today that just pushed me over the edge.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Really it was more of a nudge.  Nothing really. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She was calling with misinformation.  I attempted to correct it.  She was snippy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We hung up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got angry.  I called her back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Asked if she had children.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was ugly.  Ugly.  with a capital U-G-L-Y.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I yelled.  I shook.  I cried.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The poor woman on the other end tried to talk.  I told her to hush it.  I wasn't done.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I was done.  And we hung up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I cried.  Big alligator, can't catch my breath tears.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because what a terrible person I was to this person.  And I felt sorry for myself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I used to say that God doesn't give you more than you can handle.  And I wish that he didn't trust me so much.  What happens when you have reached full capacity?   What happens when it IS, in fact, more than you handle?  What then?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7302783173837632963?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7302783173837632963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7302783173837632963&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7302783173837632963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7302783173837632963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/12/breaking-point.html' title='breaking point'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5837271365472948266</id><published>2009-12-15T11:43:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T11:52:50.931-05:00</updated><title type='text'>empty</title><content type='html'>I have decorated the house.&lt;br /&gt;I have sung Christmas carols.&lt;br /&gt;I baked cookies.&lt;br /&gt;I have shopped.  and wrapped all that.&lt;br /&gt;I have made Christmas crafts.&lt;br /&gt;I ordered Christmas cards.  and will send them once they arrive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have done all the things.  I have checked all the boxes.&lt;br /&gt;I am more ready for Christmas than I ever have been.&lt;br /&gt;Except Michael's first Christmas.  But he had surgery on the 15th.&lt;br /&gt;And I didn't know how much time he would be in the hospital.&lt;br /&gt;I got it all done.  Much like now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His first Christmas here.  His first Christmas gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't seem to get into the spirit.  I go through the motions. &lt;br /&gt;Because my boy loved all that came with Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;All the shopping and the Christmas crafts and the songs and the cookies.&lt;br /&gt;Posing for the Christmas card photo shoot. &lt;br /&gt;Which I sometimes never sent out the Christmas card.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turn the Christmas radio station off when I'll be Home for Christmas comes on. &lt;br /&gt;Or Feliz Navidad. &lt;br /&gt;I resist the urge to buy boy toys.  Shopping&lt;br /&gt;was easier this year.&lt;br /&gt;And so much harder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I push myself to get into the hustle.  And the bustle.&lt;br /&gt;But I come home and sit for hours.  Because plastering on a smile is hard work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking for the magic.  And the joy.&lt;br /&gt;And coming up empty.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5837271365472948266?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5837271365472948266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5837271365472948266&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5837271365472948266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5837271365472948266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/12/empty.html' title='empty'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7929514674594875417</id><published>2009-12-13T21:57:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T21:59:51.719-05:00</updated><title type='text'>just have to wait.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SyWqGG4eDXI/AAAAAAAAASA/setqV_jb3-s/s1600-h/michael+and+me.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SyWqGG4eDXI/AAAAAAAAASA/setqV_jb3-s/s320/michael+and+me.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414921148886289778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="color: rgb(101, 101, 101);   line-height: 20px; font-family:Arial, sans-serif;font-size:14px;"&gt;I can't wait to hear your mama laugh&lt;br /&gt;The way that only you can make her laugh when you get silly&lt;br /&gt;And I can't wait to see you in her arms&lt;br /&gt;I know the wound so deep inside her heart is healed for good&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;(Just Have to Wait - Steven Curtis Chapman)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7929514674594875417?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7929514674594875417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7929514674594875417&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7929514674594875417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7929514674594875417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/12/just-have-to-wait.html' title='just have to wait.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SyWqGG4eDXI/AAAAAAAAASA/setqV_jb3-s/s72-c/michael+and+me.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-9163346704233772941</id><published>2009-12-04T15:08:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-04T15:16:11.014-05:00</updated><title type='text'>another dream.  another gift.</title><content type='html'>I had this dream last night.&lt;div&gt;That Michael was fine.  But in the hospital.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And on a Monday, he was going to die.  Because the hospital people had given up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in the hospital lobby.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And Michael's surgeon came up to me to say he was sorry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I called him Michael's first cardiologist's name.  I couldn't remember his. In this dream.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He corrected me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I ignored him and kept calling him the other guy's name.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I pleaded with him to give my son a chance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To perform a transplant.  He backed away.  He said there was nothing he could do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;persistent&lt;/span&gt;.  I followed him.  Crying.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He changed his mind.  He said he would do it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I called him the wrong name again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He left to prepare for surgery.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went back to a waiting room.  Filled with people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my Michael.  Who was dressed in his sweet black &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hoodie&lt;/span&gt;.  College shirt.  Khakis and only socks.  [The clothes he was buried in.]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We hugged.  And I smelled him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was mystified at my jubilation at seeing him.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He gave me his "you are being weird, mom" look.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I said I hadn't seen him in so long.  That I missed him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And he said I was here all along.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I woke up at that moment.  Tears on my cheeks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my first thought was that I wanted to tell him about my dream.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was so real.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-9163346704233772941?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/9163346704233772941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=9163346704233772941&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/9163346704233772941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/9163346704233772941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/12/another-dream-another-gift.html' title='another dream.  another gift.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6372979553854305936</id><published>2009-12-02T23:28:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-03T11:52:53.175-05:00</updated><title type='text'>lists</title><content type='html'>I am a list maker.  I make lists for everything.  To  do.  Groceries. Household projects.  Songs to purchase.  Recipes to try.  Crafts to make.  You get the point.  A list for everything.  Lists of lists to make.  It's a problem.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today, I set out to make a list of Christmas gifts to purchase and make.  And I wrote Michael's name first.  Because that is what I have always done.  Seems I am done shopping for him.  I bought the tree for his grave.  Check.  But there are no toys to wrap or toys to hide or toys to try to fine on some obscure website because the stores in town are all sold out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I found last year's list.  I typed it on my laptop.  And I found this quote from Michael.  A little gift for me as I work through these feelings that I have about this season.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;"Christmas is about love, baby jesus being born and happiness.  Wait there are four things … I can’t remember the fourth.  Happiness, love, baby jesus being born and giving.  That’s right giving."  Michael, 12/10/2008&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;How glad was I to find that little nugget?  So glad that I typed it out.  To remember.  Little did I know last year what this year would look like.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Tonight I plan to put up Michael's tree.  The one with all of the ornaments that he picked out over the years.  This would have been our activity for tonight.  Would have been.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6372979553854305936?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6372979553854305936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6372979553854305936&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6372979553854305936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6372979553854305936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/12/lists.html' title='lists'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-845080912365348399</id><published>2009-12-01T17:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T17:55:21.812-05:00</updated><title type='text'>30 days</title><content type='html'>I completed my 30 days of posting in November.  &lt;div&gt;I will probably continue to post often.  But without the pressure of every day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Perhaps all the weekdays.  And not the weekends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I owe y'all a fabric and button tree tutorial.  I will do that this week.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is the start of the advent calendar.  Only I am not doing the advent activity calendar this year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To commemorate this day, I ate an entire bag of goldfish crackers.  AN ENTIRE BAG.  By myself. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Emotional eating at its finest, my friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll get back on the boiled chicken wagon tomorrow.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-845080912365348399?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/845080912365348399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=845080912365348399&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/845080912365348399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/845080912365348399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/12/30-days.html' title='30 days'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-9133799715279629990</id><published>2009-11-30T21:44:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T22:31:51.061-05:00</updated><title type='text'>quiet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SxSEengo-zI/AAAAAAAAAR0/dsa2stVQKkI/s1600/DSC01208.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I picked up Nellie from the Doggie Hotel this morning.&lt;br /&gt;Before her bath there.&lt;br /&gt;I just couldn't take the quiet of the house any longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stu and I came home yesterday. Unloaded the car.  And left.&lt;br /&gt;It was too quiet to be here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go away.  And come back expecting a different result.&lt;br /&gt;Like my house will once again be full of noise.  And toys to step on.&lt;br /&gt;Little socks and Star Wars underwear waiting to be washed.&lt;br /&gt;Science Fair projects to start and be glued to backer boards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there is nothing.&lt;br /&gt;Just quiet.  Just the distant memory of laughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----------------&lt;br /&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;br /&gt;LifeWaters.  These are little treats to me in this phase of my shrinking plan.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-9133799715279629990?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/9133799715279629990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=9133799715279629990&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/9133799715279629990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/9133799715279629990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/quiet.html' title='quiet'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-435676650800550510</id><published>2009-11-29T19:05:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T21:29:50.587-05:00</updated><title type='text'>our thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="TEXT-DECORATION: none" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SxMVvhTcj5I/AAAAAAAAARs/8Mcrta-g0WQ/s1600/IMG_0125.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409691483540066194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SxMVvhTcj5I/AAAAAAAAARs/8Mcrta-g0WQ/s320/IMG_0125.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="TEXT-DECORATION: none" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SxMVvhTcj5I/AAAAAAAAARs/8Mcrta-g0WQ/s1600/IMG_0125.jpg"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="TEXT-DECORATION: none" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SxMVvhTcj5I/AAAAAAAAARs/8Mcrta-g0WQ/s1600/IMG_0125.jpg"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-size:85%;color:#ff6600;"&gt;Thanksgiving morning - the Stu and I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanksgiving was good. Being with my family is just easy. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went to my dad's side of the family on Thursday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are lots of people. Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And food. Tons of deliciousness. And my Aunt Carole's yeast rolls. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I could go on and on about the yeast rolls.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We talked and laughed and played a game.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We took pictures. Though not on my camera because I forgot to use it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I enjoyed their company. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My diet was blown. But in the very best of ways.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On Friday, we met my mom's side of the family for dinner at Longhorns.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A smaller gathering, to be sure. So fun.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I grilled my cousin Sean on all things about his dating life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was a good sport about it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We also talked and laughed and enjoyed each other's company.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The food was so good and we didn't have to do the dishes afterwards. Bonus.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Saturday was spent with friends who are like family.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Watching football and eating wings.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Georgia prevailed and many in the house were overjoyed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Though Stu and one other were not. Ah. Well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And in between all of these gatherings, I spent much time with my mom and dad. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just being together.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Time goes by too quickly when we are all together. I love being with both sides of the family and our friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am blessed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And through it all, I was keenly aware of the absence of Michael.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought of what he would have been doing during the Thankful game.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought how he and Sean wrestled every Thanksgiving and how that would have been accomplished in a restaurant this year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wondered which team Michael would have rooted for in the game.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I missed him. And his energy. And his joy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A husband who will drive us home. I am a much better passenger. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-435676650800550510?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/435676650800550510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=435676650800550510&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/435676650800550510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/435676650800550510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/our-thanksgiving.html' title='our thanksgiving'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SxMVvhTcj5I/AAAAAAAAARs/8Mcrta-g0WQ/s72-c/IMG_0125.