tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45005499834215866742024-02-06T19:31:43.029-08:00Mommy Has A StoryWhat's really going on?Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-12840859196518066952014-06-11T06:34:00.000-07:002014-06-11T06:34:31.263-07:00The Sand House pt. 3<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I've always tried to change things for the better. Or at least my interpretation of the better. I believe I know what's right and how things should be and can never understand why people don't do the right thing. Some people may call me controlling. But those people aren't very nice. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">After years of trying to change the world, I've </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">finally </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">had to admit, I can't change or fix everything. Believe me, I've beat my head to a raw pulp trying to budge some of those brick walls that shape things into what they are.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmA2fYEZzMj7k9Vn5cYo0vanVrsPxqt0FvVOKzZsLT-K_K6CE-IvQWWIKfTwmhFKxIBjpgMMo5wY6HoKJ5XLIuGfr0-AsyJYeSpY7TVxoTgv6emY5fE8mK88PYItUZIRB-KD7DC8mmnEY/s1600/MPj04009470000%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmA2fYEZzMj7k9Vn5cYo0vanVrsPxqt0FvVOKzZsLT-K_K6CE-IvQWWIKfTwmhFKxIBjpgMMo5wY6HoKJ5XLIuGfr0-AsyJYeSpY7TVxoTgv6emY5fE8mK88PYItUZIRB-KD7DC8mmnEY/s1600/MPj04009470000%5B1%5D.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how my world would look</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Today that brick wall is my dad. I've had very limited influence over his decision-making processes in the past but I've had more than most. I've been trying to use that limited influence like a snake charmer trying to coax him into The Sand House.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We went back to have lunch there last Saturday. My husband, Howard, took pity on my solo plight and offered to have his dad watch the boys so he could accompany us. I wasn't sure about this. On one hand, I really needed the support and felt relieved to have him hold my hand as I traversed the narrow path between love and fear. On the other, I was afraid he would break the bubble I had created in my head to better deal with this situation. Within this bubble sat my dad who reluctantly agreed to enter into this new senior living situation and found he was much happier, healthier and surrounded by new friends. I didn't want Howard asking questions or giving opinions that touched, or even worse, burst my bubble. But I appreciated that he acknowledged how difficult this has been for me and wanted to help out. This was the part of marriage that felt like a partnership or a team.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So we picked up my dad and took him to The Sand House. Lunch was being served in the dining room which felt more like an oceanfront restaurant.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjag_AchgAZVk9FJDZkPYc5y4aA2JPupfJH5melZdDzm-wW3R1A4fuDbXhckfQUaB_qPt7JPmjeP8h7xOZKCVq4c0Gi7UgTpepZHq5ODGdCf4PriquUNTQtIbNLM8TbRcjoUzCjxifg4_4/s1600/1551019803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjag_AchgAZVk9FJDZkPYc5y4aA2JPupfJH5melZdDzm-wW3R1A4fuDbXhckfQUaB_qPt7JPmjeP8h7xOZKCVq4c0Gi7UgTpepZHq5ODGdCf4PriquUNTQtIbNLM8TbRcjoUzCjxifg4_4/s1600/1551019803.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think an ocean view helps with digestion</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We were seated by the hostess and greeted warmly by our server, Helen, the Russian speaking immigrant who had wanted to meet my dad. Or at least welcome him as a fellow Russian. She was surprisingly fantastic, like a female Don Rickles. She was irreverant, poking fun at the residents but in such a kindhearted, loving way, she had everyone giggling. I could see the light in my dad's eyes as he gazed at her with a wonderous smile.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I felt hopeful.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We went and looked at his potential room again while my husband sprinkled appreciative comments along our path, "Wow, this place is great." He sounded sincere. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"I know," I replied, "It's amazing. I really do want to live here someday." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"No really," he said, like I was doubting him. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"I know!" I replied, could we move on already? My dad just walked alongside us with his left foot slightly dragging. And we went into the room again to confirm just how amazing this place really was.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjPgkhee0UwsMQmBcGHwdlUCatfEPx1b6YcxJyM5ywIRkGURAnvZxEUXQwUzBOATtWomtCbGFiwDSwt5tn_EOhpOK1Gm3gCrG2SkSQ4GSqiA74Y1DLqJ8dtd5exdEqESJCm0v_k1NCU0/s1600/room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjPgkhee0UwsMQmBcGHwdlUCatfEPx1b6YcxJyM5ywIRkGURAnvZxEUXQwUzBOATtWomtCbGFiwDSwt5tn_EOhpOK1Gm3gCrG2SkSQ4GSqiA74Y1DLqJ8dtd5exdEqESJCm0v_k1NCU0/s1600/room.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view from amazing room</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We left feeling good. Or I was feeling good, like I was a step closer to him agreeing. How could he not? We even had an elderly gentleman stop by our lunch table and give an unsolicited testimonial about how great the place was. And my husband kept reaffirming how much better this place was than the one his grandma had lived in and how it was so much better than he had imagined. This made me wonder, <i>does he not believe me when I tell him something</i>? Because I had already told him it was perfect. But that's another story, ha ha.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We dropped off my dad back at his apartment and told him I'd call him the next day. When I called him, I wanted to casually ask what he had thought of our visit but couldn't find the courage to say the words. I wasn't ready for any responses other than the one I needed to hear. So we chit chatted and I called again the following day. At the end of the conversation, I summoned my courage and asked. "So. Wha'd you think of The Sand House?" Brief silence.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"No," he said with a deep sigh. "No." A little softer.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> I don't think his inner platelets ever budged, not far enough to create the type of seismic shift that would have allowed him to move into the direction for which I had hoped for him.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I couldn't hold it together any more. I was too tired to keep down the bubbles that begged to explode from the bottle. This last 'no' had shaken the contents until there was a little explosion. I didn't yell but I was very stern. I lectured him about what a good opportunity this was for him. He could heal, make friends and enjoy the beach anytime he wanted. I urgently kept talking but I knew there was no hope. He had made up his mind and I couldn't shift his glacial stubbornness. I didn't want to make things worse by getting mad and yelling even though I was so scared for him and didn't know what else I could do to help him.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So I didn't. I had to let it go and have faith.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That night I got an email from my friend, Diana. She too is Russian, though so Americanized, like me, unless she told you, you'd never suspect. But being an immigrant, regardless of how young you were when you got to this country, shapes you. Maybe you have a stronger feeling for the plight of other immigrants. Maybe you are more empathetic to the struggle of being a loner in a foreign land, even if that land has been your home for decades.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Anyway, Diana reached out to me by giving me the phone number of a Russian home services agency passed on to her by her grandmother.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In the darkness of my disappointment, I felt a glimmer of hope.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It appeared we now had a Plan B.</span></div>
