tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46150518188196191812024-03-06T00:42:28.221-08:00Gabe-ismsThe antics of a quirky, adorable, rambunctious 6 year old.Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-50246782989761473332013-02-04T19:01:00.003-08:002013-02-04T19:01:54.772-08:00Just Another Poo Funny <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRTronW13F-zkBtNdAxN_GsG7pbWVcqdLsaZRUUOgLShvoCgsM0UE2CFi3RsoqcIdQKNp7cIWXAofjKXlezFv2Q-J74hAtpagB1_nb_UeDO5go-_fvXKfTg0CA2F8sZ4CfvLzGHLNBfzA/s1600/funny-car-bird-poop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRTronW13F-zkBtNdAxN_GsG7pbWVcqdLsaZRUUOgLShvoCgsM0UE2CFi3RsoqcIdQKNp7cIWXAofjKXlezFv2Q-J74hAtpagB1_nb_UeDO5go-_fvXKfTg0CA2F8sZ4CfvLzGHLNBfzA/s320/funny-car-bird-poop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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*Getting into our car*<br />
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Me: "Something pooped on my window!" <br />
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Gabe: "It wasn't me!!!"Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-40512331622323844302013-01-30T05:41:00.000-08:002013-01-30T05:41:04.868-08:00A Boy's MindOn the drive to school this morning: <br />
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Me: Awe man, I got spinach smoothie on my shirt! <br />
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Gabe: It's okay Mom. Just dunk it in the toilet and let it dry when you get to school! Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-31897529803557175912013-01-19T08:04:00.001-08:002013-01-19T08:05:38.420-08:00Rug Burn <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXk2rwXwkK9pAUnzTWlIiZsRM8Ci5k6uK8PQvmuogIYd95BZVE61eFFO2JBWN6jnadov97yoFHBtjMuAd5Fdm7rLoZxrNtlKFu3Oe3Dm_u6v3V9Q_VmhQy2k8E3c6U_VY5y9oBPv74SBc/s1600/IMG_6124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXk2rwXwkK9pAUnzTWlIiZsRM8Ci5k6uK8PQvmuogIYd95BZVE61eFFO2JBWN6jnadov97yoFHBtjMuAd5Fdm7rLoZxrNtlKFu3Oe3Dm_u6v3V9Q_VmhQy2k8E3c6U_VY5y9oBPv74SBc/s320/IMG_6124.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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It seems this blog may sadly be coming to an imminent end. My once rambunctious 3 year old is now an ever maturing 8 year old. Since starting this blog he has accepted Jesus Christ as his Savior, lost a half dozen baby teeth, read novels on his own, learned multiplication tables and attempted to manipulate his dad and I to get what he wants. Oh Gabe... we adore you and we pray you would continue to grow and mature in your faith and your friendships with others. I'm so incredibly glad that you are my son. You make me smile every single morning with your big toothy grin, bright eyes, and quick wit. I am so proud of you.<br />
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I am happy to bring you all a quick Gabe-ism to brighten your day. <br />
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<b>Me:</b> "Gabe, how did you get that big scrape on your head?" <br />
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<b>Gabe:</b> "Oh, I was just rubbing my forehead on the carpet really fast." <br />
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<br />Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-36653929017131976452011-09-02T07:57:00.000-07:002011-09-02T08:01:47.061-07:00Make Up<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6w4HzHAYVJCkAa2Yzt-Auv8Q_AzitvxLEpyDncpBsw3dK9wsDCfT2ZgR71C-a_mkMPFeqm_dxWc-c7CyzSF6Rm5Ze9CtzGjgSaVTdtyQtDRMhwfwAdF5LpZ_pOa7qHelm3pEyPE-SeyQ/s1600/woman-applying-makeup-in-car.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6w4HzHAYVJCkAa2Yzt-Auv8Q_AzitvxLEpyDncpBsw3dK9wsDCfT2ZgR71C-a_mkMPFeqm_dxWc-c7CyzSF6Rm5Ze9CtzGjgSaVTdtyQtDRMhwfwAdF5LpZ_pOa7qHelm3pEyPE-SeyQ/s400/woman-applying-makeup-in-car.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647777368555119650" /></a>