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5385388763725156765</id><published>2009-11-28T14:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-28T14:28:03.430-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Today.  I will just post my thankful entry. &lt;br /&gt;Be back tomorrow with something a bit more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-------------------&lt;br /&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;br /&gt;Time with my family this week.  I have enjoyed two holiday meals with my family and have loved my time at my parent's house.  I am reminded of how blessed I am to call these wonderfully nutty folks mine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5385388763725156765?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5385388763725156765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5385388763725156765&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5385388763725156765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5385388763725156765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/today.html' title=''/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6219645648579793341</id><published>2009-11-27T15:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T15:00:02.437-05:00</updated><title type='text'>it is starting...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww9OeCiE1I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/8h6I4D6VvO0/s1600/DSC00820.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww9OeCiE1I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/8h6I4D6VvO0/s320/DSC00820.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407764571356271442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Happy start to the holiday season.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael and I put together this frosted window last year.  See those fingerprint marks?  Those are his.  It is hard to resist the temptation of touching the spray snow.  See those dots in the middle of the o's?  Those are my fingerprints.  I told you it was hard to resist.  What you can't see is Nellie's nose print at the bottom of the window?  We all left our mark.  Except Stu.  He can resist the temptation.  Unless it is a Krispy Kreme doughnut, then all bets are off.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;---------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Memories.  Photos.  Videos.  Scrapbooks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6219645648579793341?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6219645648579793341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6219645648579793341&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6219645648579793341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6219645648579793341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/it-is-starting.html' title='it is starting...'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww9OeCiE1I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/8h6I4D6VvO0/s72-c/DSC00820.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7311770012761481331</id><published>2009-11-26T11:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T11:00:00.421-05:00</updated><title type='text'>thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Happy Thanksgiving&lt;/b&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Enjoy the moments.  With your family and friends. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;These photos are from our Thanksgiving last year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww59vXvfpI/AAAAAAAAAQs/_xo_keLDWbQ/s1600/DSC00503.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww59vXvfpI/AAAAAAAAAQs/_xo_keLDWbQ/s320/DSC00503.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407760985415974546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww580ozErI/AAAAAAAAAQk/AIVC8xa4eps/s1600/DSC00645.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww580ozErI/AAAAAAAAAQk/AIVC8xa4eps/s320/DSC00645.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407760969649820338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww58ls5HYI/AAAAAAAAAQc/uSJvYLHzQS4/s1600/DSC00547.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww58ls5HYI/AAAAAAAAAQc/uSJvYLHzQS4/s320/DSC00547.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407760965640461698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;-------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All of you that read this blog.  That pray for us.  That send us notes of encouragement. That call and write and e-mail.   Thank you for remembering us.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7311770012761481331?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7311770012761481331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7311770012761481331&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7311770012761481331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7311770012761481331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanksgiving.html' title='thanksgiving'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sww59vXvfpI/AAAAAAAAAQs/_xo_keLDWbQ/s72-c/DSC00503.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2119267032371686380</id><published>2009-11-25T11:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-25T11:26:00.330-05:00</updated><title type='text'>gratitude</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, fantasy; font-style: italic; line-height: 25px; "&gt;At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by the spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lightened the flame within us. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, fantasy; line-height: 25px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Albert Schweitzer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 25px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Thanks, friends.  For being the caretakers of my spark.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 25px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 25px;"&gt;We are headed to see family for the Thanksgiving.  I am looking forward to being with them.  We are stopping at ikea and the pga superstore along the way.  A little fun for me.  A little fun for Stu. A little heartache for the trip without Michael. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 25px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 25px;"&gt;----------------&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 25px;"&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Georgia, fantasy;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 25px;"&gt;Music.  Songs to sing out loud to as we travel on our road trip.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2119267032371686380?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2119267032371686380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2119267032371686380&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2119267032371686380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2119267032371686380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/gratitude_25.html' title='gratitude'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-4359660042068734084</id><published>2009-11-24T15:13:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-24T16:18:07.337-05:00</updated><title type='text'>some pre-thanksgiving ideas</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Thanks for all of your sweet comments on my holiday decorations. I will work on putting together a few tutorials for the trees. They are easy-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;peasy&lt;/span&gt;. In the meantime, I followed a tutorial for the book wreath. She even has a video - her tutorial on her blog is here: &lt;a href="http://www.livingwithlindsay.com/2009/11/librarians-please-avert-your-eyes.html"&gt;Living with Lindsay&lt;/a&gt;. I deviated a little bit from her guidance, but not much. I did indeed burn my fingerprints off with my glue gun. So be careful of that.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll post more pictures as I continue to decorate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanksgiving is Thursday. I realize that is not news, but I keep repeating it in my head. I just find it unbelievable that it is here. Again, I will post with pictures. And not post my feelings just yet. Because I am not sure what to say.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So ...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Bundle up as you travel over the river and through the woods.  It's November.  It should be cold out there.  Or at least pretend it is cold out there and wear a parka plus flip flops.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxJEH_2YCI/AAAAAAAAARk/CEp8zGIkc8g/s1600/img051.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxJEH_2YCI/AAAAAAAAARk/CEp8zGIkc8g/s320/img051.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407777587780280354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Eat your veggies.  Smearing them on your face is completely optional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxI4OYEiSI/AAAAAAAAARU/KeakTsiOpHo/s1600/img049.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxI4OYEiSI/AAAAAAAAARU/KeakTsiOpHo/s320/img049.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407777383334054178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And drink your milk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxI3o9RbBI/AAAAAAAAARM/dWkL2aRFNkU/s1600/img064.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxI3o9RbBI/AAAAAAAAARM/dWkL2aRFNkU/s320/img064.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407777373289540626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Eat all of the sweet treats you want.  Go all in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxI3IkcrTI/AAAAAAAAARE/Fv3orVsqezk/s1600/img055.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 236px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxI3IkcrTI/AAAAAAAAARE/Fv3orVsqezk/s320/img055.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407777364595486002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Take pictures of your family and friends.  Preferably as they are smearing veggies on their face, milking it up and smashing their face in cake. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxI2hh49AI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/urx26z1rGSc/s1600/img026.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxI2hh49AI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/urx26z1rGSc/s320/img026.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407777354115773442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;----------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Close family friends.  I am looking forward to seeing them while we are at my parent's house this week.  We spent Saturdays together.  And New Year's Eves together.  Went on vacations together.  Ridiculed dates of the oldest together.  (Thankfully, that wasn't as strong when the rest of us starting dating!).  I am glad for our family history together and look forward to seeing them again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-4359660042068734084?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/4359660042068734084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=4359660042068734084&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4359660042068734084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4359660042068734084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/some-pre-thanksgiving-ideas.html' title='some pre-thanksgiving ideas'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwxJEH_2YCI/AAAAAAAAARk/CEp8zGIkc8g/s72-c/img051.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-679031627477686731</id><published>2009-11-23T15:54:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T16:16:52.625-05:00</updated><title type='text'>i decked some halls.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I am totally stealing this blog idea from my dear friend, Kim.  I am hoping that she won't mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I decided to decorate my house a little early this year.  Today, in fact.  This post won't be about my feelings on doing that - though let me say I started with the easy decorations.  Next week, when I put up Michael's tree in his room and the tree with all of our hodge-podge, school artwork.  I will have more feelings to tell.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today is just about the pictures.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The below is a very new tree.  I have wanted a white tree for a long while.  But they can be so pricey.  Stu found this one on super-duper sale last year (for $20!) and snagged it for me.  We bought all of the ornaments from Target after Christmas for more super sales.  This is the first year that I have put the tree up.  I adore it.  The bright colors.  Just looks like a party on a tree. I need to add the tree skirt.  And a topper.  But I haven't found one that I like just yet.  I might try to make one.  This tree, these ornaments were not part of our decorating.  Last year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr27J3YlRI/AAAAAAAAAQU/sj-maKs2EBA/s1600/IMG_0102.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr27J3YlRI/AAAAAAAAAQU/sj-maKs2EBA/s320/IMG_0102.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407405798732633362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;These are the makings of the tree that we will put up at Michael's grave.  I wanted ornaments that would stand the elements.  Stu and I picked out these wood and metal ornaments.  We also picked up a Star Wars (small) lego set and GI Joe figures to put on the tree.  These are items that would have been in Michael's stocking.  But will now be on his tree.  I'll take pictures once it is finished and in place.  at the cemetery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr26lBGDjI/AAAAAAAAAQM/ZJGOOUvT04c/s1600/IMG_0108.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr26lBGDjI/AAAAAAAAAQM/ZJGOOUvT04c/s320/IMG_0108.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407405788841250354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I made the wreath below out of an old book I had lying around.  I'll probably keep this one up year round.  (That is my grandad in the picture - isn't he handsome?) And that sword was Michael's.  He had many adventures with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr26RrnN4I/AAAAAAAAAQE/7uHKBKiSXto/s1600/IMG_0106.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr26RrnN4I/AAAAAAAAAQE/7uHKBKiSXto/s320/IMG_0106.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407405783650875266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hands down my favorite nativity set.  Because of the memories associated with it.  It was my mom and dad's.  They gave it to me last year.  The family dog, in his first Christmas at the house, snuck off with baby Jesus in his teeth.  The wood still shows some teeth impressions from him.  Makes me smile when I walk past it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr26BDPucI/AAAAAAAAAP8/1j4TQiVUR-Y/s1600/IMG_0105.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr26BDPucI/AAAAAAAAAP8/1j4TQiVUR-Y/s320/IMG_0105.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407405779186596290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Michael and I made these trees last year out of fabric and buttons.  It was one of our advent activities for the season.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr25lqJnpI/AAAAAAAAAP0/yeQSPLqzkFk/s1600/IMG_0104.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr25lqJnpI/AAAAAAAAAP0/yeQSPLqzkFk/s320/IMG_0104.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407405771833581202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I haven't yet put up everything.  Just a little jump start.  I'll put up other items in time.  When the time feels right.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;----------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This time that I have to not work.  But to focus on me.  And how I feel day to day, moment to moment.  I am so grateful to be able to do so. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-679031627477686731?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/679031627477686731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=679031627477686731&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/679031627477686731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/679031627477686731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-decked-some-halls.html' title='i decked some halls.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Swr27J3YlRI/AAAAAAAAAQU/sj-maKs2EBA/s72-c/IMG_0102.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2981293681854614060</id><published>2009-11-22T20:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-22T20:50:58.771-05:00</updated><title type='text'>little buddy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwnqQGF6lYI/AAAAAAAAAPk/wPqAbsgPnlM/s1600/IMAGE_296.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwnqQGF6lYI/AAAAAAAAAPk/wPqAbsgPnlM/s320/IMAGE_296.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407110389869221250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwnqP3wHRQI/AAAAAAAAAPc/H5JJ7Oreak0/s1600/Fevruary+2+025.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwnqP3wHRQI/AAAAAAAAAPc/H5JJ7Oreak0/s320/Fevruary+2+025.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407110386019681538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Missing our little buddy.  This day.  Everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;--------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;div&gt;ABC Family Christmas movies.  Michael and I watched these all last year during the holiday season.  Stu and I watched them today - a Christmas movie marathon - while we cleaned the house.  A couple of the movies were ones that Michael and I had watched last year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2981293681854614060?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2981293681854614060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2981293681854614060&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2981293681854614060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2981293681854614060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/little-buddy.html' title='little buddy'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwnqQGF6lYI/AAAAAAAAAPk/wPqAbsgPnlM/s72-c/IMAGE_296.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1490751113027166191</id><published>2009-11-21T19:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T20:40:07.468-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Today I am thankful for:&lt;div&gt;My family.  Mom and Dad, aunts, uncles, cousins, 2nd cousins.  