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<br />Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-83815795329859525222014-06-04T06:22:00.000-07:002014-06-05T06:29:17.911-07:00The Sand House pt.2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He said no.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I heard the no, between his chuckles and warped speech, the kind I usually have to rummage through to find the words he actually means to use. I feel myself starting to sink. I tread harder but play dumb because I'm tired and don't have the energy a commitment to this conversation will require.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"No?" I ask, hoping I'm wrong about what I'm suspecting he means. "No, what?" I always have to have an idea of where he's going with his words, to help guide him to his meaning. Like a game of charades but with half syllables instead of pantomime. Since his brain tumor and ensuing stroke, he has had a problem with word retrieval. He knows what he wants to say, he just can't find the words to say it. Sometimes he uses words from the other languages he knows, thinking they're the ones he needs, but usually they're not. Unless I can figure out the terrain of where his meaning lives, we're both lost and when he's lost, he gets frustrated and waves me away with an impatient groan, stops trying to say anything and instead resigns himself to be locked in the prison of his mind.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4500549983421586674"></a>But during this conversation, he seems more lighthearted. I wonder if he's had some drinks.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"Sand House." I can decipher the words through his mirth. "Sand House!" he repeats, louder, like a tourist speaking to someone who doesn't understand his language, assuming a greater volume will make everything clearer.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Sand House is the assisted living facility we visited together. And, in this stage in his life, it is the perfect senior living situation for him.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Sand House is in Santa Monica right across the street from the beach. My dad moved us to Santa Monica from 'Little Russian' in West Hollywood just before I went into the fourth grade. He hasn't budged since. Santa Monica is the one place on Earth where he sees God. Or at least His handiwork. The beach is his altar. When he is at the beach, he is in his version of heaven.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjNwKdBJDamr_VDX93ChrMUJPEYUmhObfGL11bX5-uF4RQJabOG86w407K8u4hZM-EAe_Bum17JfsN5cAmP1fvI0xGlb_-aiObb3rsE1Xw0lXeTf50YeRnbd4XdrB6UzKTO72hyphenhyphen2_Vfg/s1600/Santa-Monica-Sunset.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjNwKdBJDamr_VDX93ChrMUJPEYUmhObfGL11bX5-uF4RQJabOG86w407K8u4hZM-EAe_Bum17JfsN5cAmP1fvI0xGlb_-aiObb3rsE1Xw0lXeTf50YeRnbd4XdrB6UzKTO72hyphenhyphen2_Vfg/s1600/Santa-Monica-Sunset.jpeg" height="250" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The problem is he hasn't been going to the beach in the last few weeks. He hasn't taken his regular walks on the boardwalk or really done much of anything.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Since he was duped by his <a href="http://mommyhasastory.blogspot.com/2014/05/the-sand-house-pt-1.html">Internet Bride</a>, he's just been sleeping all day. He wakes around 4pm to sit in front of the TV, and barely eats, if at all. The gold-grubbing thief arranged for a woman who takes care of an ailing, next-door neighbor to come every day and cook and straighten up for him. But this caretaker woman used to drink wine with the Internet Scavenger so I'm not sure about her morals or her intentions. When I ask my dad what he's eaten each day, his first meal is always cheese, yogurt and coffee and then a soup as his dinner. The skin is flapping around his spaghetti-thin arms. He is looking as skinny as a concentration camp victim. Each of these conversations breaks off another little piece of my heart.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">How could this have happened to my dad?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When we visited The Sand House, its bright, airy interior and cheerful staff and residents was a stark contrast to the gloom in which he now lives. I hoped he was seeing what I was seeing.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">They serve three gourmet meals a day but also have a small menu available until 6pm so my dad could eat whenever and wherever he likes. They have housekeeping services and laundry. They have exercise classes including his favorites, yoga and tai chi.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg40pv8Fbs2RDbHTHQ_1Zx6qAuEaXD6kxaAC2uRgcvzVOCaMe5BBrj4snRkxJ5XH9_fReBnnpJA7uGF4SYYuuzhfbPYOT9JGCoRZdYBSWubxo2ZyPXrSXMjNATME9aXRliJ7LuKLQEHFA/s1600/IMG_5046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg40pv8Fbs2RDbHTHQ_1Zx6qAuEaXD6kxaAC2uRgcvzVOCaMe5BBrj4snRkxJ5XH9_fReBnnpJA7uGF4SYYuuzhfbPYOT9JGCoRZdYBSWubxo2ZyPXrSXMjNATME9aXRliJ7LuKLQEHFA/s1600/IMG_5046.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the room where they execise</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">They have physical, occupational and speech therapies, all covered by Medicare so it would be 100% free. My dad's ego has always prevented him from getting the therapy care that he's needed after each of his medical maladies. His dragging left arm and leg and his stunted speech are the result of his inaction. I can do it myself, he always said. Here, I tell him, he can give his body and brain the attention they need to finally heal.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"You deserve this," I told him, when we first toured the place. "You've always taken care of everyone. Please, please just this once, do something for yourself."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We even went back again to see the actual rooms that were available, to get a sense of what his life would be like living there. I felt tears meekly slide into my eyes as I looked at the view that he could have.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5iUjvVPvV90oOZPAf3mf89W5Q2OlNVNjwRVc-1KUTROGsIBpOoXgjUJpKZqzi_HjlfOa6uvi8nFPk0m8wb3WX8mozDbcCHpNNYC6Zi_C4cRlFi4NvX8HTCSSs8Mh5xdI7nVMdu0iMKag/s1600/IMG_5053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5iUjvVPvV90oOZPAf3mf89W5Q2OlNVNjwRVc-1KUTROGsIBpOoXgjUJpKZqzi_HjlfOa6uvi8nFPk0m8wb3WX8mozDbcCHpNNYC6Zi_C4cRlFi4NvX8HTCSSs8Mh5xdI7nVMdu0iMKag/s1600/IMG_5053.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual balcony view from the room he could have</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4500549983421586674"></a>I really wanted this for my dad. I really wanted this for myself. When I'm older and retired, I want to live in a resort overlooking the ocean with meals available anytime of the day and people cleaning my room when it needed plus a variety of activities planned for me - like this one that happened this month on the 20th:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It would be like living in a college dorm except with older people. Sure, when I looked around there were a few people that had special needs but the majority seemed like they were there because they wanted to live their lives fully, not be locked away in some isolated apartment like my dad's.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When we got back down to the lobby after seeing the two available apartments the last time we visited Sand House, my dad's ailing leg forced him into an awaiting chair and it appeared, but I didn't want to look too closely, that he was softly weeping under his fedora. I wanted to give him his moment and had to admit that although I can see the beauty of this potential situation, he might see it differently.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_dY20VdaLyNG_a1USDtQPSxZ0Zne0MWeMWZ4JquQcVLtFQ_r2tdF5F2JqDd30h0ePwbHrz_UmdNx4NplHr1VlMMRhBx4u-0Q0HE-2QAv3iLV3o_zLJTobfspv9TUzXvjvSwkIRRMr68/s1600/68606.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_dY20VdaLyNG_a1USDtQPSxZ0Zne0MWeMWZ4JquQcVLtFQ_r2tdF5F2JqDd30h0ePwbHrz_UmdNx4NplHr1VlMMRhBx4u-0Q0HE-2QAv3iLV3o_zLJTobfspv9TUzXvjvSwkIRRMr68/s1600/68606.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here's what I saw (the rooftop deck)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9ixQ12vgF8BYojg8meMtjud5_eDY05WVjfJU4m8vUhhO_Z8lhlW0eVGZ75wGKmOd2hSJcnP6LT3OtlDXxlx3uAM1LXmxCYyNePEcrs8eCn_OO6TBKcUGCUc-L1AvMX33MIS8K4355l0/s1600/clive-colin-frankenstein_02.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9ixQ12vgF8BYojg8meMtjud5_eDY05WVjfJU4m8vUhhO_Z8lhlW0eVGZ75wGKmOd2hSJcnP6LT3OtlDXxlx3uAM1LXmxCYyNePEcrs8eCn_OO6TBKcUGCUc-L1AvMX33MIS8K4355l0/s1600/clive-colin-frankenstein_02.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here's what he might see</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I know, after doing yoga for many years, that what we see in this world may not be what actually exists. People see a blend of what is in front of them and what has happened to them in the past and/or what they are expecting to happen in the future.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm sure my dad has seen images of terrible nursing homes, although I would never call this a nursing home. I'd say it's more like a resort exclusive to seniors. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He said, after his brief weeping episode, when I leaned down to see if he was okay, "I am not in my grave yet." This was quite a sentence for someone who normally has trouble stringing together more than three words. He proclaimed this with a hot burst of frustration born from the tension taking over his body. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I know when he gets like this not to argue. Besides, there was nothing to argue. "Of course not." I tried to smooth his rising hackles. "This is not a grave. You're apartment is more like a grave. This is living. This is being surrounded by people who want to be your friend, who have enough of their own money that they don't want to steal yours. This is where you can meet a nice woman who will think you are so handsome and like you for who you are. This is where you can do things you enjoy all day long or do nothing at all. Or go for a walk on the beach, which is only across the street!" I ended, sounding more like a cheerleader or a spokesperson for an infomercial than the scared, defeated daughter I was actually being.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4500549983421586674"></a>Yet, when I called to check in on him the next day, he told me, in no uncertain terms, No. He would not be moving into The Sand House. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Okay, I told him, feeling like a deflated balloon, trying not to get stuck in the slimy swamp of inviting hopelessness, trying not to let anger take over the situation and bring it to an unshakable end. I wished him good night and hung up the phone.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The next day, I called him again and told him I wanted to take him to lunch. "Okay!" he said with excitement in his voice. I couldn't imagine how lonely he must be now that the greedy witch had abandoned him.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"I'm coming on Saturday and we'll go back to The Sand House and have lunch in their restaurant and you can meet the Russian server that works there and wanted to meet you." During our last visit, the nice lady who was facilitating our tours, Kortney, told us there was a woman who spoke Russian and was excited to meet my dad but we were running late that day and she had already gone home.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"Okay," he said, sounding a little less certain.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"Great!" I wasn't going to get dragged down by my fears for his future. I wasn't going to get tangled in my frustration that this situation was going to be harder than I imagined, that his Old World Ego wasn't going to let him be cared for. If I went down, there wouldn't be anyone left to see him as the strong, determined man he is that brought us to this country and fought for our survival until we could fight for ourselves. And now I had to fight for him.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Saturday. It was another chance. </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzWhEW47S4VKIs0qXDa0sdOmyicOfDhV6Nf4EFEaF93Tgt4Z6QRodND3Go8PgoOZs74nT5W9uY_X3OWSyaU3EimvDVLnit05r65w42JY_Nprq-0NJfJ4pJxYj343yH-fRhDlRSjWcD9M/s1600/IMG_5051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzWhEW47S4VKIs0qXDa0sdOmyicOfDhV6Nf4EFEaF93Tgt4Z6QRodND3Go8PgoOZs74nT5W9uY_X3OWSyaU3EimvDVLnit05r65w42JY_Nprq-0NJfJ4pJxYj343yH-fRhDlRSjWcD9M/s1600/IMG_5051.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad sitting in what could be his room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyEiaOr9sWONOpqystSoEZrxCXBkD-UWmOYl3yNgNcp-jL0dsFkerJVrcQ0eJDiklpTV2XEARxORPR5Yq43ofYlAS5CT4-eWckA56hX_7b8_NZhHGtASv7Pvsbxtqq5bEJP0rS-D_dd0/s1600/Colored-Pencils.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyEiaOr9sWONOpqystSoEZrxCXBkD-UWmOYl3yNgNcp-jL0dsFkerJVrcQ0eJDiklpTV2XEARxORPR5Yq43ofYlAS5CT4-eWckA56hX_7b8_NZhHGtASv7Pvsbxtqq5bEJP0rS-D_dd0/s1600/Colored-Pencils.jpg" height="176" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The memory of this seemingly trivial desire has followed me into my 40s, a permanent etching in my mind.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">At the time, we were living in Italy. We had just left Israel, where we had sought asylum as Russian-Jewish refugees. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruq-VBCtDP-1xlhYurgjPyv2uoAOU5Thc_af1CZsbdD9oaYxEqP9I9UZbSeIAkjfTBcjYF3qX_YDB040GbVM3cNhK75R5NM-qJdo4_61uNue9S4wpNdrqzcdQOG5K_825NwYWv8rJ-_Y/s1600/blog1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruq-VBCtDP-1xlhYurgjPyv2uoAOU5Thc_af1CZsbdD9oaYxEqP9I9UZbSeIAkjfTBcjYF3qX_YDB040GbVM3cNhK75R5NM-qJdo4_61uNue9S4wpNdrqzcdQOG5K_825NwYWv8rJ-_Y/s1600/blog1.jpeg" height="288" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Our Soviet Union family passport photo</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Now we were awaiting permission to enter the United States. I know now, as an adult, when we left the former Soviet Union we were not sent off with kisses and well wishes. We were stripped of our possessions and sent into the unknown with $100 to mark our family fortune.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But my dad is stubborn and a hard worker. I'm sure we were given some type of social assistance when we arrived in Israel because they really do try and take care of their people. I know my dad was a reservist in the Army. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZqWpTAQepl7cf0Fy-gDQpRc9Iw64qSBDfxooBhzaEbl_s1jCoeRNV4P_d9_5-EEWybGElCy_eieLK_AsBNBokbTTQAQGpz49H5KujxzT1sOdBBPBjubJrm6sbJvhJrpQdrUBtinkV3U/s1600/blog3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZqWpTAQepl7cf0Fy-gDQpRc9Iw64qSBDfxooBhzaEbl_s1jCoeRNV4P_d9_5-EEWybGElCy_eieLK_AsBNBokbTTQAQGpz49H5KujxzT1sOdBBPBjubJrm6sbJvhJrpQdrUBtinkV3U/s1600/blog3.jpeg" height="320" width="201" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad on left</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I know my dad must have worked diligently to rebuild some type of financial cushion because that's the kind of guy he is.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But by the time we went to Italy, to await the bureaucratic green light, we still weren't living anywhere near the financial elite. We shared a rented room in a boarding house in Rome.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRKlmi6zhBiZ5mmUMSOLvATxeGvFqQIAe5Bh7Yli7wzJFf5EnoEifV_GCidAcCpLfeys5I15yzRV5qb8zvszIy-G9Ojk_5lYwBrVcziI9Sa58ZEbVPHM3QTyqhfaKTIsVV4DCKstr50Y/s1600/blog2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRKlmi6zhBiZ5mmUMSOLvATxeGvFqQIAe5Bh7Yli7wzJFf5EnoEifV_GCidAcCpLfeys5I15yzRV5qb8zvszIy-G9Ojk_5lYwBrVcziI9Sa58ZEbVPHM3QTyqhfaKTIsVV4DCKstr50Y/s1600/blog2.jpeg" height="400" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was not our room in Rome.<br />
This was actually taken in Israel right before we left<br />
for Rome. In Italy we didn't take any pictures<br />
because we didn't own a camera.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But as a four year old, full of desire (and apparently unaware that I was artistically uninclined), I saw that pencil set and imagined all the beautiful pictures I could create with those colors. All I wanted to do was color my life. Maybe it was the influence of the talented street painters we passed by daily. But I knew if I had that set, everything would be perfect. In an anguish of tender consumerism, I threw out a passionate declaration to my young, innocent parents: If they bought me this pencil set, I would never, ever ask for anything else in my entire life.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When I made that statement, it was true.</span></div>