<br /><div>This morning while stopped at a red light on the way to school, I was rubbing foundation into my face when this question was asked:</div><div>
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<br /></b></div><b>Gabriel: "Why do you put make up on, Mom? So your face looks normal?" </b>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-26485308045795278792011-06-28T10:06:00.000-07:002011-06-28T10:14:05.921-07:00In God We Trust<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhM4baFtEABYp1Bn8WZtTk3JfGAsQ8kZPuSzQCzVYbkI_fJvbMnLbdTNyL3_DS7Y6VNcdg8YI-2uf8AdEt2hQhXTRoTghRaKVTa1Pt6830AjiUGf710L516jSEEY0ny9UvmQf2IszXPU/s1600/polls_1in_god_we_trust_1510_793193_poll_xlarge.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhM4baFtEABYp1Bn8WZtTk3JfGAsQ8kZPuSzQCzVYbkI_fJvbMnLbdTNyL3_DS7Y6VNcdg8YI-2uf8AdEt2hQhXTRoTghRaKVTa1Pt6830AjiUGf710L516jSEEY0ny9UvmQf2IszXPU/s400/polls_1in_god_we_trust_1510_793193_poll_xlarge.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623319987014806866" /></a><br /><div>Today Gabe was looking at a $20 bill in the back seat that I let him hold to pay for basketball camp. As he started at it intently, he asked me....</div><div><br /></div><div>"Why does it say 'In God We Trust', Mom?" </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Me:</b> "Well, our country was founded on God's principals in the Bible, and America is a place where we put our faith in God to protect and guide our country." </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Gabe:</b> "Well... how come there are so many people in America who don't trust in God?" </div><div><br /></div><div>Great conversation that followed about free will, freedom, putting our faith in things other than God and what happens when we do that. Love that my little guy is becoming quite the thinker. :) Love his questions, even when they're tough. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-28065666430966472382011-05-13T18:02:00.000-07:002011-05-13T18:05:23.413-07:00Knock Knock!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuy3AyoH-GQ2f9UAVMVco0zowP34jvakREGHzpN8C6GDSbdR0-KY7hdGcPZ8oo7Pyn6I6TJ7YK90IuvChEiWSv6R0zcwZxT7oVaBZqTn4gHW-z0SqWrIC0UfKSiAx2HqoQiKYXTW3Badc/s1600/images.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuy3AyoH-GQ2f9UAVMVco0zowP34jvakREGHzpN8C6GDSbdR0-KY7hdGcPZ8oo7Pyn6I6TJ7YK90IuvChEiWSv6R0zcwZxT7oVaBZqTn4gHW-z0SqWrIC0UfKSiAx2HqoQiKYXTW3Badc/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606371480277266898" /></a><br /><div><b>Gabe:</b> "Knock Knock!"</div><div><br /></div><div>J<b>ustin:</b> "Who's there?" </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Gabe:</b> "Banana!" </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Justin:</b> "Banana who?" </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Gabe:</b> "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" </div><div><br /></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-11334007033156995742011-05-13T16:45:00.000-07:002011-05-13T16:47:22.598-07:00Shiloh<div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWGiijKV2hZeboaxrBHbf5wbLkZk5PfMl-z03EOgsxMhw8TmWjRNYG4ZWGtxkEHjM9K1jcZrFDMCOGiFcxXLx8Y60C0WJq-l0WFp98rIJVsECAaXcmyzUv4SAU3Dpf-FFmIReqU4GEHE/s1600/movie_shiloh2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 321px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWGiijKV2hZeboaxrBHbf5wbLkZk5PfMl-z03EOgsxMhw8TmWjRNYG4ZWGtxkEHjM9K1jcZrFDMCOGiFcxXLx8Y60C0WJq-l0WFp98rIJVsECAaXcmyzUv4SAU3Dpf-FFmIReqU4GEHE/s400/movie_shiloh2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606351201517379682" /></a><b>Gabe:</b> "Mom, can we watch Shiloh? It has a lot of good lessons in