I have wonderful people in my life.  They are crazy.  They are nuts.  They are the most amazing people that you will meet.  Down to earth.  Sweet.  Generous.  I am so looking forward to soaking up time with (most of) them this coming week.  And excited to see others at Christmas this year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;--------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am a bit sad.   I am more aware of the coming holidays and that they are another first.  I am feeling a little anxious about the coming days.  So this day, I am a bit sad.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1490751113027166191?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1490751113027166191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1490751113027166191&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1490751113027166191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1490751113027166191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/today-i-am-thankful-for-my-family.html' title=''/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-71774315193687214</id><published>2009-11-20T17:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-20T17:52:06.669-05:00</updated><title type='text'>flippin friday</title><content type='html'>For Christmas last year, my mom and dad gave Michael a Flip video camera.  Michael loved to play.  And he wanted to film his battles for all of his "viewers".  Now he was able to do so.  What a fun present for a budding filmmaker!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His videos were nothing fancy.  Mostly a peek into his play.  I adore them now.  And watch them frequently.  I thought I might post one here that gives a glimpse of Michael cleaning his room.  He played everywhere.  Going to Target was a game.  Walking home from school was a new episode.  Cleaning his room was an adventure.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is Michael.  Uncut.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-c71b6e010df2376b" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v2.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dc71b6e010df2376b%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329879802%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D1B1AF271A873A93F52EBB064582AFB7D40EE1F96.AC27A5510CDD8DDEDBB573E103693AB6A73ED9F%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dc71b6e010df2376b%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DLJ2rmxOfZ1yQpxbK0wOR_HzmFmM&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v2.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dc71b6e010df2376b%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1329879802%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D1B1AF271A873A93F52EBB064582AFB7D40EE1F96.AC27A5510CDD8DDEDBB573E103693AB6A73ED9F%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dc71b6e010df2376b%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DLJ2rmxOfZ1yQpxbK0wOR_HzmFmM&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My son's imagination.  Oh, how I enjoyed listening to him play.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-71774315193687214?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/71774315193687214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=71774315193687214&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/71774315193687214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/71774315193687214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/flippin-friday.html' title='flippin friday'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6894790490359504604</id><published>2009-11-19T21:58:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T22:15:41.413-05:00</updated><title type='text'>photo catch-up</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I'm cheating a bit on this post ... but thought I would post some pictures of things that I have talked about but have never shown. Here goes.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is Michael's spot at the cemetery.  This was taken about a month or so ago.  He has more things there now.  I like to walk up and see something new added.  I like to think of friends visiting him.  I put the flowers together - if you look close, you will see some Storm Troopers peeking through.  These were his.  I thought they belonged in his flowers too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOwfF3ZI/AAAAAAAAAPU/SKwmmiBP5xA/s1600/IMG_0020.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOwfF3ZI/AAAAAAAAAPU/SKwmmiBP5xA/s320/IMG_0020.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406016352819731858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is Nellie.  She is my constant companion these days.  Love her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOtJgQ4I/AAAAAAAAAPM/TvS2UNjGF7Y/s1600/IMG_0055.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOtJgQ4I/AAAAAAAAAPM/TvS2UNjGF7Y/s320/IMG_0055.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406016351923880834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is the New Kids on the Walk.  My team for the 3 Day walk for Breast Cancer. We walked 60 miles together.  We camped.  Indoors in pink tents.  We wore pink leg warmers.  And I loved spending time with them.  Such a fantastic group of women.  I still need to blog about those 3 Days!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOdS4xaI/AAAAAAAAAPE/phb5uvC0Jak/s1600/IMG_0079.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOdS4xaI/AAAAAAAAAPE/phb5uvC0Jak/s320/IMG_0079.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406016347668268450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is one of the bulletin boards that I made.  I know.  It is so bright. Lots of color.  Lots going on.  But that is kind of the way my house is.  You should all come over so you can see what I mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOKpW9MI/AAAAAAAAAO8/14pzlLpqGMY/s1600/IMG_0093.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOKpW9MI/AAAAAAAAAO8/14pzlLpqGMY/s320/IMG_0093.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406016342662247618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;---------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My time that I worked at Florida State.  I met some really fantastic people while I was there.  My co-workers and graduate students.    And I was glad to be there tonight to see the opening of The Velveteen Rabbit.  Such a sweet show.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stu and I have been out two nights in a row.  On school nights.  We are wild and crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6894790490359504604?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6894790490359504604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6894790490359504604&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6894790490359504604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6894790490359504604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/photo-catch-up.html' title='photo catch-up'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwYHOwfF3ZI/AAAAAAAAAPU/SKwmmiBP5xA/s72-c/IMG_0020.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-4892704865664905090</id><published>2009-11-18T22:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T22:37:30.604-05:00</updated><title type='text'>look-a-like</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwS8Vbq3JBI/AAAAAAAAAOw/B78vINUAkZI/s1600/michael-inserra+120.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405652529142244370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwS8Vbq3JBI/AAAAAAAAAOw/B78vINUAkZI/s320/michael-inserra+120.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwS8VOqPe7I/AAAAAAAAAOo/rAeKX5m1o9E/s1600/michael-inserra+036.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405652525649984434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwS8VOqPe7I/AAAAAAAAAOo/rAeKX5m1o9E/s320/michael-inserra+036.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; From the time Michael was around 2 or 3, I was constantly told that he looked just like that actor.  Macauley Culkin.  I'm certain I spelled that wrong, but am too lazy to look up the proper spelling.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael was always asked to do the face.  The one from Home Alone.  With his hands to his cheeks and his mouth wide open.  And begrudgingly, he would do it.  Secretly.  He loved it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;--------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today, I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Date night Wednesdays.  A new fun to our household.  Stu won a silly bet earlier in the week and got to plan tonight's adventure.  Dinner at Crispers.  The movie, 2012.  Dinner was fun.  The movie ... not a favorite.  But we had a great time together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-4892704865664905090?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/4892704865664905090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=4892704865664905090&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4892704865664905090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4892704865664905090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/look-like.html' title='look-a-like'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwS8Vbq3JBI/AAAAAAAAAOw/B78vINUAkZI/s72-c/michael-inserra+120.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6529109673818720121</id><published>2009-11-17T21:52:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T22:01:50.088-05:00</updated><title type='text'>commercials</title><content type='html'>You know it is going to be a day when you cry at a Best Buy commercial.  Best.  Buy.  I understand when I shed tears at Hallmark or Publix spots.  But Best Buy?  It's a problem.&lt;div&gt;Seriously.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ibuprofen and bags of ice.  I had this funky knee pain during the 3 Day Walk.  It came back with a vengence today.  Spent most of my time today with my knee elevated.  Nellie kept me company.  Sweet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6529109673818720121?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6529109673818720121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6529109673818720121&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6529109673818720121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6529109673818720121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/commercials.html' title='commercials'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8558684793568665812</id><published>2009-11-16T20:48:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T20:56:57.153-05:00</updated><title type='text'>play</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBq_8NDGI/AAAAAAAAAOg/wibokkD3bAc/s1600/DSC00772.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBq_8NDGI/AAAAAAAAAOg/wibokkD3bAc/s320/DSC00772.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404884341028097122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBqpLtI_I/AAAAAAAAAOY/-0hz267ysoE/s1600/playground+326.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBqpLtI_I/AAAAAAAAAOY/-0hz267ysoE/s320/playground+326.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404884334919099378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBqMD4S4I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/k3HSTljUfXc/s1600/skateboarding+144.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBqMD4S4I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/k3HSTljUfXc/s320/skateboarding+144.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404884327101647746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBp46ZbNI/AAAAAAAAAOI/sTX6fmTWdUQ/s1600/Picture+988.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBp46ZbNI/AAAAAAAAAOI/sTX6fmTWdUQ/s320/Picture+988.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404884321961602258" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;"It is a happy talent to know how to play"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ralph Waldo Emerson&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;----------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Our dog, Nellie.  I love the way she greets me at the door - like she has been waiting all morning for me to come home.  Even when I am only gone for an hour.  Her greeting is always the same.  And I like the way she snuggles into my legs at night as we sleep.  A very sweet dog.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8558684793568665812?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8558684793568665812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8558684793568665812&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8558684793568665812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8558684793568665812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/it-is-happy-talent-to-know-how-to-play.html' title='play'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SwIBq_8NDGI/AAAAAAAAAOg/wibokkD3bAc/s72-c/DSC00772.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5893158396486111902</id><published>2009-11-15T20:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T20:22:34.789-05:00</updated><title type='text'>michael style</title><content type='html'>I am a fan of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;hoodie&lt;/span&gt;.  I wear mine quite often.  It might not be the latest trend.  But I always feel warm and fuzzy in it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I bought Michael a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hoodie&lt;/span&gt; every year.  Sometimes more than one.  There is something about a little boy in a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;hoodie&lt;/span&gt;.  Adorable.  Pair it with khakis.  Love it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stu and I were taking further advantage of our 30% off coupon at Old Navy on Saturday.  He needed some weekend clothes.  His clothes go from business to hobo with nothing in between.  It was time to take action.  He bought some great things.  Even tried all of them on.  His shrinking is really starting to show.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was looking at a few things while I perused the women's clothes.  I saw the boy's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;hoodies&lt;/span&gt; at the end of the women's section.  So I went over and thought I should buy one.  Because I always did.  And they were on sale.  I picked up Michael's size.  I put it back.  I walked further into the boys clothes, past the college shirts (what Michael called collared, polo shirts) and saw the business shirts (another Michael phrase ... button up, long sleeve shirts).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He called his clothes his Michael style.  He liked lots of layers.  Shirts under shirts.  He thought it was fun to wear his pants backwards.  Sometimes I didn't catch it in the mornings and he went to school that way.   He would laugh.  I would laugh.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;----------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lunch with Michael's fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Branch.  She has become such a wonderful friend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5893158396486111902?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5893158396486111902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5893158396486111902&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5893158396486111902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5893158396486111902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/michael-style.html' title='michael style'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-137083636252409425</id><published>2009-11-14T15:15:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-14T15:34:07.874-05:00</updated><title type='text'>sweet</title><content type='html'>One of the things Michael would wander about was who he was going to marry.  It was cute.  I told him he didn't have to decide about that right now.  That he could wait for 30 more years to decide on that.  While he lived at home.  With me.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He informed me that he would be moving out at 18 to go to college.  But no worries.  He would still visit me.  So that I could cook him dinner.  He had big plans.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael stayed home from school with me the two days before that terrible Thursday.  Oh, I would not give back those days.  He admitted that he felt fine, but wanted to stay home with me.  He had been to my parent's house the week before and I think he just wanted some mommy time.  We were so close.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On that Wednesday, Michael received a phone call from one of his best friends.  A best friend in the form of a cute little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;blonde&lt;/span&gt; girl.  Michael and I were in the middle of our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;UNO&lt;/span&gt; tournament, sitting on my bed while he talked with her.  Such a funny conversation.  Because it was all one-sided.  Michael barely spoke.  His sweet friend chatted him up.  And then had to go.  Michael was excited by the phone call.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next day.  That terrible Thursday.  She brought him a welcome back to school present.  Only he never opened it.  Because he was going to open it at home.  With me.  He didn't.  Because he didn't come home that day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His sweet friend sent me an e-mail a few weeks later.  She shared that Michael was her best friend.  And that she had had a little crush on him.  Sweet girl.  She was with him when he passed out in the classroom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll keep her gift to him forever.  It sits on my bookshelf, wrapped.  A reminder of the future plans that Michael had.  A reminder of the future milestones.  That are not to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;----------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A husband who will go with me to craft fairs.  And not complain.  Much.  And who loves me despite my (many) quirks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-137083636252409425?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/137083636252409425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=137083636252409425&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/137083636252409425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/137083636252409425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/sweet.html' title='sweet'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7457578563082112221</id><published>2009-11-13T21:28:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-13T21:40:00.223-05:00</updated><title type='text'>nice wall</title><content type='html'>I ordered pizza a few weeks ago.  &lt;div&gt;This is not earth shattering news to anyone.  I love the pizza.  Papa Johns.  Yum.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hadn't had it in a while because Stu and I are on this incredibly restrictive diet.  But we were in between phases.  And it was allowed.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The people at our local Papa John's thought we must have moved.  Because we used to order all the time.  And we don't now.  Because we are working on shrinking ourselves.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway.  The pizza man came to the door.  And I signed my customer receipt.  As I was doing so, the pizza man told me that I had a nice wall.  Weird.  But he was referring to my photo wall in my foyer.  Filled with photos of our family.  And mostly Michael.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks, I said, as I closed the door.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And it struck me then.  That these picture frames will never be changed out.  I won't have new photos to put into the frames that line my foyer wall.  Nothing to update.   Eventually I will run out of pictures to scrapbook.  Pictures to post on this blog.  I will run out of pictures.  Of the least photogenic kid.  But MY least photogenic kid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-----------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My pajamas and The Wizard of Oz.  Oh, I do enjoy a little sing-a-long with this most beloved movie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7457578563082112221?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7457578563082112221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7457578563082112221&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7457578563082112221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7457578563082112221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-ordered-pizza-few-weeks-ago.html' title='nice wall'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1440777273467993286</id><published>2009-11-12T22:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-13T10:12:42.942-05:00</updated><title type='text'>an old post</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I write all kinds of blog posts that I don't post.  Either I can't formulate the thought or the sentences or I run out of time and think I will come back to it later.  I usually don't.  That leaves me with many a blog post that never makes it to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cyber&lt;/span&gt;space.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I thought of one that I had started a very long time ago.  This one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Last Thursday, a group of my friends and I went to see Steel Magnolias at the Tallahassee Little Theatre. The show was pretty good.  I was moved to tears which says something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those who have not seen the movie or the stage production, and do not want the ending ruined here ... I would suggest you stop reading. Don't say that I didn't warn you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the play, the character made famous by Julia Roberts, Shelby dies. She had a long battle with diabetes, goes into a coma, and passes away. Shelby's mom, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;M'Lynn&lt;/span&gt;  is asked how she is doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a moment of anguish, she says "I am fine! I am great! I could jog to Texas and back but my daughter cannot and never could." This is the moment that I let loose with a flood of tears. I could not help but think how I could relate. My son has a half a heart.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that is where I stopped.  I didn't finish.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I understand where I was going.  I could walk 60 miles.  But Michael couldn't.  Not then.  Not now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael's heart condition was just a part of our lives. I was in tune with his needs.  I had his history memorized.   I made certain that the appropriate people were informed of his diagnosis.    I constantly thought of it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But he didn't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh. Yes.  He knew about his heart.  He gave a presentation about it for his class in January.  He was a sm&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;idge&lt;/span&gt; nervous about it.  So I went to hear him.  To be there for him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He did so well.  I was amazed at his poise.  At his stage presence.  He held the little microphone and talked about this condition.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Hypoplastic&lt;/span&gt; Right Heart Syndrome.  At the end of his talk.  He said "And I have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Hypoplastic&lt;/span&gt; Right Heart Syndrome".   Mrs. Branch asked for questions.  Every hand in the classroom went up.  The kids were curious.  Who could blame them?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael's best friend wanted a step by step account of how the surgeon fixed his heart.  Michael simply told him that the doctor cut open his chest and he didn't remember anything after that.  Because he was asleep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Another classmate asked him.  If you hadn't had the surgery, would you have died?  Michael answered.  Yes.  Pretty Much.  The classmate said.  Well I am glad for that surgeon so that we can have Michael in our class.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that is when I cried.  And Michael answered another question.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1440777273467993286?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1440777273467993286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1440777273467993286&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1440777273467993286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1440777273467993286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/old-post.html' title='an old post'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1315452238663741025</id><published>2009-11-12T21:52:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T21:56:51.201-05:00</updated><title type='text'>i forgot to be thankful</title><content type='html'>Oops...I failed to mention what I was thankful for in my today's post.  Crud.&lt;div&gt;----------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;30% off coupons for Old Navy.  I bought a few new things today.  Just a couple of sweaters.  And I tried on a skirt.  That didn't fit me.  It was too big.  Love it when that happens.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1315452238663741025?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1315452238663741025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1315452238663741025&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1315452238663741025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1315452238663741025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-forgot-to-be-thankful.html' title='i forgot to be thankful'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5158659094089848080</id><published>2009-11-11T21:18:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T21:27:54.362-05:00</updated><title type='text'>egg-dyeing ensemble</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Svtxal0t4iI/AAAAAAAAAOA/Gr52jfbFYEo/s1600-h/2008_03220018.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Svtxal0t4iI/AAAAAAAAAOA/Gr52jfbFYEo/s320/2008_03220018.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403036879604802082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Doesn't everyone dye Easter eggs in a Storm Trooper costume?  No?  We did have a Star Wars egg-dyeing kit.  So.  This fit.  And he needed to look the part.  This boy.  Makes me laugh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;---------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;My new (old) china cabinet.  Given to us by my mom and dad.  I was finally able to pull out our wedding china.  And crystal.  And put it on display.  The crystal and the teacups and the plates look so pretty in their new home.  Thanks mom and dad!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5158659094089848080?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5158659094089848080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5158659094089848080&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5158659094089848080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5158659094089848080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/egg-dyeing-ensemble.html' title='egg-dyeing ensemble'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Svtxal0t4iI/AAAAAAAAAOA/Gr52jfbFYEo/s72-c/2008_03220018.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5141483787987935359</id><published>2009-11-10T22:29:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T22:38:22.168-05:00</updated><title type='text'>that.</title><content type='html'>I was reminded of this sweet memory today while working with at a friend's house.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When Michael was little, he couldn't quite say Grandma in reference to my mom.  In fact, he wouldn't say it.  He called her truck at first.  Trucks were his favorite things as a toddler.  So this was flattery in its highest form.  Really.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One night, I had Michael name everyone around the table during a visit to my mom and dad's house.  I pointed to myself. &lt;i&gt; Mommy&lt;/i&gt;.  I pointed to my dad.  &lt;i&gt;Pa.&lt;/i&gt;  I pointed to my mom.  &lt;i&gt;That.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;That. &lt;/i&gt;So funny.  Where did he get that?  It makes me laugh just thinking of it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Luckily, T&lt;i&gt;hat&lt;/i&gt; didn't stick around for long.  In fact, that might have been the only time that it was used.  Nana became the chosen name for my mom.  It suits her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Time spent with a dear friend.   And Diet Coke. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5141483787987935359?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5141483787987935359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5141483787987935359&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5141483787987935359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5141483787987935359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/that.html' title='that.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5878925304876087460</id><published>2009-11-09T22:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T22:00:02.748-05:00</updated><title type='text'>this time of year</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I am a stickler for tradition.  I have mentioned that before.  I am especially so at this time of year.  I like to know that we are going to play Bingo, that each of us will have new pajamas on Christmas eve.  I like to plan our Advent Activities now.  Looking for fun things to do or make during the month of December.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I like the arrival of the Look Books from the department stores and watching Michael circle what he would like this year.  Those just arrived this week.  I saved them.  For what, I am not yet certain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of my favorite traditions of the holiday season is to look through the aisles of Christmas things at Target.  I look forward to the time just before - sometimes after - Halloween when the ornaments are unveiled.  And I always think that perhaps this is the year that I will find the perfect tree topper.  Michael and I would spend quite a bit of time in these aisles in the months of  October through December.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I found myself in those aisles in the days before Halloween.  I went to get candy for our trick or treaters.  It didn't occur to me that this would be the day that the aisles would be filled with holiday decoration.   The bags of candy were a mere two aisles away.  And I couldn't turn away.  I went up and down the Christmas aisles.  And cried my tears.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I admired the brightly colored ornaments and the twinkling lights.  I delighted in the ornament garland strung from a white tree.  We have a white tree.  Stu bought it on super sale last season.  And we have never had the chance to put it up.  This garland would be so festively fantastic on that new addition to our Christmas decor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I looked through the themed ornaments.  And wondered which ones Michael would have chosen for his tree this year.  We've been collecting ornaments for the tree in his room over the years - he got to pick one (or a set) of ornaments every year.  The past two years, he has chosen Star Wars.  Another unanswered musing.  Add it to the list of others.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know how my love of tradition will work this year.  I don't know.  Perhaps participating in some of the same traditions.  Perhaps making a few new ones.  We'll wade through it.  The best we can.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am thankful for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My hot glue gun.  I really enjoyed breaking it out.  Dusting it off.  Adding fabric and ribbon to some simple cork boards for my office.  I was reminded of craft days at my Grandma's house.  [Once I hang the boards, I will post a picture of them here for all to see.]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5878925304876087460?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5878925304876087460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5878925304876087460&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5878925304876087460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5878925304876087460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-time-of-year.html' title='this time of year'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5758892849090004627</id><published>2009-11-08T20:56:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T21:01:52.962-05:00</updated><title type='text'>i lied</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, I said that I wouldn't dedicate whole posts to what I was grateful for that day.  But today I am tired, so I'll start that trend tomorrow.  I'm just delaying the rules.  Totally fine, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I am thankful for the game Banana Grams.  And Ultimate Fighting Championship cage match fights.  Weird combo.  But totally made for a fun Saturday night with my folks.  We laughed and enjoyed our time together.  And I won at Banana Grams.  Really stomped them.  Which is always more fun than being stomped, I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am thankful for an impromptu trip to their house.  To spend time with just them.  They might spoil me ... but just a little.    It was a good thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5758892849090004627?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5758892849090004627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5758892849090004627&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5758892849090004627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5758892849090004627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-lied.html' title='i lied'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5456106772768124901</id><published>2009-11-07T18:23:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T18:33:25.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'>gratitude</title><content type='html'>During this season of Thanksgiving, I find it difficult to cultivate a heart of gratitude.  This is not surprising as I continue to struggle with my feelings of bitterness.  I don't want to be bitter.  I don't.  I just find it easy to wallow in my sadness.  To wallow in my feelings of unfairness.  And unjustness.  And anger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to work my way up through the depths of this despair. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.  With that in mind, I will write out one thing that I am grateful for each day.  No matter how small.  (And some days it may be very small.)  One thing that I am thankful for. I won't usually devote an entire post to it - I'll just make a note at the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll start with the most obvious.  I am thankful for the joy of my 9 3/4 years with Michael.  I am thankful to know the joy that he brought me.  The joy of being a mother.  His mother.  The joy of his hand in mine.  The joy of his delightful wit and humor.  The joy of his funky dance moves.  The joy of his &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;curiosity&lt;/span&gt;.  The joy of his sound effects.  The joy of his love of plastic army men.  And Star Wars.  The joy of doing homework.  And signing his Friday folders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The joy of our time together.  Short as it was. &lt;br /&gt;I am thankful for Michael.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5456106772768124901?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5456106772768124901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5456106772768124901&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5456106772768124901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5456106772768124901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/gratitude.html' title='gratitude'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8212231306239126294</id><published>2009-11-06T21:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T21:00:00.649-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the self portrait</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;My cousin, Melissa and I were into self portraits long before they were a MySpace/Facebook/Teen Queen fad. We have many, many pictures of our cheeks pressed against one another. Every holiday, every family gathering, every time we are together ... we take our traditional picture.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I continued this tradition with Michael. We also took family portraits this way.  Photo Booth, on my Mac, was Michael and I's favorite. We put together some videos. Took some pictures. Our faces together. Being silly. These are some of my favorite photos now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObUWEK_0I/AAAAAAAAANo/F5NzDuJKRQI/s1600-h/Photo+17.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObUWEK_0I/AAAAAAAAANo/F5NzDuJKRQI/s320/Photo+17.