Trying a new look...

Not sure I like it. What do you think?

*edited one more time*

Ok, I put the dashboard link in my Check 'em Out section and it WORKED!! I OFFICIALLY LOVE my new look! I am no longer looking for opinions! Thank you anyway, though...

*edited again to add*
Now we are talking. But my dashboard won't show up. Making it a pain to write a new post. I had to use Nicki's blog to get to my own dashboard. It's pretty, but not functional. With another foot of snow coming my way, I'll keep it for now!!

*edited to add*
Ok, I wasn't even looking at the computer when I decided I didn't like the template. I might need a life!

What a FACE!

When he says, "Mom, take picture me!"

Really, who could resist.

Now, let's talk chocolate. We finally received the word that Savannah's chemo would be stopping on Friday. No one close to her is enormously surprised, but it was a sad event nonetheless. To curb an evening of wallowing in self-pity, Melissa and I had decided to spend the evening at my house, with families, and play the chocolate bar game. We invited Christine, too, who was more than happy to come.

The Smiths taught it to the Hurleys a couple of weeks ago. The game is played by taking a half pound Hershey bar and wrapping it in a paper bag. Add a layer of packing tape (duct tape for a true challenge), more paper bag, and more tape. Everyone at the table has a fork and a butter knife, and takes turns rolling two dice. When someone rolls a double, they get to have the wrapped up chocolate bar, and can try to open it using only the fork and knife, no touching with hands. Once it's open, you try to pry out the chocolate, still using no hands. But you never know how long your turn will be, because everyone else is still passing the dice around the table, hoping to be the one to take it from you! Even when the bar is opened, the dice keep rolling, and you may or may not get a bite!

Illness Strikes Again...and again, and again, and again

This winter is going down in the record books for the most snow and sick of my entire life.

Never did post the end pic of that last storm, so here you are:
















Yeah. I know.
















And my friend Melissa came over that day, crazy brave woman that she is. Eat it up Josiah. *sigh* And please beat Sarah for telling Nicki it was cold there the other day. As if.
















Her van actually PUSHED the snow along to get in the driveway.















Another foot last night. Inches coming tonight, and I don't even want to talk about Monday. My husband was laying all of this cheerful news on me, and I gave him my dirtiest look and told him to stop talking.

Nicki's sick now, and I feel her pain, I mean I can really sympathize. The aches and pains, misery and woe. Emily is over here for nap time, so that Mommy can actually nap. She likes to talk. I mean REALLY likes to talk. It tends to make me cringe and want to call my mom and my dad and apologize for my own childhood. After all, I clearly remember being accused of talking to hear the sound of my own voice. A LOT!

The Invisible Thread

We went to visit my grandparents once a week through my teenage years, generally on Sunday. In fact, it was quite the ritual, we would go up Sunday afternoon, visit, order pizzas for supper, and then play cards into the evening. Hand 'n' Foot was our preferred game, but that’s another story.

One visit in particular, Granddad was obviously troubled. With a twinkle in his eye, he told us of the impending shopping trip Grammy had planned. He wasn’t sure how it was all going to work out, and was fairly upset. You see, Grammy had told him she needed to go to the store, and pick up some invisible thread. “I don’t know how we will know where to find it. I’m not sure how we will know when we have it. Will we need to pay for it? And if so, how can we be sure what we are really getting? White thread, that we have done no problem, black, and even looked for just the right brown or blue. But invisible? I just don’t know…”

Of course, invisible thread is used in quilting, to quilt together your top and bottom fabrics. My grandmother is renowned for her beautiful, hand-stitched quilts. In our family a tied quilt doesn’t exist. I am certain Granddad had not only seen the invisible thread before, but probably gone with her to buy it. But that was the kind of gentle, teasing man he was. He latched on to the strange sound of it, and ran with it for about fifteen minutes straight.