it!" <div><br /></div><div><b>Me:</b> "Like what?" </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Gabe:</b> "Don't kick puppies." </div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-4826558595459782552011-03-09T20:11:00.000-08:002011-03-09T20:16:40.584-08:00Deep Thoughts: by Gabe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ637nutIsFnpNQkn2hysVcfdJfZDvjur2mLVPouh7LIKFt8b9fTjk5AoA4lzS8omm2OQYGNYxDi9wANZmwYyio7lneEj8StCKnkYWEwRg1WYGy3fSLH582xMVqIUIgcmmSQqT7DW49fY/s1600/full_moon1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ637nutIsFnpNQkn2hysVcfdJfZDvjur2mLVPouh7LIKFt8b9fTjk5AoA4lzS8omm2OQYGNYxDi9wANZmwYyio7lneEj8StCKnkYWEwRg1WYGy3fSLH582xMVqIUIgcmmSQqT7DW49fY/s400/full_moon1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582299969872789346" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Driving home from church tonight in the Miata with the top down; Gabe looks up at the sky and thoughtfully says, </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"The moon is a crescent tonight. I think that the crescent moons are God's fingernails, and the full moons are his head."</b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-2312131251864009792011-01-21T05:24:00.000-08:002011-01-21T05:28:17.217-08:00W.W.E. Squirrels<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1FR_mY7erVXkCg0Re1Kpy01Hm-L1I77yLwWRr11862Cg4669JEz5eufJaWba1mQ-w8Ek0KU2cXznFdBzU8Vwpd3Jr3SeT-iEiuWyHTd5W2f7PPCNisuIf1nmBwFNsMOo1VSrUe1tmko/s1600/437684463_7e1a0e6e23_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1FR_mY7erVXkCg0Re1Kpy01Hm-L1I77yLwWRr11862Cg4669JEz5eufJaWba1mQ-w8Ek0KU2cXznFdBzU8Vwpd3Jr3SeT-iEiuWyHTd5W2f7PPCNisuIf1nmBwFNsMOo1VSrUe1tmko/s400/437684463_7e1a0e6e23_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564630252762487554" /></a><br /><div><b>Gabe:</b> "Mom! Look! Those squirrels are wrestling!"</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Me:</b> "Whoa, they must be REALLY mad at each other." </div><div><br /></div><div>Phew. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-38494993657739507222010-10-25T17:23:00.000-07:002010-10-25T18:07:11.946-07:00Rationale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsvFTVJPNmNXIS1VzdOMGrOle7UmqOV3_ASH2zBZBudKByfjNXJkC5G_fub7s2BrEuKZdzzL8XJTdsyOwEceutcM29_-XEqlkJ9YtVVbp7ESG74j4-MhI2sB8Ryh7cgIlUexbZBgKSV4/s1600/ty_pennington.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsvFTVJPNmNXIS1VzdOMGrOle7UmqOV3_ASH2zBZBudKByfjNXJkC5G_fub7s2BrEuKZdzzL8XJTdsyOwEceutcM29_-XEqlkJ9YtVVbp7ESG74j4-MhI2sB8Ryh7cgIlUexbZBgKSV4/s400/ty_pennington.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532154875072468514" /></a><br /><div>I love the reasoning (or lack there of) in five-year-olds.</div><div><br /></div><div>On a recent drive home, Gabriel randomly asked me, <div><br /></div><div>"Hey Mom, do you think those people could come knock our house down so we could go on a trip to Disney World?" </div></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-14685845865858158912010-09-08T10:11:00.000-07:002010-09-08T10:17:06.248-07:00Scalloping?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIAYSfX5p4lLLUJSpj19DUGu6Ks11EFcPVdbyW4n5FpgN3j8JefjPv3HFQC1Fv6qhyGBOiUNjvRrqIlW-gtNVT84aIVZ1WdfGd8DA_DSa-IwLtzrplI18qZcEbK9PL2TSG8PFytOvwWo/s1600/recreational_scalloping.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIAYSfX5p4lLLUJSpj19DUGu6Ks11EFcPVdbyW4n5FpgN3j8JefjPv3HFQC1Fv6qhyGBOiUNjvRrqIlW-gtNVT84aIVZ1WdfGd8DA_DSa-IwLtzrplI18qZcEbK9PL2TSG8PFytOvwWo/s400/recreational_scalloping.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514592779596088354" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">We were given a great big trampoline for our back yard by a dear friend last week. The kids love it!!