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400831151970123586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObUXGuqdI/AAAAAAAAANg/hUG25mZKe0A/s1600-h/Photo+18.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObUXGuqdI/AAAAAAAAANg/hUG25mZKe0A/s320/Photo+18.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400831152249285074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The photo above is the screen saver on my phone.  Love that sweet Mama's boy!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObULXf_KI/AAAAAAAAANY/5tYIIseOVfg/s1600-h/Photo+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObULXf_KI/AAAAAAAAANY/5tYIIseOVfg/s320/Photo+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400831149098400930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One of our first Photo Booth sessions...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObT57jd_I/AAAAAAAAANQ/ZG1vmqXUUjE/s1600-h/DSC00671.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObT57jd_I/AAAAAAAAANQ/ZG1vmqXUUjE/s320/DSC00671.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400831144417785842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Before the Christmas chorus concert that FSU performs every year.  This was an advent activity at Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObTqpPODI/AAAAAAAAANI/rqUfTMP4RLc/s1600-h/711528-R1-13-15A_014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObTqpPODI/AAAAAAAAANI/rqUfTMP4RLc/s320/711528-R1-13-15A_014.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400831140314429490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My favorite family photo.  Taken during our first trip to Disney World.  For Michael's 8th birthday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8212231306239126294?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8212231306239126294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8212231306239126294&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8212231306239126294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8212231306239126294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/self-portrait.html' title='the self portrait'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SvObUWEK_0I/AAAAAAAAANo/F5NzDuJKRQI/s72-c/Photo+17.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-27612589265715935</id><published>2009-11-05T19:02:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T19:46:28.111-05:00</updated><title type='text'>five things about my grief</title><content type='html'>I thought I would share five things that I experience in grief.  These are not my top five things.  They are just the five that come to my fingertips the quickest.  And I am a list person.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I share these because ... well I know it is difficult to imagine.  It is difficult to imagine if you haven't experienced a devastating loss.  And in my efforts to be transparent in this time of life, I share my grief with you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  Nothing that anyone says will make things better.  Or easier.  In fact, I probably don't remember much of what people have told me these past [almost] 7 months.  But I remember the kindness of my family and friends and strangers.  I know that it is hard to know what to say. What does matter is that you say something.  Anything.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  I want to talk about Michael.  I might cry.  It is a strong possibility that I will.  But I love to share stories about him.  I love to hear your stories about him.  I love to hear that his life made an impact on those around him.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  There is no time table for grief.  I cannot snap out of it or give you a mythical deadline for when I will be all better.  This grief.  Will last forever.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Grief feels like I am treading water.  And I sometimes dip below the surface.  Unable to breathe.  The slightest push sends me below.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  I, at the tender age of 33, have lost my innocence.  I have lost the carefree-ness of being able to think about the future.  To think about what a year from now will be like.  I knew that loss was a possibility.  I understood that death happened.  I understood that tomorrow was not promised.  Or so I thought.  In my mind, death is what comes to those that have lived long lives.  It does not happen to those in their 40s, or their 30s, or just before their 10th birthday.  Because that would be unfair.  And life, as I have learned, is anything but fair.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-27612589265715935?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/27612589265715935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=27612589265715935&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/27612589265715935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/27612589265715935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/five-things-about-my-grief.html' title='five things about my grief'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1400004868105650239</id><published>2009-11-04T22:55:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T23:02:01.416-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the question.</title><content type='html'>I was asked again tonight if I have kids.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure that I have a great answer to that yet.&lt;br /&gt;I decided to manage expectations by answering in this way:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, [tennis opponent], this is an awkward question for me.  And I don't have a good answer for it.  So I'll just tell you... I have a son.  Who died in April.  He was 9."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[insert uncomfortable silence]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she said she was sorry and that she was sorry that she asked the question.  I told her I was sorry too and no need to apologize for asking.  It is a common question. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't quite know how to answer it so that I don't make the other person feel bad and so that I don't cry, awkwardly, in front of a stranger in between sets of a tennis match.  The tears tend to blur my vision when I am serving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to practice a better response.  I'm just not certain, yet, what a better response would be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1400004868105650239?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1400004868105650239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1400004868105650239&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1400004868105650239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1400004868105650239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/question.html' title='the question.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-3598178903161362065</id><published>2009-11-03T23:22:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T23:24:11.033-05:00</updated><title type='text'>words</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Because today I am struggling for the words.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;I chose another Brian Andreas to share.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;They left me&lt;br /&gt;with your shadow,&lt;br /&gt;saying things like&lt;br /&gt;Life is not fair&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; I believed them&lt;br /&gt;for a long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But today,&lt;br /&gt;I remembered&lt;br /&gt;the way you laughed&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; the heat&lt;br /&gt;of your hand&lt;br /&gt;in mine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; I knew that&lt;br /&gt;life is more fair&lt;br /&gt;than we can&lt;br /&gt;ever imagine&lt;br /&gt;if&lt;br /&gt;we are there to live it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-3598178903161362065?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/3598178903161362065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=3598178903161362065&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/3598178903161362065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/3598178903161362065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/words.html' title='words'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8834701231350496925</id><published>2009-11-02T20:54:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T21:08:12.140-05:00</updated><title type='text'>by hand</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Su-Ow3dsBHI/AAAAAAAAAMw/XkFlbntgZNU/s1600-h/Ghost+come+hither.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Su-Ow3dsBHI/AAAAAAAAAMw/XkFlbntgZNU/s320/Ghost+come+hither.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399691448413848690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I had great plans for this halloween costume.  I sewed it by hand.  And when I say by hand, I mean it.  No sewing machine.  Just needle and thread.  And many a pricked finger.   I used stuffing.  I used elastic.  I used a whip stitch.  I used my fingertips.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was a Martha.  A total Martha.  But without all that perfect nonsense.  My stitches were gloriously imperfect.  My panels were cut crooked.  But with much love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For this GHOST costume.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not a white pumpkin.  Not Humpty Dumpty.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A full on Ghost.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was Michael's request.  He wanted to be a ghost. I had visions of The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown show ... with the sheet and all the eye holes cut out.  This wasn't the ghost costume for my 4 year old.  He needed cute.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ok.  His mama wanted cute.  He just wanted a costume.  To get the candy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I sewed it by hand.  The armholes didn't line up.  The elastic was not so elastic-y.  But I felt proud of my accomplishment.  This sewing of the Halloween costume.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And bought every other costume for Halloween after that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8834701231350496925?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8834701231350496925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8834701231350496925&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8834701231350496925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8834701231350496925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/by-hand.html' title='by hand'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Su-Ow3dsBHI/AAAAAAAAAMw/XkFlbntgZNU/s72-c/Ghost+come+hither.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1970061566054449983</id><published>2009-11-01T17:59:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T18:33:40.894-05:00</updated><title type='text'>bitter.  better.</title><content type='html'>Here's the truth:  I am having a difficult time coming up with a first post for November.  Or for the past few weeks.   I think I am worried about all of you.  What you might think.  What you might infer.  So.  I have decided to get over myself and just write what I know.  What I feel.  What my days are like.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here goes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been thinking a lot lately about the concept that grief will make you bitter or better.   I have jumped into the bitter with both feet.  Landing squarely in the middle.  And wallowing in it.  I've made a home for myself there.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't quite understand the better part.  How am I to be better when Michael's absence is so profound? How am I to be better when the best part of me is gone?  I find the concept that I could be better almost offensive.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm looking for something in the middle.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am not there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I sometimes feel like I have a handle on things.    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I am wrong.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1970061566054449983?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1970061566054449983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1970061566054449983&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1970061566054449983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1970061566054449983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/11/heres-truth-i-am-having-difficult-time.html' title='bitter.  better.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8273093703210052921</id><published>2009-10-31T16:03:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-31T16:23:55.169-05:00</updated><title type='text'>halloween</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;Oh, Halloween. One of Michael's favorite days. Any excuse to dress up, he was in. And to get candy for it? Pure bliss. I thought I would share some of Michael's costumes from years past...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypoYvHh4I/AAAAAAAAAMo/6_WURWmSYSk/s1600-h/img008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 196px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypoYvHh4I/AAAAAAAAAMo/6_WURWmSYSk/s320/img008.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398876564610320258" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypoDByjPI/AAAAAAAAAMg/JZX3x4i7QWM/s1600-h/froggy011.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypoDByjPI/AAAAAAAAAMg/JZX3x4i7QWM/s320/froggy011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398876558783057138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypnyaXlgI/AAAAAAAAAMY/a5FSXKGRbrc/s1600-h/Ghost+come+hither.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypnyaXlgI/AAAAAAAAAMY/a5FSXKGRbrc/s320/Ghost+come+hither.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398876554322744834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypnupDWoI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/LFAzwz3HwLk/s1600-h/Jennifer+Dooley+-+transitions+110.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypnupDWoI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/LFAzwz3HwLk/s320/Jennifer+Dooley+-+transitions+110.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398876553310591618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypnaPYICI/AAAAAAAAAMI/19Ec8SCIyyE/s1600-h/DSCF6457.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypnaPYICI/AAAAAAAAAMI/19Ec8SCIyyE/s320/DSCF6457.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398876547834191906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Missing my boy.  Happy Halloween.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;--------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I have decided to blog every day during the month of November.  I have found this blog to be helpful to me as I write out my thoughts.  I haven't made the time to do it and have challenged myself to find time to write.  everyday.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8273093703210052921?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8273093703210052921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8273093703210052921&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8273093703210052921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8273093703210052921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/10/halloween.html' title='halloween'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SuypoYvHh4I/AAAAAAAAAMo/6_WURWmSYSk/s72-c/img008.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-3375965966139872319</id><published>2009-10-10T21:19:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-10T21:43:57.438-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It has been 6 months.  Half a year.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We are entering into the Holiday season.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went to Kohl's last week.  Hoping to find some shoes.  I didn't find any.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But as I turned the corner to head back to the down escalator.  I heard it.  The first Christmas song.  Deck the Halls, I think.  And I saw it.  Christmas decorations.  Trees and ornaments. Tears sprang to my eyes and I quickly found my way back to the downstairs.  To the safety that is still October.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had the same reaction to Halloween decorations at Target.  Michael loved to dress up.  And to get candy for it?  He was a fan.  It was a favorite day to be sure.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I considered turning off our lights this Halloween.  Let the trick-or-treaters go else where.  We are closed.  But that seems false too.  And not in the spirit of my son.  So we will hand out sweet treats to princesses and super heroes.  This first Halloween.  Without my son turned Star Wars bounty hunter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-3375965966139872319?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/3375965966139872319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=3375965966139872319&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/3375965966139872319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/3375965966139872319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/10/it-has-been-6-months.html' title=''/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-958296615159085930</id><published>2009-10-06T16:43:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T16:45:51.270-05:00</updated><title type='text'>ugly</title><content type='html'>I find it difficult to blog right now.&lt;div&gt;I am a mix of ugly emotions.  Bitter.  Angry.  Lonely.  Sad.  Jealous.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I find it difficult to pray.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am awkward in groups.  And in singles.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm working through it.  Thank you for bearing with me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-958296615159085930?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/958296615159085930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=958296615159085930&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/958296615159085930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/958296615159085930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/10/ugly.html' title='ugly'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-3599644979293596192</id><published>2009-09-29T23:58:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T00:14:40.291-05:00</updated><title type='text'>final</title><content type='html'>It still shocks me.  