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I sincerely sat down, crossed leg, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">pondering </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">on the checkered tiles in the aisle of the market. I put my little chin into my small hand and asked myself with unflinching honestly: could I really make this commitment? Was there anything else I would ever want? <i>No!</i> I answered myself. <i>There was nothing else. This was truly it.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I got the set. My parents took pity on my passionate plight and relented, I'm sure spending a good percentage of their remaining financial resources to satisfy their four year old's questionable needs. And needless to say, I have asked for one or two things since then. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This memory comes to mind because now I have a new wish that falls in the same category of urgency and fervent desire with which I yearned that pencil set. Only this wish is for my father. I want him to live in a nurturing, safe environment. One in which he would have help and supervision. He's reached the age where he shouldn't drive, he can't cook for himself and cleaning has never been his forte. He won't come live with me. I know he doesn't want to be a burden, though he never would be, or so I tell myself now. He also doesn't want to leave his paradise: the beach in Santa Monica. So, I need him to move into an assisted living apartment.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It is a vision I never thought I'd have for my dad, the pillar of strength in our family who threw away everything he and my mom had known to walk into the unknown, in search for a safer, more secure place to raise their daughter and by the time they got here, a soon to arrive son. </span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUt_r7RqJoXMUhnJ24QOTsbHSnL_xY9CzJ56h2tUFRTrwYUSjq1gN9XYevsJfZfikWiKHbBBfjYZZhng_m3RpCa4Ike7kcaffHXKTt8vuenX2uJNNtyePzlxQG4lE9iFZuyYVD6cnADOU/s1600/blog4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUt_r7RqJoXMUhnJ24QOTsbHSnL_xY9CzJ56h2tUFRTrwYUSjq1gN9XYevsJfZfikWiKHbBBfjYZZhng_m3RpCa4Ike7kcaffHXKTt8vuenX2uJNNtyePzlxQG4lE9iFZuyYVD6cnADOU/s1600/blog4.jpg" height="229" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I remember looking at my dad's bulging biceps, knowing he was the strongest man in the world.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYLXuyJ-VyDbKT-p6HjhU0TkkCrUIiCh6YIknWs4vsWhJxiQs4GCZsaXZ7z5VG_l4hldgyCCJ-LRk8oCcZ0642kejdglfQAP0cC6YOEiCZTnbUbhAzk9N-BVPOAeZJPLBUGtsuffkQOw/s1600/baraz+clan+1st+apt..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYLXuyJ-VyDbKT-p6HjhU0TkkCrUIiCh6YIknWs4vsWhJxiQs4GCZsaXZ7z5VG_l4hldgyCCJ-LRk8oCcZ0642kejdglfQAP0cC6YOEiCZTnbUbhAzk9N-BVPOAeZJPLBUGtsuffkQOw/s1600/baraz+clan+1st+apt..jpg" height="315" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Except for my visiting grandmother in the middle, <br />that is my entire original family in our first apartment in America. I'm on<br />the right, my grandmother is holding my brother (born here).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But since that day in the Italian market, my father has weathered the onslaught life can sometimes bring: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">rebellious kids, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">a divorce, an unhealthy lifestyle filled with smoking and booze, a fickle economy, two strokes, a brain tumor that robbed him of most of his speech, lung cancer and most recently: a heartless, younger Russian woman he met online. He married her, she took his money and scurried back to Russia with it. Not all of it, but a good chunk. It was the supposed good intentions of this woman, who promised to take care of him, that set my mind </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">at ease.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Living an hour away and taking care of two rambunctious boys, it's hard to see my dad as much as I'd like. Instead, this woman created a situation that highlighted my dad's inability to continue to care for himself.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LbkPQiDrqkiHeY18X5s9PiSUQPYk1eyzF3s4aZOH5J-OTtfTvcJf7UqykVvS_be79lvpf2BnNuPG135kOMhMGWC59Bm3JCZBcwt0dzX7fPPPmc3kNUgF5jNzbIDam2xMPiT6dmf-ScE/s1600/tatiana+rusnak.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LbkPQiDrqkiHeY18X5s9PiSUQPYk1eyzF3s4aZOH5J-OTtfTvcJf7UqykVvS_be79lvpf2BnNuPG135kOMhMGWC59Bm3JCZBcwt0dzX7fPPPmc3kNUgF5jNzbIDam2xMPiT6dmf-ScE/s1600/tatiana+rusnak.jpeg" height="400" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">keep this woman away from your daddy</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It is in the aftermath of that drama that I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">now </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">find myself. My dad needs help. Because of his stubborn, self-sufficient nature, he never got the therapy that he should have had after any of his ailments. Since his second stroke, he is limping and no longer able to do the yoga handstands that once stood for his ability to survive despite anyone else's prognosis for him. He has never asked anyone for help and would thwart any attempts when it was offered. That's partially why it's been hard to admit to myself that the best situation for him would be in an assisted living environment. I know what a battle this is going to be, one that needs to be fought with finesse and patience rather than muscle. It's an amount of energy that, on most days, I can't muster.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The other reason is I still see my dad's bulging bicep and his defiant attitude towards anyone that would dare tell him he couldn't do something. I still see that glimmer of mischievousness as he joked with my friends and flirted with the check-out lady. I still see the sailor that learned all of the Soviet propaganda he had heard growing up, about the United States, wasn't true. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0kou1qPErViakO-JWETNayaim7TsNLaRBVQZFFaXPyEmnKwQraXWSuqpJfbd0SiBGXzkhJVJHakc1Pbng4Z5UM_EYcq7DfvJoQNWACt1tDWUDKTyUNAzUiAzrbWFtV9qwzuJUNNoQLoU/s1600/pop+on+boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0kou1qPErViakO-JWETNayaim7TsNLaRBVQZFFaXPyEmnKwQraXWSuqpJfbd0SiBGXzkhJVJHakc1Pbng4Z5UM_EYcq7DfvJoQNWACt1tDWUDKTyUNAzUiAzrbWFtV9qwzuJUNNoQLoU/s1600/pop+on+boat.jpg" height="285" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He found there was hope for a Jewish man, raised by a single mother with three kids in the wake of a vicious war, to find freedom. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinp5KSddO8VZqAOgFvsmJXR69Wou-WTOXEzoe8LBMY3gpyzrOAKyhHT799mmfKR4guCikN-evXaNc5yC9Br9x-tvnsVIxvU8lcUodv8Qmnsvk-vwjtul7Z9Wfe5h1rnlmhWz8fpbv1d84/s1600/barazog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinp5KSddO8VZqAOgFvsmJXR69Wou-WTOXEzoe8LBMY3gpyzrOAKyhHT799mmfKR4guCikN-evXaNc5yC9Br9x-tvnsVIxvU8lcUodv8Qmnsvk-vwjtul7Z9Wfe5h1rnlmhWz8fpbv1d84/s1600/barazog.jpg" height="287" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cutie-pie dad on the left</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Freedom to raise his daughter without the anchor of racism weighing down her ability to soar.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFn1zEwQBn49eRkAA6ldGgnr8EZRyAQVyighMvGoSwUdGX2rk8b6blBPTHAKoiFrTzaJ5IypbpKe3YMMjkGCBgXPucC0vpHnpGXDvu8yXEwkWOkIJJsbzC7Q7SokWx_bt0Q4HyYaFchbI/s1600/Scan+141410000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFn1zEwQBn49eRkAA6ldGgnr8EZRyAQVyighMvGoSwUdGX2rk8b6blBPTHAKoiFrTzaJ5IypbpKe3YMMjkGCBgXPucC0vpHnpGXDvu8yXEwkWOkIJJsbzC7Q7SokWx_bt0Q4HyYaFchbI/s1600/Scan+141410000.jpeg" height="400" width="285" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Everything my father has ever done has been for his family. I only hope now, with the desperate hope of a four-year-old who still sees sparks of her father as the superhero he once was, that he now allows his family to do for him.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-77207677119268359442014-04-20T23:03:00.002-07:002014-04-24T21:47:30.570-07:00Write On!.....(Why I Write)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I helped start a writing group.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirl-84otBGSFXJu5RkEUGi1k5omhxB6QlOhCE1IWCKZf2_Z352ArVoobwblLrMXCwu4J7Uxj6NVZRg-08Iq7UkXpChWrivzzdydBktmtslPkRsX1ECa1E5rDLU_yhEFO56mv0h51EkKgg/s1600/wgroup2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirl-84otBGSFXJu5RkEUGi1k5omhxB6QlOhCE1IWCKZf2_Z352ArVoobwblLrMXCwu4J7Uxj6NVZRg-08Iq7UkXpChWrivzzdydBktmtslPkRsX1ECa1E5rDLU_yhEFO56mv0h51EkKgg/s1600/wgroup2.jpg" height="395" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was our first official picture (almost a year ago!)....we've since acquired new members</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I say "helped start" instead of just "started" because I had had the idea in my head for some time. But I needed to meet the right writers to make it happen. Had they not agreed to be part of the adventure, there would have been no adventure. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_pno9GtdHGaMX0j3PkHm6ovhyphenhyphen9lF2xj0IHZlm4ZAG255cvg-CC3PI4Ul9HJJpSIxVFj9zPTrZSO0OSVWO7o6rokHljfbaVQzU5_WV_svS7Xyp4OrpJRsYASa7n8LXPoaVGwA-ldcYPtE/s1600/wgroup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_pno9GtdHGaMX0j3PkHm6ovhyphenhyphen9lF2xj0IHZlm4ZAG255cvg-CC3PI4Ul9HJJpSIxVFj9zPTrZSO0OSVWO7o6rokHljfbaVQzU5_WV_svS7Xyp4OrpJRsYASa7n8LXPoaVGwA-ldcYPtE/s1600/wgroup.jpg" height="640" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess over time most writers turn blonde.<br />