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gabriel: "Mom, LOOK! I'm scalloping!!!" </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">(He totally meant galloping)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-32460669738040154372010-06-07T14:24:00.000-07:002010-06-07T14:28:51.162-07:00Hot Lava<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_m244f5rob81rG5oK6S8If6Or_3MfVGYlqjsV6EcjMLUzHBa0DDqDmkd0Va1cmj5TvxVrMo0TXCR9r6bGyWj4XPDJyTC3zSTBw7XTponW-UIJcurinwcxymUHcxNYWb_JPgeYmocCUqA/s1600/Ulrich.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_m244f5rob81rG5oK6S8If6Or_3MfVGYlqjsV6EcjMLUzHBa0DDqDmkd0Va1cmj5TvxVrMo0TXCR9r6bGyWj4XPDJyTC3zSTBw7XTponW-UIJcurinwcxymUHcxNYWb_JPgeYmocCUqA/s400/Ulrich.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480146700257112514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Gabe: "Mom, what do you think would happen if you mixed red paint with soap all over the floor?"<br /><br />Me: "I think it would make a big mess."<br /><br />Gabe: "You don't think it would make hot lava?"<br /><br />Me: *groan*<br /><br />Gabe: "Well, don't worry, I'll clean it up in my bathroom. What would I mix to make hot lava?"Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-83503634631185583612010-05-31T19:15:00.000-07:002010-05-31T19:22:23.171-07:00Date Night With Mom<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RodRkIaK_u9n9OXnDoG47Ws8zVQuq0p48unsb79z0nepWkZzJVbyto7JBaVFsIXwl7yqO-hhxosjEvD6v_oIps53KpSaS510c7f-o8etHmhEc6awROIhUrErPJLFV9WnIZRwR3fTrzY/s1600/IMG_0935.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RodRkIaK_u9n9OXnDoG47Ws8zVQuq0p48unsb79z0nepWkZzJVbyto7JBaVFsIXwl7yqO-hhxosjEvD6v_oIps53KpSaS510c7f-o8etHmhEc6awROIhUrErPJLFV9WnIZRwR3fTrzY/s400/IMG_0935.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477623370938080770" /></a><br /><div>Gabe and I headed to the neighborhood IHOP the other night for some one on one time. He ordered chocolate chip pancakes with a chocolate milk *facepalm* (Google it.) </div><div><br /></div><div>He is starting to read small words and spell them too. It is the coolest thing and I'm really happy we started reading to him every night when he was so little. His skills and interest in reading are TAKING OFF! It's awesome!! </div><div><br /></div><div>So here's a snippet of a conversation we had: </div><div><br /></div><div>Gabe: *stares at sign on our table* "Whoa! Mom!!! Kh, Kids. Eh, Eat. F- F- Freee!!!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: *Smile* </div><div><br /></div><div>Gabe *thoughtful pause* "Is that why you brought me here???" </div><div><br /></div><div>He knows me so well!!! He cracks me up!!<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-75429852830944812402010-05-07T19:06:00.001-07:002010-05-07T19:12:09.186-07:00M.A.S.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi44FzEsbgyR_HqaD4q6u4AR16Wx2HTtmNIo_zr9QqRl8upmxy94y0xvfwVY98U3FDt5vKbl8e9pwMqeKfPYDnN_GwRgkgJEtlb6N2iBQy-mn3aihv2alZt1mjgsyWMhnyddhjDt6qJfrM/s1600/tampa-bay-rays.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi44FzEsbgyR_HqaD4q6u4AR16Wx2HTtmNIo_zr9QqRl8upmxy94y0xvfwVY98U3FDt5vKbl8e9pwMqeKfPYDnN_GwRgkgJEtlb6N2iBQy-mn3aihv2alZt1mjgsyWMhnyddhjDt6qJfrM/s400/tampa-bay-rays.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468715938955647634" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I was told tonight by my good friend that Gabe had something called M.A.S. which stands for Man Answer Syndrome. She further explained that this is the need that guys have to sound like they know what their talking about. So if they don't know the answer to something, they just keep talking like they do! HAHAHA! This was her conversation with Gabe on the playground during our church softball game.... <div><br /></div><div>Mara: So your Dad is playing softball tonight? </div><div><br /></div><div>Gabe: Yup. He plays for the Tampa Bay Rays</div><div><br /></div><div>Mara: Oh, wow... really? What position does he play? 1st base? </div><div><br /></div><div>Gabe: 4th base. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Awesome. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-74048364938295800872010-04-15T14:07:00.000-07:002010-04-15T14:11:33.229-07:00Mom Eyes<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNwL5eVochjpTqAlkSbqYtvq0PehWNDEe1KMwZXLRKyjMn3gVThU2LaQP5-ypkMSHhAwbzFw9DQJP3XnMKnBgG11_S8lMZnJWs9-dvwWMDS7YlZHn4cHPsrwUO0kG2WX72Tj0HapobOk/s1600/mom-eyes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNwL5eVochjpTqAlkSbqYtvq0PehWNDEe1KMwZXLRKyjMn3gVThU2LaQP5-ypkMSHhAwbzFw9DQJP3XnMKnBgG11_S8lMZnJWs9-dvwWMDS7YlZHn4cHPsrwUO0kG2WX72Tj0HapobOk/s400/mom-eyes.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460474503959044642" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Isn't this a creepy picture? It's amazing what Google image search turns up! </div><br /><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Setting:</b> Nap time. Always a source of good pre-sleepy time conversation. <div><br /></div><div><b>Gabe:</b> *running his fingers through my hair in a monkey-esk type way* Hmmmmm...... </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Me:</b> "What are you doing, son?" </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Gabe:</b> "Looking for the eyes in the back of your head. Dad told me they were there." </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-27742847263466155262010-04-03T08:07:00.001-07:002010-04-03T08:13:24.986-07:00Robbers!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizl3cBCzBOhbRb-PFZdRGDviwSL1wj9O4oW_KkN0zw0953DEo2jNNTsggOIk2iUQVtY_GXwbHC3sv4s9QUagmzFklXoI7Bl8GwMOSn3sY8ctdISoNDbNA68gfd9WosIDkJ7zwfDwnOOBg/s1600/cr_mega_123_burqa-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizl3cBCzBOhbRb-PFZdRGDviwSL1wj9O4oW_KkN0zw0953DEo2jNNTsggOIk2iUQVtY_GXwbHC3sv4s9QUagmzFklXoI7Bl8GwMOSn3sY8ctdISoNDbNA68gfd9WosIDkJ7zwfDwnOOBg/s400/cr_mega_123_burqa-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455928242231842050" /></a><br />I think every Mom can appreciate the innocence of pre school kids as they discover that not all people look like their family members! The exploration of cultures, religions, and foreign countries has begun in this house. I realized it was time when Gabriel came very close to completely humiliating me in front of some Middle Eastern women at <a href="http://planetjump.net/">Planet Jump</a> this week! <div><br /></div><div> I observed 3 women who walked in with their little ones. They were dressed from head to toe in black Burqas with only their eyes peeking out. It was actually a little funny watching them play on the inflatables with their little ones! </div><div><br /></div><div>Gabriel ran towards me, ready for an ice cream break and when he spotted them he suddenly let out a big shriek, pointed his finger at the women and said, <b>"Mommy!!! ROBBERS!!!!" </b></div><div><br /></div><div>Classic. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thank the Holy Father in Heaven they were out of earshot and didn't hear him. </div><div><br /></div><div>After an uncontrollable outburst of laughter knowing that the statement came from total innocence and ignorance, we began a beautiful conversation about how God created us all different and special. This curiosity led to lots of Googling to show him how people dress differently all over the world. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes parenting is awesome. :) <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-49873474825941658202010-03-12T09:21:00.000-08:002010-03-12T09:26:41.763-08:00Shoe Teeth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwL99D3AFvxiZKu9n_rUWACESjXmPtMc8SUjupzJrPnMwmh3a1DWHy833h9Mx_7mW6ruhX4GGL3Hni0S7e2Ynts_4VRCxMeQlHI2LZwZj1rNDjQ6Bez6nuAWE8NRQITqYt2pCqQGvfP3s/s1600-h/img-thing.