The finality of it all. &lt;div&gt;I will never see my son again.  Except in my mind.  In my memories.  In videos.  In pictures.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Like right now.  I can't sleep.  Because it hit me once again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This finality.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have this typical Michael phrase that I play in my head.  Daily.  I have this fear that one day I won't remember the way he said it.  Or the way he put emphasis on certain syllables.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I fear the not remembering.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am afraid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am awkward amongst people.  I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.  I can say that I am OK.  I'm not.  I can laugh.  But it is not sincere.  It is not filled with joy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am afraid of not experiencing joy again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My family was happy.  We were loving.  We were close.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And now, we just exist.  As if waiting for something.  Anything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Days are meant to be gotten through.  Not lived.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My days are just hallways to my nights.  My nights are the passageways to a new day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just when I think that I have hit the depths of despair.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I find a new level.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-3599644979293596192?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/3599644979293596192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=3599644979293596192&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/3599644979293596192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/3599644979293596192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/09/final.html' title='final'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1776670994061233355</id><published>2009-09-22T14:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T14:51:39.628-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Elf</title><content type='html'>Today I decided to do a work out video in my bedroom.  Don't laugh.  It is just that ... I had walked my 3 miles at the gym.  But I am embarrassed to use the weights.  I know.  It's ridiculous.  So I decided to do my Hi-Def Firm video.  In the privacy of my own home.  Where no one can see me struggle.  Or grunt.  Or sweat.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because no one else is doing that in the gym.  Uh. Huh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't often use the DVD player in our bedroom.  I'm not much of a home movie watcher.  Unless it is a made for TV movie.  Or a TBS Sunday afternoon special.  Then I am all in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I opened the DVD player this afternoon, out popped ELF.  Michael and I's favorite Christmas movie.  We watched it all the time during the Christmas season.  We love it.  And I think that the last time we watched it was just before the Christmas holidays.  It was part of our Advent activity for the day.  Popped popcorn.  Hot Cocoa.  And Elf.  In my room with our pajamas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We had our favorite parts.  And would sing while at Target ... I'm in a Store and I'm singing ... every time we went together over the season.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This DVD ... just reminded me of the precious moments that I am missing.  It was a surprise reminder of the precious moments that I took for granted.  Over the holiday season.  I just assumed that I would have another Christmas.  And another.  And another.  I just assumed that I would have years with my son.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I assumed that I would see him graduate fifth grade.  And then high school.  And then college.  I assumed that I would see Michael grown up and perhaps have children of his own.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I assumed that I would get to watch Elf again.  With him.  In our pajamas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know that I will ever be that carefree again.  To take for granted the many days I might have with someone.  To be able to plan for the future without fear that the main person in that far off thought will not be there.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I made assumptions.  I thought we had more memories to make.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And this Elf DVD ... it reminded me once again.  That I don't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1776670994061233355?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1776670994061233355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1776670994061233355&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1776670994061233355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1776670994061233355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/09/elf.html' title='Elf'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2236855907305811058</id><published>2009-09-18T22:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T22:52:25.514-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The 3 Day Walk</title><content type='html'>I thought I would share the below on my blog as well...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi Friends and Family:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year, I walked every step of the 3 Day Walk for Breast Cancer.  I did that with the support of my family and friends.  My supporters who donated, and gave me words of encouragement and came out to the Cheering Stations to root me on.  All of you.  Thank you.  For supporting me in my crazy adventure.  For asking about it when I got back.  For cheering me from afar.  For making posters and leaving them on my front step.  My family.  My friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came home with 6 blisters on my left foot.  But also with a feeling that I could accomplish anything. I loved every moment of the walk.  It was hard.  It was long.  It was rainy.  But I made a great new friend along the way.  I heard amazing stories of survival.  And amazing stories of loss.  I manicured my nails in my Gram’s signature red.  I wore her jewelry.  I carried her photo.  I shared her story with my new friends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to be a part of that experience again. I promptly signed up for the walk again.  Visions of more training walks and fundraising events danced in my head.  The training schedule called for starting in May.  No problem … I signed up for the walk in November.  I had plenty of time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then in April, my world came crashing down when my sweet Michael passed away.  Suddenly.  On a Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This walk was the last thing on my mind.   I didn’t want to do anything.  Let alone walk or fundraise or even get out of bed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have had 5 months to consider this decision.  I made a decision to do the walk a few months ago.  But I waffled again.  Michael was such a part of the walk last year.  He brought me band-aids.  And Icy Hot.  And gave me the best hugs at the Cheering Stations.  He was so proud of me.  He told his friends at school about it.  He wanted to walk with me when he was old enough.  He had plans to make posters this year. &lt;br /&gt;How could I complete this without him?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How could I not do it?  I made a commitment.  I will stick to it.  Michael will be with me every step of the way.   Of this I am sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.  I have started my training in earnest.  Am I ready for the walk?  Nope.  But I have a good start.  I will be completing my long walks this weekend.  To get a feel for where I am.   I have 6 weeks to get ready.  A condensed training schedule, to be sure.  But I’ll make it work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have angels on my side.  Michael and my Grams. &lt;br /&gt;I’ll walk.  Because they can’t.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am once again coming to you to ask that you consider donating to this cause.  To this walk.  To stop Breast Cancer.  I have the daunting task of raising $2300.00 in 6 weeks.  I should probably be worried.  But I’m not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have I mentioned that I have angels on my side?  Michael and my Grams.  And all of YOU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the link to my personal donation page.  You will be able to add your donation on-line here or print out the donation form to mail in your donation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.the3day.org/goto/jenndooley" target="_blank" rel="nofollow"&gt;www.the3day.org/goto/jenndooley&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are so inclined, please send my e-mail to your family and friends as well.  And finally, please keep me in your thoughts and prayers.  I'm going to need them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2236855907305811058?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2236855907305811058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2236855907305811058&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2236855907305811058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2236855907305811058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/09/3-day-walk.html' title='The 3 Day Walk'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-1738775346304230258</id><published>2009-09-16T12:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T12:57:13.248-05:00</updated><title type='text'>staying home</title><content type='html'>I just don't know what to do with myself. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I quit my job just a week ago.  A full week of my part time position.  Mixed in with some trips to the gym.  And more than a little sadness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Don't get me wrong.  I am very grateful for this time.  This time to heal.  And grieve.  And stay in my bed if I need to.  I am grateful that I have some work to keep my mind working.  I am grateful to belong to a gym where I can sweat and see the Fabio look-a-like sweating alongside me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But the house is quiet.  I turn the TV on just to provide some background noise.  For as long as I have had a child, I wanted to be a stay at home mom.  I wanted to be home with Michael.  I was able to work it out with my ex-job to work different hours so that I could be home on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.  So I got to be a part-time stay at home mom with full time job responsibilities.  I loved those days.  Before fourth grade, my favorite place to be was the car pick-up line.  I got there early, armed with my Diet Coke and my lastest read.  When the bell rang, I would search the crowd of elementary school students for my Michael.  I could pick out his face pretty quickly.  Like I was drawn to him.  Then with fourth grade, Michael walked home from school.  I would wait on the front steps.  I could hear him before I saw him usually.  He liked to talk to himself.  Make up stories.  Sound effects.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I loved our afternoons together.  Tuesdays for the library;  Thursdays for Young Actors and the Atlanta Bread Company.  And Fridays were my favorites.  No rush to finish homework.   No going anywhere.  Sometimes we'd put on our pajamas and watch cartoons.  And perhaps nap.  Or we would watch YouTube.  Or have a Friday night dance party.  We usually ordered pizza.  It was good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And now I feel guilty.  That I wasn't able to stay home when Michael was living.  That I wasn't able to spend the other two afternoons with him.  That I am able to stay home now to grieve and to mourn.  To figure out what I am to do next.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I just don't know where to begin...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-1738775346304230258?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/1738775346304230258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=1738775346304230258&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1738775346304230258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/1738775346304230258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/09/staying-home.html' title='staying home'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7115585808198494367</id><published>2009-09-08T21:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T21:08:31.806-05:00</updated><title type='text'>dreams</title><content type='html'>I had a dream over the weekend and woke up smiling.  I dreamt that I knew it was Michael's last day.  And we had a pool.  And we stayed outside swimming until the wee hours of the morning.  Because we could.  We had so much fun.  And our neighbors were mad.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But we didn't care.  Because we were together and laughing.  In those last few moments together.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was one of those dreams that felt real.  That I wished was real.   And despite my disappointment that it wasn't real, I could hear the echo of Michael's laugh in my mind.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My favorite sound in all the world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7115585808198494367?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7115585808198494367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7115585808198494367&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7115585808198494367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7115585808198494367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/09/dreams.html' title='dreams'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5378289222601211900</id><published>2009-08-30T21:59:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T22:08:49.300-05:00</updated><title type='text'>notice.</title><content type='html'>I haven't written in the blog for a while.  I took a little hiatus.  With the emotion that comes with the start of school and my work at the university starting to ramp up, I just didn't have the stamina to write anything.  I was tired.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I do have news.  I have given my notice at work.  My last day will be the Tuesday after Labor Day.  I just need time to mourn.  To grieve.  To miss Michael.  It is difficult to do while working full time, for me.  Grief is different for everyone.  For me, I am unable to focus.  I am unable to stop feeling guilty about that fact.  I am not able to meet my own standards with work.   And so it was time to give my notice. It was time for me to take time for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wonder what this time will bring for me.  I wonder what I will do with it.  I have ideas.  I have thoughts.  My grief counselor cautions me not to put too much pressure on myself to be productive.  Do what I want.  When I want to.   I'll need to remind myself of this.  Often.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm nervous about this time. This season.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks for continuing to check in with us.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5378289222601211900?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5378289222601211900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5378289222601211900&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5378289222601211900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5378289222601211900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/08/notice.html' title='notice.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5811903954429894386</id><published>2009-08-20T07:38:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T07:46:34.405-05:00</updated><title type='text'>would haves..</title><content type='html'>Today, we would have found out Michael's fifth grade teacher.  Friday, we would have found Michael's fifth grade classroom.  Saturday, we would have laid out Michael's fifth grade first day of school outfit.  Sunday, we would have packed a lunch.  Where I put in my first day of school mommy note.  Monday, Michael would have been a fifth grader.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know that today would have been filled with excitement.  Michael would have been so excited to see who was in his class.  Who his teacher was.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would have lamented that I couldn't believe that I had a fifth grader.  Aren't I too young for that, I would have said.  Or time goes by so fast when you have kids.  Or look at how big my sweet boy is now.  Or any of those other things that moms will say on the first day of school.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I won't get to say them.  I'll remember first days gone by.  And carry my sorrow of these first days ahead.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am just so sad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5811903954429894386?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5811903954429894386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5811903954429894386&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5811903954429894386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5811903954429894386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/08/would-haves.html' title='would haves..'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-525356990876356094</id><published>2009-08-09T00:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T00:00:01.124-05:00</updated><title type='text'>four months</title><content type='html'>Today is my birthday.  It is also four months since that terrible day in April.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is the month that Michael would have started 5th grade.  He had wanted to start walking to school.  By himself.  I told him that we would wait until 5th grade to make that decision.  Another decision that I won't make.  Because it has already been decided for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am jealous of all of the parent's that are picking out first day outfits.  And new backpacks.  And fresh supplies.  I am jealous of the jubilation of moms that are sending their children back to school.  That doesn't mean that I don't want to hear about it.  I just wish I was experiencing the same emotions.  The same routines that are supposed to come every year.  