(this is a more recent pic of some of us on a road trip to support <a href="http://www.kimtracyprince.com/blogging/writer-with-a-capital-w/" target="_blank">Kim Prince</a> in her stage debut)</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There are two main reasons why I wanted to have a group like this in my life. One, I needed the support and accountability that comes from being part of a fellowship. I have had this experience before in my life and found it worked quite well. Second, I thought if I surrounded myself with writers maybe I could convince myself I too am a writer. I still have my doubts. But they tell me I am and that is great to hear.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">One of the original members above, red haired <a href="http://charleneaross.com/2014/04/14/why-i-write-since-you-asked/#comment-2318" target="_blank">Charlene Ross,</a> participated in an online writing train where writers talk about their </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">Writing Process</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; border-width: 0px; margin: 0px; outline-width: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>#mywritingprocess)</b>. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">At the end of her post, she picked three writers to ride on that train. She picked me as one of the writers.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">Again, I am grateful that she considers me a writer and also that she picked me from the many writers that she knows and (wait </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">for it), I will do that too. You know, to keep the train going. So if I pick you, please join us on this lovely ride into the workings of our inner selves. And if I didn't pick you it means 1) I didn't know you wrote a blog bc I really had to wrack my brain to find the three I did or 2) you're not a writer but are a reader, so please kick back and join us on this journey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 21px;"><b>Why do I write what I do?</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 21px;">I </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">write </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">mainly three things (not counting Facebook status updates). I write short fiction stories, non fiction stories and blog posts. My heart is in the fictional worlds I create like this <a href="http://www.subtopian.com/?p=65745" target="_blank">one</a>. It's also an opportunity for me to work out my fears and feelings about things happening to me or to our world. It's a little like an exorcism. A way to get out the demons and the jesters that live in my head. There are observations I've made of people and the world in which we all live. I am always looking and taking mental notes. I've written much more in my head than I've ever written on paper. Sometimes, I'll even grab a piece of paper, if there's one handy, because I know if I don't capture the thought, it'll drown in the thousand of others that follow it, never to be seen again. Stories are like that too. I've procrastinated on stories I thought were so original then watched a movie, that was my story, being told by someone who didn't wait around to tell it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">My non-fiction started when I decided to major in Broadcast Journalism in college. That in itself was a victory and I kept expecting people to laugh when I told them what I was doing. It was only my father who commented how unpractical this was because it is such a competitive field. (This was a recurring theme in his parenting me) But I had a plan. I was going to become a well known reporter and then write a book, thereby already securing a built in audience. Well, I didn't wait long enough to become a well known reporter (my instincts for success conflicted with the seemingly accelerated pace of my biological clock) but I did start writing for print newspapers and magazines while I was pregnant with Kaleb. That was the last bit of free time I regularly had to myself. It's only now that the kids are in school that I can start focusing on that again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">My blog is almost like a free sample for prospective readers. Since I never became that famous reporter, I need to give out bits of myself for readers to know whether I taste good or not. I figure, if you like the various styles I offer on my blog, then maybe you'd be interested in a longer format piece, like the books I will someday find the time to write. Plus, I don't have to get anyone's approval to publish the things I want to write. All I have to do is hit the <i>publish</i> button. </span></div>
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<strong style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); border: 0px currentColor; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How does my work differ from others of its genre?</span></strong></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I think if we're talking strictly blogging, my work tends to be sporadic and disorganized compared to the official blogging sect. But it's also original because it's my work being presented by me. I strive to be really honest and I try to present things in an interesting way. I suspect that if I found more time to actually write, I would get much better at this.</span></div>
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<strong style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); border: 0px currentColor; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How does your writing process work?</span></strong></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If I show up to write in front of my computer, the words will come. No matter how many excuses I make beforehand or activities I find to distract myself, once I arrive to write, I write. Then I edit. And edit.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Since joining the writing group, it's become a lot easier to convince myself to just get in front of the screen and start typing. I know some people prefer paper but I think my brain is trained to work with keyboards and formats where it is much less messy to edit.</span></div>
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<strong style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); border: 0px currentColor; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What am I working on?</span></strong></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am lucky to have been offered some <a href="http://laparent.com/article/dating-your-husband.html" target="_blank">stories</a> to write for LA Parent magazine. They are amazing to work with. Very warm and supportive - obviously a theme I seek out in my writing life. From this platform, I intend to submit to more national magazines, probably parenting ones since that is the place in my life where I happen to live.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I also have a few sci-fi shorts I have written and am editing and will be submitting after just having my first <a href="http://www.subtopian.com/?p=65745" target="_blank">one</a> actually published.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I also had a huge gift fall into my lap. A friend introduced me to someone whose life story needs to be immortalized. It is interesting on levels that scrape beneath the skin. I have spoken to this person many times now and we are evolving his story into one that will become the first book I will have the honor of writing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">Ok that's it from me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">Now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">Let's invite some new conductors onto this train of self discovery.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://www.juliecgardner.com/" target="_blank">Julie Gardner</a> is the newest member of the Writing Safety Tree - our writing group. She used to be an English teacher and her notes on works in progress are sweet and priceless, just like her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://thisaintyourmamasblog.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Laurel Jansen Byrne</a> is a friend from a group that helped ease me into motherhood, the Westlake Village MOMS Club. And she turned out to be a writer and was the cherry I needed to help me make this sweet concoction of a writing group. She's also probably the only one of us that has a actual education in creative writing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 21px;">And <a href="http://thumbstumbler.com/" target="_blank">Jessica Craven</a>, whose simple and precise words make my heart bleed regularly when I read them. I haven't seen her offline in ages but she came to mind when faced with the assignment of finding three talented bloggers to choose for this fun exploration into self.</span></span></div>