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwL99D3AFvxiZKu9n_rUWACESjXmPtMc8SUjupzJrPnMwmh3a1DWHy833h9Mx_7mW6ruhX4GGL3Hni0S7e2Ynts_4VRCxMeQlHI2LZwZj1rNDjQ6Bez6nuAWE8NRQITqYt2pCqQGvfP3s/s400/img-thing.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447800042959701842" /></a><br />This morning Gabe was getting so frustrated with trying to get his shoes on. So I tried to verbally talk him through it and this is what was said<div><br /></div><div>Gabe: "Arrrrrrrg!!!!!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: "Son, calm down. You need to make sure the laces are untied and you need to lift the tongue up real high so you can slide your foot in underneath it."</div><div><br /></div><div>Gabe: "Tongue?" </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: "Yeah, that's what you call this." *points to shoe tongue*</div><div><br /></div><div>Gabe: "Well, where are the teeth?" </div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-88261439381974285652010-03-01T18:15:00.000-08:002010-03-01T18:31:06.931-08:00My Little Gentleman<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9j-TPQqE8I6XAYoiVRPXaMYo9H6uhxUv_Jkyzix__q2LuUQcdVDhI6d9_t_XPqR7UBi7Ci-UyotSWCGaUCvp3IFwhUKwsh-f1I6Fnf5jlQnqT-sJCKiv3rDk4T_h6njnmJZGbbjbE1Ag/s1600-h/playground.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9j-TPQqE8I6XAYoiVRPXaMYo9H6uhxUv_Jkyzix__q2LuUQcdVDhI6d9_t_XPqR7UBi7Ci-UyotSWCGaUCvp3IFwhUKwsh-f1I6Fnf5jlQnqT-sJCKiv3rDk4T_h6njnmJZGbbjbE1Ag/s400/playground.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443855938328286322" /></a><br />Today I took Gabe and Zoe to the church playground for lunch. I was watching Gabe and his sister play on the slides and then I saw something that really made me smile. Since I would usually expect Gabe to be PUSHING Zoe off the top of the slide or fighting over who gets the red swing and who gets the blue swing, this is a particularly special memory. <div><br /></div><div>Gabe and Zoe arrived at the bottom of the slide ladder at the same time and Gabriel put out his arm, bowed and said, "Ladies first, Zoe." Then he made eye contact with me, gave me a big fat cheesy grin, and gave me a thumbs up. It made my day. I love that kid. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-91292154481868814292010-02-22T18:31:00.000-08:002010-02-22T18:41:52.497-08:00No More Training Wheels!Today was the day that Gabe learned how to ride his bike on two wheels! It only took two tries and he had it down. I was so proud of him. I could totally tell he was a little scared, but the promise of a lollipop and a new pair of kicks seemed to do the trick. :) Can't wait to hit the Pinellas Trail with him now that he can keep up!! Good job Gabe! <div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-80168790914099693002010-02-01T17:56:00.000-08:002010-02-01T18:08:44.301-08:00When I'm Old And My Hair Is White...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgzhlH3fa0KczA_SF4Xj3dz5xfWUvjOvnkOlOrm0mgCOGziCGag8aSslqjBSpdbYRti9zXc11FocUHtvOs_TVN2-CPeeP0OBf_E_dVlc9EpP5gRzFO2m0_MvC_WPDtMgN97_2JYj7Vfc/s1600-h/Crazy_Old_Lady_Peace.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsgzhlH3fa0KczA_SF4Xj3dz5xfWUvjOvnkOlOrm0mgCOGziCGag8aSslqjBSpdbYRti9zXc11FocUHtvOs_TVN2-CPeeP0OBf_E_dVlc9EpP5gRzFO2m0_MvC_WPDtMgN97_2JYj7Vfc/s400/Crazy_Old_Lady_Peace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433461277363711314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Gabriel is such an awesome helper in the kitchen. I particularly love baking and cooking with him when Zoe is napping because they are in the stage (Um, it's a stage right??) where they fight over EVERYTHING! It is our special time together.