But they don't.  Not for Michael.  Not for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we were on vacation lounging by the pool, I could hear the cries of "Mom" from some kids on the beach.  It struck me that I may never have someone call me that again.  That I may never know that joy again.  I read a quote by someone (I am too lazy to look up the exact quote or who said it):  To be a mom is to wear your heart on your sleeve.  I get it.  I might change it up a bit ... To be a mom of a child that is no longer with you is to have your heart ripped off your sleeve, stomped on and given back to you.  To hot glue back together.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A friend asked if my wounds were starting to heal.  I told him not really.  My wounds just scab over. And I pick it off.  again.  and again.  and again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am in a very low place.  I think this place is reserved for those days that are supposed to be special.   But won't have the same significance ever again.  Because how could they?  When I am not complete.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It has been 4 months.    And I miss my Michael more with each passing day.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not a minute goes by that he is not in my thoughts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Love you, boopy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-525356990876356094?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/525356990876356094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=525356990876356094&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/525356990876356094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/525356990876356094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/08/four-months.html' title='four months'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-6658958364513221761</id><published>2009-08-07T07:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T10:15:01.838-05:00</updated><title type='text'>it is the little things.</title><content type='html'>I have a constant stream of Michael thoughts throughout the day.  I am constantly thinking of him.  Or reminded of him.  It doesn't stop.  I'm glad.  I don't want to forget.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I am reminded of the little things.  I thought I would list five here, because these are the ones I was thinking about this morning.  This hour.  I could list five hundred.  And probably will.  But not at the same time.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  I am reminded of how when I would hear a crash from his room, he would shout "I'm OK".  Before I even had a chance to ask.  Or see what was up.  He just wanted me to know that I didn't have to worry about him.  He was OK.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  I am reminded that when he was really upset about something, he wouldn't want to talk about it.  He would bury his head in my chest and cry.  And then start to tell me about it, in between sobs.  He wasn't upset often.  But when he was, he let loose.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  I am reminded how my favorite place to be was in the car pick-up line at school.  With my McDonald's diet coke.  And how when I would see him waiting with the other kids, my heart skipped a beat.  Because I got to see my buddy.  Fresh from school.  With an afternoon to enjoy together.  When he started walking home from school this past year, my favorite place to be was waiting on the front porch for him.  With my can of diet coke.  I could usually hear him before he got to the driveway.  He liked to talk to himself, out loud.  Complete with sound effects.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  When Michael was little, he wore a hat constantly.  The only place the hat was not worn was in the bathtub.  But as soon as he was dried off and dressed in pajamas, he would put that hat back on.  He slept in it.  He went through surgeries and procedures in it.  He didn't use a pacifier or have a blanket or suck on his thumb.  He had a hat.  I worried that when the time for kindergarten came, that he would not want to part with his hat.  I shouldn't have ... in his typical laid back style, he stopped wearing the hat during the day for school and would put it back when he got home.  Then he stopped wearing one all together.  He had outgrown it, I suppose.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  I am reminded of Michael's love of costumes.  How he would go back to his room and come out as Spiderman or Batman or a Storm Trooper.  He had a Spiderman costume that he got from my mom and dad when he was around 4.  He would still put it on, even recently.  Sure the pants were hitched around his knees, and there were holes in the seams, and it was threadbare.  Didn't matter to him.  He would still put it on.  We laughed at our little super hero.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A hundred million little things that all add up to a life that was cut too short.  I will keep sharing.  To keep his memory going.  Mostly for myself.  But I appreciate that people read.  And know what a special, special boy my son is.  was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-6658958364513221761?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/6658958364513221761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=6658958364513221761&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6658958364513221761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/6658958364513221761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-have-constant-stream-of-michael.html' title='it is the little things.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-4249508463168643985</id><published>2009-08-02T22:13:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T08:04:02.628-05:00</updated><title type='text'>thirty eight dollars</title><content type='html'>I got the bill for Michael's last day on Sunday.  Technically, I received it sometime between Thursday and Saturday.  But I was just home from vacation.  And it was in the mail box.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;$38.23&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is how much I owe the hospital where Michael was taken.  This is the amount after our health insurance has paid their portion.  It doesn't seem enough.  I would pay 1000 times that amount.  If only they would have revived him.  If only their efforts could have brought him back.  From the beat that couldn't fall in line.  From a heart that was tired.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;$38.23&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would gladly pay that amount.  If Michael was still here with me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I don't want to pay them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The amount that I am to pay for their efforts.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;$38.23&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm going to let it sit.  And not pay it yet.  It seems like yet another step towards closing out the events of the day.  To pay for the work the hospital did to keep Michael alive.  They didn't.  And here we are.  I'm not ready to close out that day.  I'm not ready to pay a small amount for the failed attempt at keeping Michael's heart beating.  I'm not ready. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And so they can bill me again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Until I am ready.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-4249508463168643985?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/4249508463168643985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=4249508463168643985&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4249508463168643985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/4249508463168643985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/08/thirty-eight-dollars.html' title='thirty eight dollars'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7181334075458895775</id><published>2009-07-23T20:41:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T20:59:34.606-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the beach.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Every  last week in July, my parents and my little family go to the beach.  Our family best friend's own a house on Crescent Beach.  This house is gorgeous and they are so generous to let us use it for the week.  Our own swimming pool.  Our own beach access.  Our own celebrity sightings (I should tell that story one day).  The biggest decision of the day is beach or pool.  My kind of life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael loved going. And this will be another first.  Our first time being there without him.  I imagine the pool will be more still.  It will not be filled with shouts of glee.  There will not be any "Mommy, watch mes" or "Come swimming with me (Pa, Nana, Stu or Mommy)".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It will be quiet.  Each of us with our own memories.  Of other summers.  These are some of my favorite photos from those memory filled, happy times.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will be glad to be there.  But so sad that my favorite swimmer, jumper, sand castle maker will not be by my side.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkTQX8V-eI/AAAAAAAAAK0/vf0eV4V5ZTw/s1600-h/Michael.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkTQX8V-eI/AAAAAAAAAK0/vf0eV4V5ZTw/s320/Michael.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361838003387234786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkTQJZlQbI/AAAAAAAAAKs/wRTJFr2cgOk/s1600-h/michael-inserra+401.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkTQJZlQbI/AAAAAAAAAKs/wRTJFr2cgOk/s320/michael-inserra+401.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361837999483339186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSpHScGTI/AAAAAAAAAKk/LBpdVBPHJfk/s1600-h/michael-inserra+217.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSpHScGTI/AAAAAAAAAKk/LBpdVBPHJfk/s320/michael-inserra+217.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361837328901609778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSo6F94KI/AAAAAAAAAKc/vX0NHHY3K0I/s1600-h/IMG_5601.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSo6F94KI/AAAAAAAAAKc/vX0NHHY3K0I/s320/IMG_5601.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361837325359636642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSonKPnjI/AAAAAAAAAKU/YrDYdhCBMOE/s1600-h/IMG_5572.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSonKPnjI/AAAAAAAAAKU/YrDYdhCBMOE/s320/IMG_5572.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361837320277302834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSoXVCSGI/AAAAAAAAAKM/hrf0op_61c8/s1600-h/IMG_5546.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSoXVCSGI/AAAAAAAAAKM/hrf0op_61c8/s320/IMG_5546.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361837316027598946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSn3zNFrI/AAAAAAAAAKE/k_TvpmUlB-s/s1600-h/bootie+pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkSn3zNFrI/AAAAAAAAAKE/k_TvpmUlB-s/s320/bootie+pic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361837307564201650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7181334075458895775?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7181334075458895775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7181334075458895775&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7181334075458895775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7181334075458895775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/beach.html' title='the beach.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SmkTQX8V-eI/AAAAAAAAAK0/vf0eV4V5ZTw/s72-c/Michael.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-7496239864795170202</id><published>2009-07-19T17:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-19T17:31:17.993-05:00</updated><title type='text'>forever</title><content type='html'>An old friend sent the lyrics to a song that he thought might ring true for me.  Does it ever.  I read the lyrics.  I cried.  I purchased the song from iTunes.  And now I play it on repeat. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; I quote song lyrics a lot in this blog.  I do it in my scrapbooks as well.  I find myself  drawn to songs that have meaning.  Songs whose lyrics speak to me.  Don't get me wrong - I love a good pop song too.  It's just the songs that sustain the longest time on my playlists are more meaningful.  Like the soundtrack to my own life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here is the song.  Forever by Rascal Flatts&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; "&gt;I miss you so much&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Your light, your smile, your way, and everything about us&lt;br /&gt;Though you're gone, you're still here&lt;br /&gt;In my heart, in my tears&lt;br /&gt;Yeah you sure left your mark and we were just getting started&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't long enough, it wasn't long enough... Together...&lt;br /&gt;But it was long enough, yeah, it was long enough... to last forever...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I get so mad; I scream and swear at this&lt;br /&gt;Cuz' this, isn't how we planned it&lt;br /&gt;I sit here, in a cold room... Prayin'&lt;br /&gt;Waiting on you&lt;br /&gt;To run back through that door, the way it was before&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You left, it wasn't long enough, it wasn't long enough... together&lt;br /&gt;But it was long enough; yeah it was long enough to last, forever...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel Cheated (I feel Cheated), defeated (can't believe it)&lt;br /&gt;Can't believe that you're gone (your gone, your gone)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;It wasn't long enough.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it was long enough.  That my memories will have to last forever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My memories stop.  At 9 years old.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will never know what he might have looked like at 15 or 20.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or the look on his face when he graduated.  Or got married.  Or made me a grandma.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It wasn't long enough.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-7496239864795170202?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/7496239864795170202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=7496239864795170202&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7496239864795170202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/7496239864795170202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/forever.html' title='forever'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5182566768489299458</id><published>2009-07-18T21:34:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-18T21:36:25.019-05:00</updated><title type='text'>conversation.</title><content type='html'>Mommy?&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Yes?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Love you too buddy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mommy?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Yes?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes.  I forget what I am going to say. So I say I love you.  Because I know that's always true.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5182566768489299458?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5182566768489299458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5182566768489299458&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5182566768489299458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5182566768489299458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/conversation.html' title='conversation.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8980782861950355263</id><published>2009-07-16T11:15:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T11:28:05.792-05:00</updated><title type='text'>cheated</title><content type='html'>Today I feel cheated.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel cheated that I am not preparing for back to school time.  I feel cheated that I am not online purchasing new clothes for him.  In preparation for his last year of elementary school.  I feel cheated that I won't buy a new pencil box.  Or a new backpack.  Or markers and protractors.  Or to go see who his new teacher is.  That Orientation day will be just another day.   To get through.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel cheated that I will look at holidays not with glee.  But as more days to brace myself against.  That holidays will never again have the same feeling of wonder.  Of joy.  That I don't get to experience them through the eyes of my child.  My sweet boy who still believed in the power of magic.  And of a jolly old man in a big red suit.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel cheated of the tween years.  Of the teenage angst years.  Of the college years.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel cheated that I have to contemplate the what could have beens.  Instead of the what is.   I feel cheated that I will never hear the sound of his voice again.  Or his laugh.  Or see his smile.  I will never receive another random note on my work space from him.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel cheated.  Because he was cheated.  Of life.  And all those future years.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I am angry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because I was cheated.  Of his life.  And all those future years.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8980782861950355263?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8980782861950355263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8980782861950355263&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8980782861950355263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8980782861950355263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/cheated.html' title='cheated'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2045662632594511404</id><published>2009-07-13T14:31:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T15:11:40.766-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the question</title><content type='html'>I have been waiting for this question. Dreading it.  Wondering where it would come from ... who would ask it ... would I be prepared for it?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Do you have any children?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was asked very innocently.  Off the cuff really.  I was in a tennis tournament over the weekend.  I walked past one of my opponents (who we had just played).  