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Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-69013103635736728182014-04-07T17:07:00.000-07:002014-06-30T13:44:29.276-07:00My Fake Lashes...a journey into extensions<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My youngest son has these cartoon character eyelashes that any girl would kill for.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZ-VoNVJdfkGXwuJzicPOLdBd2mRUY_hphmjuN2NwaxbY2MhR_Lqjf4iUqMTFghVl135X6h0GvJS9Ghy4mBnCxz4xdeOPzkzAu89U1KwadEB_3hclMFgFIllkRvU17OsHOkPasckDyVg/s1600/IMG_4738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZ-VoNVJdfkGXwuJzicPOLdBd2mRUY_hphmjuN2NwaxbY2MhR_Lqjf4iUqMTFghVl135X6h0GvJS9Ghy4mBnCxz4xdeOPzkzAu89U1KwadEB_3hclMFgFIllkRvU17OsHOkPasckDyVg/s1600/IMG_4738.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He got them from his dad.</span></div>
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">While I, like most girls, have to curl, color and volumize in order for mine to even be seen.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG8Q7v_QgHVdZEU5fb5cTMyPaopnT7dvbpjU0fVHd49dvXf8caBduTHlkgMLrUr1yOZqLiOsm_j2EWCsizWPt_Sx2L-ZwUK-GdSswhmSLeDjZIszRwyr-lXPzo_oEJdIKPevr80XFyzJU/s1600/IMG_4631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG8Q7v_QgHVdZEU5fb5cTMyPaopnT7dvbpjU0fVHd49dvXf8caBduTHlkgMLrUr1yOZqLiOsm_j2EWCsizWPt_Sx2L-ZwUK-GdSswhmSLeDjZIszRwyr-lXPzo_oEJdIKPevr80XFyzJU/s1600/IMG_4631.jpg" height="140" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is before curling, coloring and volumizing</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I had heard of eyelash extensions but it sounded painful and was something I thought I’d </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">never </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">do. After all, even if you can withstand the discomfort, who
wants to looks like Tammy Faye Baker?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp910QonzHK5diMGDf8Qy1Jdqo0kPYJ359o7VyGquRuSzd1hgal_OxJKKRtu3kjPu3-4Y19YO74C-iQrImd-o7avIzPEIvxl4P9oJjV-S0wfigyhs5tmYeZIBlfZ8baImFKX0p5yj7j1E/s1600/art.tammy.faye.02.gi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp910QonzHK5diMGDf8Qy1Jdqo0kPYJ359o7VyGquRuSzd1hgal_OxJKKRtu3kjPu3-4Y19YO74C-iQrImd-o7avIzPEIvxl4P9oJjV-S0wfigyhs5tmYeZIBlfZ8baImFKX0p5yj7j1E/s1600/art.tammy.faye.02.gi.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She probably wants to look like Tammy Faye Baker<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But then I saw my beautiful friend Lindsay.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04YqAMvqdRH9eHslGDGYV6nn4cBMYUc_WM10fp6tWPmiY1E_pSbNh31iiDRvECuqvorGZtaWaRpAs-Kn7qanSOHGKPzJQDtv9-XIQftTlhFMCra1dDtwscZdrLntKGsE41c36CTXEfpw/s1600/IMG_4745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04YqAMvqdRH9eHslGDGYV6nn4cBMYUc_WM10fp6tWPmiY1E_pSbNh31iiDRvECuqvorGZtaWaRpAs-Kn7qanSOHGKPzJQDtv9-XIQftTlhFMCra1dDtwscZdrLntKGsE41c36CTXEfpw/s1600/IMG_4745.jpg" height="320" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She looks nothing like Tammy Faye Baker</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And she had eyelash extensions and looked amazing. Amazing. Not at all fake or overdone. She is a very natural looking girl, and beautiful to boot (single if you can believe it!), so a fake looking eyelash appendage would have looked bizarre on her. But while we hung out, I kept glancing over to admire her now extravagant lashes and finally decided to investigate into getting them for myself.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Now. Being on a budget - or at least not being able to justify a huge eyelash expense to my husband - I started looking for deals on GroupOn and Living Social. Might as well get a good deal if I can. This is how I go about it: If I find a service I want, I go onto Yelp and see what past customers think of the company's performance. I know oftentimes it is usually the disgruntled that take the time to share their nasty experiences, so if there are some of those, I want to hear about them before I commit to anything.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Living Social had a deal for a place called iCandi Lash Loft </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">(cute, huh?!)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> ~ $125 for a full Volume Set and included an aftercare product. The regular price was $250 with no free product. Sounded good, so I went onto Yelp and this is one review I found by Hossana A.: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', 'Helvetica Neue LT Std', 'Helvetica LT Std', Helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', 'Helvetica Neue LT Std', 'Helvetica LT Std', Helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I have been in the Beauty industry for ten years now</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', 'Helvetica Neue LT Std', 'Helvetica LT Std', Helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">...I can not sing Karina's praises enough! She listened to my needs and wants, and executed exactly what we discussed. Not only did they look AMAZING, they also felt really natural. As a beauty professional, sanitation and cleanliness is a big deal to me...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">You can read the rest of the review <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/icandi-lash-loft-studio-city">here</a>. At this point, I started to get excited. I bought the <a href="https://www.livingsocial.com/deals/1006629-eyelash-extensions?ref=share-pre_purchase-copy_box-web-deals&rui=10591149&rui=10591149" target="_blank">deal</a> and plotted for the perfect time to maximize the impact of my new look....say, a girl's night out or a weekend with my honey.<br /><br />Then I took my son to baseball practice and ran into my friend, Heather who also has eyelash extensions. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvahM5adrNRoBUl6T48CxFXJ9VhKHC6SxwYP46ngtg382zlk88EZ01O6Pm3SqgIPpXVhPDW4_2fOo_Nu6yPU6PsBVp6kb1mgfGzo8BcbmFZuSdOlP8gDGLgvRWqkJ5mdB-2a8JCXbYG80/s1600/IMG_4735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvahM5adrNRoBUl6T48CxFXJ9VhKHC6SxwYP46ngtg382zlk88EZ01O6Pm3SqgIPpXVhPDW4_2fOo_Nu6yPU6PsBVp6kb1mgfGzo8BcbmFZuSdOlP8gDGLgvRWqkJ5mdB-2a8JCXbYG80/s1600/IMG_4735.jpg" height="173" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We started girl gabbing about this suddenly essential component I must immediately incorporate into my life. You know, the usual. How long did she have them? (Over a year) Did she love them? (yes, obviously, she's had them for a year) How often did she have to maintain them? (every 2-3 weeks) and finally, the biggest consideration: How much did she pay? Her answer brought me into instantaneous retail agony. You know the kind. When you find the good deal you thought you got was actually not so great. And in this case, had I waited for just one more week, I could have gotten Heather's better deal.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', 'Helvetica Neue LT Std', 'Helvetica LT Std', Helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, in a panic, I emailed Living Social (because you know, they have that Good Deal Guarantee) and told them I needed a refund because I found a better deal.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Next I called iCandi (yes, I'm still at baseball practice) and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">spoke </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">frankly with Karina Lopez, the owner. I told her, look, I love Living Social and thought I was getting a great <a href="https://www.livingsocial.com/deals/1006629-eyelash-extensions?ref=share-pre_purchase-copy_box-web-deals&rui=10591149&rui=10591149" target="_blank">deal</a> since I have no experience with eyelash anything except mascara and curlers and just found out my friend is getting a better deal than the one I bought from a coupon place! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have to say, her voice alone calmed me down. She was very mellow and laughed and didn't seem at all put off that someone she had never met, one of 100 people who had taken advantage of a deal that cut so dramatically into her profit, was now calling to take</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">even that </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">away</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She explained two things that attempted to help me understand the price difference. One, the stylist's product cost had an impact on the customer's final cost. Different lashes cost different amounts. So obviously, I would be getting some great lashes is what she inferred. Knowing nothing about lashes or what they were made from, I just inwardly agreed. It made sense. Also, she painted a picture of back-alley lash clinics that imported waste and unsavory elements and who wanted that stuff near their eyes? OK, I was sold. I booked with Karina and couldn't wait for my appointment. After all, the price difference was only about $20 and after interrogating Heather a little further, I found out the overall cost was really only a few bucks less, so I was back on my retail savings cloud.