<br /><br />We made vegetarian lasagna the other day. He loves peeling onions and chopping veggies (YES, I let him use sharp knives! Don't judge me!) and he eats more of his dinner if he has a role in preparing it. <br /><br /> Here's our precious conversation:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "Gabe, someday when you are older you will be the most fantastic chef and will make your wife really yummy meals. She'll be so lucky."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gabe:</span> "Well, when you are old and your hair is white I'll cook for you too Mom. I'll take care of you and Dad." <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "I'd love that Gabe. How about when I'm so old and crazy that I wander the streets in my bathrobe. You will come get me and bring me home?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gabe:</span> "Yup."Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-38921509122836548362009-11-10T12:12:00.000-08:002009-11-10T12:19:29.526-08:00Well, That's Not A Good Deal....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPqhObTc_kYvLMv5n2ElynIuhiAoPyB6Xq4QANgwp15jcM-LG0dKq1_6C9gbUrO28l7Ak5u-fYM8ddgg9bTtAFnNXWF61McngUN4xLwzr22dv07WNsc3HMlwGxu-zm81pCr_n5ZJIEHM/s1600-h/wedding-ring.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPqhObTc_kYvLMv5n2ElynIuhiAoPyB6Xq4QANgwp15jcM-LG0dKq1_6C9gbUrO28l7Ak5u-fYM8ddgg9bTtAFnNXWF61McngUN4xLwzr22dv07WNsc3HMlwGxu-zm81pCr_n5ZJIEHM/s400/wedding-ring.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402571709627571074" /></a><br /><br />Gabriel and I always have our most interesting discussion right before he falls asleep, directly proceeding book reading and prayer time. It's also called.... stalling. :) <br /><br />Today Gabe took my hand and started fiddling with my wedding rings. <br /><br />Gabe: Mom, can I wear these real quick pleeeeease?<br /><br />Me: Okay, just for a second.<br /><br />Gabe: How come you have two rings and Daddy only has one?<br /><br />Me: Welp, this one with the big (big being a relative term people) diamond is from when Daddy asked me to be his wife, and this one is from the day we got married. <br /><br />Gabe: And you gave Daddy his ring when you got married?<br /><br />Me: Yes.<br /><br />Gabe: So when I find a wife I will have to give her two rings and she will only give me one?<br /><br />Me: Yup. <br /><br />Gabe: Well, that's just not a good deal Mom.Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-51054785893638620672009-11-03T18:57:00.000-08:002009-11-03T19:02:18.536-08:00The "U"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBw0kRp6hypeyL1zQE7chf0Nkis-WXyEr4glPxnA9bxnX_KuEX0hyTiVUai8A7MUxiLx4Llg0WiSvbf5zs8vv5vZ-Qy7pUnKPPjeP2fNdaId1RiDlX8eztDIVHL8iaZrm-bf77dZ8nPSQ/s1600-h/11656_169363998558_501003558_2734247_4265516_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBw0kRp6hypeyL1zQE7chf0Nkis-WXyEr4glPxnA9bxnX_KuEX0hyTiVUai8A7MUxiLx4Llg0WiSvbf5zs8vv5vZ-Qy7pUnKPPjeP2fNdaId1RiDlX8eztDIVHL8iaZrm-bf77dZ8nPSQ/s400/11656_169363998558_501003558_2734247_4265516_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400077887139475362" /></a><br /><br />This is a guest post from Gabe's Dad, Justin.... I think you're going to like it. <br /><br />Ok, so I ask Gabe if he wants a Mohawk for his haircut. To which he replies, "No Dad, I want the U!" <br /><br /> I asked, "Why do you want the U?" To which he said, "because I like the Hurricanes!". <br /><br />So after wiping the tear from my eye, I graciously obliged him! I love you son!Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-73129824972635811062009-10-19T12:54:00.000-07:002009-10-19T12:58:43.951-07:00Blankie Sniffers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRcdxSeHRbafIQi4V8f6vmT-EWBO3hxGFloRtYiuL-RSkfDbG3qPFLIxeoZ9SBtZy1A5RRt8b64qtB1TjHxxn4wePXMhYOKZq-M3YB5W2dKZrgRaOk7oHwrRu9X3OPZwwxRFzANLH-w6I/s1600-h/IMG_0532.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRcdxSeHRbafIQi4V8f6vmT-EWBO3hxGFloRtYiuL-RSkfDbG3qPFLIxeoZ9SBtZy1A5RRt8b64qtB1TjHxxn4wePXMhYOKZq-M3YB5W2dKZrgRaOk7oHwrRu9X3OPZwwxRFzANLH-w6I/s400/IMG_0532.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394402134851118034" /></a><br /><br />Does anyone else out there in cyberspace have a kid who is a "Blankie Sniffer"? Gabriel has always held his blankets up to his nose ever since he was an infant! He just cuddles it up over his mouth and smells it. He also has a weird obsession with the tag of the blanket. He likes to rub it. I know.... we are a freak show here. It's awfully darn cute though.... might start getting weird when he's 17 and sniffing blankets during Play Station sleepovers with his buddies though.Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-54610376482344583122009-10-15T06:05:00.001-07:002009-10-15T06:11:02.673-07:00Butt Bread<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7ZEJ8O05Wpq0pFcW3GHBgtYGJWvqOm0Sx2G-xDbKvgwr18zcWy1mRNQjQGMxvLeVVFYZ-4DIpFHTmamIgaYF4G-gFJYN-DGrlwcvD_-UBvacXDx99XG65H6LWUxHPzaGm26Y4YK_BsY/s1600-h/2829145334_c3eb8fe040.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7ZEJ8O05Wpq0pFcW3GHBgtYGJWvqOm0Sx2G-xDbKvgwr18zcWy1mRNQjQGMxvLeVVFYZ-4DIpFHTmamIgaYF4G-gFJYN-DGrlwcvD_-UBvacXDx99XG65H6LWUxHPzaGm26Y4YK_BsY/s400/2829145334_c3eb8fe040.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392812966869830690" /></a><br /><br />This morning my husband was out in the kitchen making Gabriel breakfast. As my sleepy-morning-loathing-self stumbled into the kitchen, Gabriel greeted me by saying:<br /><br />"Mom! I'm eating BUTT BREAD!" <br /><br />I looked at Justin and saw him pulling the heals of the loaf of wheat bread out of the toaster and smiling. <br /><br />"Butt bread, nice one Dad." I responded sarcastically. :)Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4615051818819619181.post-90402165384450162102009-10-07T12:23:00.000-07:002011-05-10T18:33:56.624-07:00We Love Black People<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNftzAaIzOuy2WMkuf5-TzlufliLwGj4mKGdOdARJMhC1WkpUxsShY897QiaysNXzEvvapvkpzdUfBR-P0wupHBYCU_kD9kb1LLn68_Cl6vLn_QTLt0Zl2MVrj8lSeUWmUx-nFOPqt8qw/s1600-h/denzel-washington-picture-5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 307px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNftzAaIzOuy2WMkuf5-TzlufliLwGj4mKGdOdARJMhC1WkpUxsShY897QiaysNXzEvvapvkpzdUfBR-P0wupHBYCU_kD9kb1LLn68_Cl6vLn_QTLt0Zl2MVrj8lSeUWmUx-nFOPqt8qw/s400/denzel-washington-picture-5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389942533760464066" /></a><br /><br /><br />Last night my husband ditched me to go see Rob Bell speak in Tampa *can you hear the resentment in my "voice"?* My friend Julie came over and we went for our weekly jog, but this time had kids in tow. Not quite as relaxing as normal, but equally entertaining as most moments are with Gabriel and Zoe. <br /><br />Zoe loves to wave to pretty much every person that jogs by on Bayshore and begs to pet every dog ("goggy") that is being walked. Gabe loves to correct his little sister when she is mistaken. As was the case last night:<br /><br />*Older White man jogs by*<br /><br />Zoe: "Hi Poppy!!!" (Poppy is my Dad- she apparently thinks a lot of men look like Poppy)<br /><br />Gabe: "That's not Poppy, Zoe!"<br /><br />*African American man rides by on his bike*<br /><br />Zoe: "Hi Poppy!!!" <br /><br />Gabe: *in a loud voice* "Zoe, Poppy doesn't have a black face!!!"Windyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00011581443222895666noreply@blogger.com2