I thought she was talking to me when I passed by.  She wasn't but said she could include me, if I would like.  We laughed and then she said ... Do you have any children?  I assume this is what she and the other person were discussing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I mumbled something about needing to get my water and walked away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How do I answer that question with someone that I probably will never see again?  Is that answer different with someone I just meet?  My answer will always be yes.  I do have a child.  To say no seems to dishonor Michael.  And his memory.  But to say yes.  To a virtual stranger.  Seems to be asking for more questions.  Like ... Boy or Girl?  How old is he? What grade?  Where does he go to school?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have thought about the day that this question would be asked.  I don't put myself into situations, at the moment, that require me to talk about myself with someone that I do not know.  I stick with what I know.  I stick with the people I know.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And so, I dodged the question the first time.  It allows me the opportunity to keep pondering my response.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or to keep avoiding those situations all together.    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2045662632594511404?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2045662632594511404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2045662632594511404&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2045662632594511404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2045662632594511404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/question.html' title='the question'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-8371135068231829157</id><published>2009-07-09T20:01:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T20:46:29.726-05:00</updated><title type='text'>three</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sladb-tA_NI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/I3yJBsN6OuA/s1600-h/michael-inserra+146.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sladb-tA_NI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/I3yJBsN6OuA/s320/michael-inserra+146.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356641910817619154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been three months today.  Three months.  Three.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We were a family of three.  When we went to restaurants, we asked for a table for three.  We could all fit into one big bed (michael in the center of it all, of course).  Rides for two always were Michael and I in one;  Stu in the other.  It was just the way it was.  Always.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The first time we went to a restaurant as two, I felt my stomach drop as they asked if there were just two of us that night.  And we said yes.  It felt like an admission.  That yes.  We have moved on.  Yes.  We are just a family of two.  Yes.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it is not true.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No.  There is no moving on.  No.  We are a family of three.  Only one is not here physically.  Any longer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Three months.  Many lifetimes have passed in those three months.   We have missed our first birthday together.  Two birthdays really.  Stu's was April 17.  We will celebrate his birthday on another day.  Our first Easter.  Our first wedding anniversary.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This coming month, we will see our first trip to the beach without.  My birthday will be on the fourth month.  Of Michael's passing.   We will miss all of those moments of the mundane tasks of the everyday.  Michael has missed over 90 days of feeding Nellie.  Of taking out the recyclables.  Of me asking him to pick up his room.  Or to pick up his figures from the living room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss hearing him sing in the shower.  Or to see his sopping wet hair as he brushed his teeth.  I miss his grin.  I miss his voice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss him.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Three months without the center of my universe.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I still do not have a better understanding of how this goes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of how we keep going.  But we do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This family.  Of Three.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-8371135068231829157?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/8371135068231829157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=8371135068231829157&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8371135068231829157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/8371135068231829157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/three.html' title='three'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/Sladb-tA_NI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/I3yJBsN6OuA/s72-c/michael-inserra+146.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-5639660207973075579</id><published>2009-07-06T14:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T15:21:16.441-05:00</updated><title type='text'>messy</title><content type='html'>Grief is messy. &lt;div&gt;  &lt;div&gt;In public, I have a very different face from the face that I see in the mirror.  In public, I can laugh.  I can joke.  I can seem as though my life is on track.  That it has some sort of normalcy to it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In private, I do not sleep.  Or I sleep too much.  I am a juxtaposition of sleep.  I cry.  A lot.  I zombie walk through the day.  I frown.  Deeply.  There is nothing normal about this life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am struggling with work.  Work is struggling with me.  Tasks that used to be easy.  And would take minutes.  I take more time to complete.  The Jenn that I was in March is not the Jenn that I am now.  I can not accomplish as much as I used to.  I can not motivate myself to care.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the guilt that comes with that is crushing.  The thought that I am letting people down gives me a stomach ache.  I pressure myself.  And by doing so, I shut down.  I am unable to cope.  I don't know how to make it easier on myself.  I don't know how to make it easier on others.  I am unable to balance.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because this grief is messy.  And I am working my way through it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because this grief is messy and I don't care about cleaning it up.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because time is ticking away and deadlines approach.  And pass me by.  Because those deadlines are gone.  And the only thing I can think of is the deadline of Michael's life.  That he had a deadline.  That passed us by.  That I didn't know about it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am doing my best.  I am trying.  It might not be up to others standards.  I wish I could say that it didn't bother me.  That not meeting someone else's standards was not important to me.  That as long as I was meeting my own standards it was OK.  But it I can't say that.  And so the messiness continues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh.  This grief is messy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And as much as I might try to clean it up, the dust will continue to come.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is a process.  And so I will take continue to dust it.  One knick knack at a time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Being very gentle.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To not break anything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-5639660207973075579?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/5639660207973075579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=5639660207973075579&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5639660207973075579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/5639660207973075579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/messy.html' title='messy'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-866237449218720884</id><published>2009-07-02T00:06:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T08:54:41.170-05:00</updated><title type='text'>this day.</title><content type='html'>I have made it through the first birthday.  I feel a sense of relief and sorrow at the same time. I braced myself to get through the day.  To be truthful, I slept through most of it.  I didn't stray far from my bed.  It seemed easier to face it ... behind my eyelids.  To just get through it.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stu and I went to the cemetery early this morning.  We purchased 3 green balloons to let out into the heavens.  We wrote notes to Michael.  Tied the notes to the strings.  And let them go.  We brought gifts.  Stu brought a Clone Trooper from Star Wars.  I brought a Transformer (Bumblebee because that was Michael's favorite).  Opened the gifts ourselves.  Left them at the grave.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stu brought home dinner.  And we went back to the cemetery.  I needed a few more moments there.  It seems as though quite a few people had been by Michael's spot that day.  His marker was filled with flowers.  And balloons.  And his name spelled out.  My sweet parents had been there. Friends has also come.   It was so sweet that so many came out to say hello to him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today has been quiet.  I kept the TV on even as I was sleeping just to fill the house with sound.  Stu went to work.  He needed to do something.  To keep his mind occupied.  So it was just me.  And Nellie (our dog).  Holding down the fort.  I didn't answer the phone.  Or e-mails.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This day is over.  And I am sad.  What should be a day of joy.  Is not.  And will never be. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am a better person because I was Michael's mom. The world is a better place for having had Michael in it.  The world lost a good one.  I lost the best part of me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I, more than anything, want him back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-866237449218720884?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/866237449218720884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=866237449218720884&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/866237449218720884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/866237449218720884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/this-day.html' title='this day.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-2386658624585601767</id><published>2009-07-01T03:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T04:31:27.134-05:00</updated><title type='text'>gone too soon.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SkrQQgkjUTI/AAAAAAAAAJs/kuHDuMO7w9A/s1600-h/DSC00645.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SkrPtWWVzaI/AAAAAAAAAJk/RjLYm8MPmJQ/s1600-h/Michael+Peace+vintage.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SkrPtWWVzaI/AAAAAAAAAJk/RjLYm8MPmJQ/s320/Michael+Peace+vintage.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353319485083602338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:tahoma;font-size:11px;"&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;the day that you were born&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;a lucky world it was&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;a hundred billion years all leading up to something&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;you are my gravity&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;the motion and the rest all at one time&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;keeping all the universe aligned&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;you are gravity&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;binding and loosening&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;there are countless things, you're all the space that's in between&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;the day that you were born&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;creation heard the sound&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;a hundred billion years just might amount to something&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;you are the fingerprint of life's own betterment&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;(from the song:  A Hundred Billion Years - Chris Castle)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;born to amuse, to inspire, to delight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;here one day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;gone one night&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;like a sunset&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;dying with the rising of the moon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;gone too soon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;(from the song:  Gone Too Soon by Michael Jackson)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Happy Birthday, my sweet funny boy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Oh, how I wish we were celebrating together. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I miss you.  So very much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Love you.  To the Moon and Back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;x1600.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-2386658624585601767?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/2386658624585601767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=2386658624585601767&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2386658624585601767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/2386658624585601767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/07/gone-too-soon.html' title='gone too soon.'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SkrPtWWVzaI/AAAAAAAAAJk/RjLYm8MPmJQ/s72-c/Michael+Peace+vintage.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14050498.post-682864544051438076</id><published>2009-06-30T13:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T13:33:11.086-05:00</updated><title type='text'>one day more...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SkpaWgt26PI/AAAAAAAAAJc/J3G0Gkue1tk/s1600-h/img075.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SkpaWgt26PI/AAAAAAAAAJc/J3G0Gkue1tk/s320/img075.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353190449869154546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael was born at 6:52 pm on July 1.  In Cincinnati, Ohio. (Where, according to Michael, there are really  tall buildings.  And hot dog vendors.)  Mine was a difficult pregnancy.  So he was to be induced.  To better watch both of us.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I checked into the hospital the night before.  Where I was unable to get up from the bed.  And was not able to eat or drink anything after midnight.  Only ice chips for me.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night was a mix of emotion.  Excitement. For this new little bundle of boy-ness to come into my life.   Terror.  At the thought that I was about to be a mother ( I seriously considered asking if we could just wait a week.  I'd come back much better prepared. Right?)  Anxiousness.  About Michael's little heart.  What it would take in the beginning to keep it beating.  To stabilize him.  What the plan would be for the next week.  The next month.  The next year.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night.  I was a bundle of nerves.  I couldn't sleep - partially because it was my first overnight in a hospital and I was terrified that I would pull the IV out - and partially because of the overwhelming emotions I was experiencing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was meeting my little boy.  For the very first time.  He had been a part of me for 9 months.  I took him on Mommy-Fetus night outs.  We'd go to the movies and eat ice cream and popcorn. (See how Michael's love for movies started out in the womb?  He would say that he peeked through my belly button and ate the crumbs from my ice cream and popcorn.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next day would be my very first time seeing his face.  And to touch his skin.  And to hold his hand.  And to make guesses about who he looked the most like.  To hold him.  and smooch him.  And rock him to sleep.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night.  Was a rough one. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This night.  Will be a rough one. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For very different reasons.  This is the night where I will only have memories, pictures to see Michael's face.  This is the night where I will only have memories of Michael's skin.  This is the night where I will only be able to touch his marker.  To blow kisses to the wind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will be a bundle of emotions again.  Just like I was 10 years ago.  Only with no great reward at the end for the long journey through labor.  I will not be joined in the excitement of my beautiful boy's arrival into this world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will be joined in sadness at the departure of my beautiful boy.  From this world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The birthday countdown continues.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just want the world to stop spinning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I can catch my breath...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14050498-682864544051438076?l=iloveyoubest.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/feeds/682864544051438076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14050498&amp;postID=682864544051438076&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/682864544051438076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14050498/posts/default/682864544051438076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iloveyoubest.blogspot.com/2009/06/one-day-more.html' title='one day more...'/><author><name>Jenn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04965522094526591791</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://i58.photobucket.com/albums/g266/jenndooley/me.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eNCCMIjWJ2U/SkpaWgt26PI/AAAAAAAAAJc/J3G0Gkue1tk/s72-c/img075.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry></feed>