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Before our appointment, Karina was great. Very professional. She emailed me a confirmation and address of where my appointment would be. Her studio is in North Hollywood and she has another in Studio City at a Med Spa but very conveniently, she was covering for a friend who has a lash studio in Canoga Park. That was a much better fit for an Agoura Hills mom.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On the morning of my appointment she texted me, confused, asking me if I was still coming because she had gotten a cancellation from Living Social for my voucher.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Oh my gosh! I had completely spaced on retracting my cancellation!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I told her how sorry I was, feeling like the biggest pain of a customer that ever lived, and told her I'd take care of it or pay her the fee that I had originally given to LS. She, again, was very relaxed and laughed, said no problem. I already liked her.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So I sent LS an email and drove to her friend's studio</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ZqtCltoQdsyQucKa5EPltdJP_l9c0JOZfWUNu4cRTPzV8g2YSC4_41PkKdE0-M_VdpMX7ThvKElWcy8TFz3z0RXzAg7CxTkhF4twph9dbJwyApd3YXOFY8S0sqqn0FG6iGGE37_llM4/s1600/logo3-copy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ZqtCltoQdsyQucKa5EPltdJP_l9c0JOZfWUNu4cRTPzV8g2YSC4_41PkKdE0-M_VdpMX7ThvKElWcy8TFz3z0RXzAg7CxTkhF4twph9dbJwyApd3YXOFY8S0sqqn0FG6iGGE37_llM4/s1600/logo3-copy.png" height="92" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">next door to the Spectrum Gym in a little strip mall.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Everything in the studio was white and clean and Karina was in one of the curtain-drawn rooms doing some paperwork. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She greeted me warmly as I plopped onto the examination table and took out my phone to see if LS had responded to my email and yes they had! I already had a brand new voucher for the lash extension sitting in my Inbox and I showed it to Karina, again apologizing for my rash move, feeling a little proud of handling my mistake so efficiently and a little relieved that LS is such a professional company.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She asked how I wanted my lashes. I told her about Lyndsay being able to look natural and glamorous at the same time and how I too wanted something natural looking but that would still give me that bit of a wow effect. Plus I didn't want to have to wear make-up to look like I was awake. With two little boys, I just don't always have time in the morning and hate putting on make-up if I'm going to the gym, which is almost everyday. So most days I just have way too much of that natural look. I wanted to drum it up a bit.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She showed me some pictures and I gave her a thumbs up or down on each look. Finally, she thought she knew what I wanted.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17-ggQLa2k4Aos4cYjALMTLs2MY2XjIcAuz_th1zUWDt_v0RFM-awaQvbo8PBxua6XchbLr-X0fnrGvRbGxDmmDnVLN1fgF0Y0XbP6HxancZW_hBW3yBdSFTeiDUMTjpXJPfQQH-qon8/s1600/IMG_4630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17-ggQLa2k4Aos4cYjALMTLs2MY2XjIcAuz_th1zUWDt_v0RFM-awaQvbo8PBxua6XchbLr-X0fnrGvRbGxDmmDnVLN1fgF0Y0XbP6HxancZW_hBW3yBdSFTeiDUMTjpXJPfQQH-qon8/s1600/IMG_4630.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BEFORE - much much too natural</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I lay down on the examination table and she put two large pieces of tape to cover my lower lashes to avoid them from accidentally sticking to the glue.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Then she used surgical glue to meticulously attach each lash to my actual lashes. It didn't hurt at all. I could have slept if I wasn't so excited.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There are three types of lashes that lash stylists use and I found an objective explanation of them <a href="http://www.sydneyeyelashextensions.com/index.php/blog/85-mink-silk-and-synthetic-lash-extensions-whats-the-difference" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I don't know for sure but I am guessing that Kim Kardashian uses the acryllic kind because hers are very dramatic.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj71GFywgq9CEBmUSfpkFtZZsJiwexJ3yUSJcPQX62iqWooqjDty_RRuiXp1afj307Q7Khc1192brSGJtrA0qPtAaflCPfkDsIrXsBRRlhj-kyrsLMiZKlkYschWZf-6wdfsGifbjmleyw/s1600/Kim-Kardashian-Eyelashes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj71GFywgq9CEBmUSfpkFtZZsJiwexJ3yUSJcPQX62iqWooqjDty_RRuiXp1afj307Q7Khc1192brSGJtrA0qPtAaflCPfkDsIrXsBRRlhj-kyrsLMiZKlkYschWZf-6wdfsGifbjmleyw/s1600/Kim-Kardashian-Eyelashes.jpg" height="306" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There is no way I could pull this sultry swankiness </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">off </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">while I'm dropping my kids off at pre-school or kindergarten but I have seen other moms do it. Full make-up, hairdos and single girl outfits at 9am. I don't know how they do it. There have been days I was lucky to brush my teeth before I walked out the door.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The whole process took longer than I expected but I was able to find some things out. Like, what makes one stylist or salon different from another is the artistry of the stylist. Just like there are tons of people with their license to cut hair, many of them very close to where I live, there is a reason I drive to Hollywood to see my hairstylist friend, <a href="https://www.styleseat.com/wendylallas" target="_blank">Wendy Lallas</a>. Yes there is.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">While I was lying there, two things happened outside of our little curtained off room, in the salon, that got my attention. One, this woman walked in saying she was so overdue for a lash fill, her boss had just asked her what was wrong with her eyes. Ouch. Note to self: don't go there. This was a man who had been supposedly socialized to have manners. My boys are still working on that. God knows what they'd say.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Two, someone asked someone else about another woman and the reply was an amused recounting of this other woman's allergic reaction to the glue. It was during this moment that Karina's hands were completely inside my face, working the fake lashes into my real ones.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"Umm?" I asked.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"Don't worry. If it was going to happen it would have already happened. As soon as the glue got near your skin," she said.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Okay, I was reassured but <a href="https://www.facebook.com/SeductiveLashes1/posts/369269486455878" target="_blank">here's</a> a Facebook post I found that goes into these types of allergies a little more specifically. But it is Facebook so not sure about the accuracy.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">OK, so two hours later, she's finally pulling the tape </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">off</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> my bottom lashes, thank god because at this point I'm late picking </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">everyone </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">up. I had only factored in one hour, again trying to pack in too much into too litte.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Karina used synthetic mink lashes on me and although the process of applying this type of lash takes longer and is a little more arduous to attain that perfect combination of sulty and natural, I think it is so worth it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And voila!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAb6fzvnV3QIsNUfC19Pj2AYez-mV9jGJaTdTsfxCbanSY_4-qvrBet_PcT6cKG8-qgiLdjDPBRKFFK7XcgaaErT8tyvL3NBHKc5rjSHvWAjfqFE90DvTtihoo-tKd5U6iyb2fyRB6LwU/s1600/IMG_4638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAb6fzvnV3QIsNUfC19Pj2AYez-mV9jGJaTdTsfxCbanSY_4-qvrBet_PcT6cKG8-qgiLdjDPBRKFFK7XcgaaErT8tyvL3NBHKc5rjSHvWAjfqFE90DvTtihoo-tKd5U6iyb2fyRB6LwU/s1600/IMG_4638.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am definitely awake now!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicOTw7VfyLR2edqCUB8tAFuU0ycq_pMMleyhpKRSe-YTn93_WrKzvSr8bZzNXmSEZI_jmpJz_OJNcUYMBkNEDE5yR1qM8Zi6UFT8cGOC2JKH_AqHl8_-rY_xRASTgcjoxPFa-q-k1WcMw/s1600/IMG_4637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicOTw7VfyLR2edqCUB8tAFuU0ycq_pMMleyhpKRSe-YTn93_WrKzvSr8bZzNXmSEZI_jmpJz_OJNcUYMBkNEDE5yR1qM8Zi6UFT8cGOC2JKH_AqHl8_-rY_xRASTgcjoxPFa-q-k1WcMw/s1600/IMG_4637.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AFTER</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">All I could think of was, wow! I hadn't put on any make-up for the appointment and even without the this and that to add color to my face, I still looked very dramatic.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was very happy and went home with instructions from Karina to help keep the look longer, no oil based eye make-up removers, no steaming or jacuzzis for the first 24 hours. She told me I should wash my lashes at night and morning with the soap wash that came with my LS deal. I could also use it as an eye makeup remover but if I'm not using mascara, that's most of the battle won right there. That's right, no need for mascara. Or eyelash curlers. Yay. And I rarely put on upper eyeliner, only for extra special nights out because really, I don't need it. So, that cuts down my getting ready time by like a good ten minutes every day, which if you have small kids or a busy schedule, you know what a treasure of found time that is. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Also. No eye rubbing. I forgot a few days in and felt myself lose a couple lashes in my inner left eye. Oh well, you can't tell. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She told me that the lashes fall out with the natural shedding of my real lashes and that's all dependent on the individual and their diet. I'm hearing her say this and feeling so smart because I know that the Juice Plus I'm taking also cuts down on hair loss (in fact, it's helped me - and Howard - grow hair). Ha! These things were going nowhere!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">ALMOST THREE WEEKS LATER: I have an appointment in a few days for a fill but my lashes still look amazing. I'm thinking of postponing. I love my new lashes and plan on going back to keep them up. The fill price is dependent on how often you go back because, of course, they figure the longer it's been, the more work they have to do. But fill appointments are thankfully much shorter 30-45 minutes depending on how much you want done.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">These lash places are springing up everywhere. Just make sure the place you go to is licensed and has a good reputation.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Here is iCandi Lash Loft's <a href="http://www.icandilashloft.com/1.html" target="_blank">website</a>. And if you're dying to meet Karina, she just made a video and talks a little about the process. It's perfect for the short attention span (which if you're still reading, you do not have!) because it's just over a minute long.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/tDuMO9FJJ8U?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Karina agreed to extend my LS deal to my friends (and if you are reading for this long, you are definitely my friend!). She doesn't really advertise and books quickly, all through word of mouth, so get her while you can.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And yes, I've gotten tons and tons of compliments on my lashes. But it doesn't get old. Last night my husband said to me, "I can't stop staring at your face." It's the best beauty thing I've done since getting my ombre hair color. These lashes have been the easiest way to get that really feminine, youthful look. You know, without getting all that plastic surgery stuff.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">EYELASH UPDATE:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So I've had a couple fills since I now seem to be addicted to having these lashes as much as I love to get a great new haircut.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Yet, I'm still a mom and still short on time so I can't just run around town at my whim like single girl I used to be. It took me almost six weeks before I had my first fill. I should have done it at week four or five. Five may have worked but if I wanted to look great the whole time, four would have been perfect. By the time I went back to <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/icandi-lash-loft-encino" target="_blank">Karina</a>, I still had a smattering of lashes left. She was surprised. But one lash, in particular, hadn't shed like it should have because of all the <a href="http://onlyjuiceplus.com/" target="_blank">Juice Plus</a> I take (and now sell) and was instead growing like Jack's magic beanstalk. It was kinda funny looking like it was trying to grow high enough to escape. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6E7sMucFKqNvrZq6sPtx3meIt8kyI7w-_tKkYrLHLp8mfrnzT1w4Q4SLwZPu-t_xeL0YCTzgdT8FABQLLudTUt2bSFojUIUJfo6YyKYstQkCdOjSphfTxmffuPoyCZQ3Bs6oe5Z3NCc4/s1600/lashes+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6E7sMucFKqNvrZq6sPtx3meIt8kyI7w-_tKkYrLHLp8mfrnzT1w4Q4SLwZPu-t_xeL0YCTzgdT8FABQLLudTUt2bSFojUIUJfo6YyKYstQkCdOjSphfTxmffuPoyCZQ3Bs6oe5Z3NCc4/s1600/lashes+2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not bad after 6 weeks</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I waited as long as possible because we were going on our summer vacation and I wanted to make sure our pictures and my self-esteem wouldn't suffer as I embraced the au-natural look during our beach trip. Lashes and a tan really do make all the difference. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was a little worried that all the salt water of the ocean and the chlorine of the pool would shorten the life of my lashes. I was afraid they might make me look like a plucked chicken by the end of the week. But I shouldn't have worried. Turns out these lashes are great for the active girl as well as the more mellow gal.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7jt3w4bfxdXCKxl6XeGJRiNG3cvrmYjqvcdszCAa1fbI1wuG-ht2vMNUjnd4FfXw84N9b8StsGt9oMmuXw4NFI7pOzmy2jqtygDOyeEqpupYbFril7oGFeSC1H1jkyhYDxMTDgBPrJBw/s1600/lashes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7jt3w4bfxdXCKxl6XeGJRiNG3cvrmYjqvcdszCAa1fbI1wuG-ht2vMNUjnd4FfXw84N9b8StsGt9oMmuXw4NFI7pOzmy2jqtygDOyeEqpupYbFril7oGFeSC1H1jkyhYDxMTDgBPrJBw/s1600/lashes.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">no make-up</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There is no way I could have pulled the Toucan picture off without having that extra color around my eyes.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Hooked, I tell you.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Karina has set up shop at a cute new location called <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/the-dollhouse-beauty-sherman-oaks-2" target="_blank">The Doll House</a>. She has a sweet partner there named Graciella. I will follow her to the ends of the Earth but lucky for me, this is right off the freeway.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJUQAu9_AX0O9wcYMatdcxm3Vxu0HcX4a3W_EVRIuO5jA-Z4BoaqN6gQOXDrn9sSNX09e-kJ0uvaM2Y2z8pSVFOIU7mPhpCnq3gMVcj9W2JwA0sBA7bonG-WeREiP9L_I6yAgjm7VhVQ/s1600/IMG_5119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJUQAu9_AX0O9wcYMatdcxm3Vxu0HcX4a3W_EVRIuO5jA-Z4BoaqN6gQOXDrn9sSNX09e-kJ0uvaM2Y2z8pSVFOIU7mPhpCnq3gMVcj9W2JwA0sBA7bonG-WeREiP9L_I6yAgjm7VhVQ/s1600/IMG_5119.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cute name</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5KKUoO-Gm4oabX4De8lzlDg7y6CR9L8pUdQGagj-d6LNU-uB8uXt-aoQTZ9ekh5_DnZlObPY0jT7xJX8jkPoLn8ev7-ohOWMyBn5o5leSDwx0wSHmsIo8a-cdNjjDJmKV1VHEuJoBZl8/s1600/IMG_5118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5KKUoO-Gm4oabX4De8lzlDg7y6CR9L8pUdQGagj-d6LNU-uB8uXt-aoQTZ9ekh5_DnZlObPY0jT7xJX8jkPoLn8ev7-ohOWMyBn5o5leSDwx0wSHmsIo8a-cdNjjDJmKV1VHEuJoBZl8/s1600/IMG_5118.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have to say, I'm looking forward to my next "fix".</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It may not have been Shakespeare or even Shultz but the colorful, giant characters from the Sid the Science Kid television show stirred some scientific knowledge into the burgeoning brains of children as they performed various skits centering around our 5 senses at the Valley Performing Arts Center on Saturday the 8th of March.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the skits, Sid and his friends, May, Gerald and Gabriela, performed experiments and answered questions posed by Teacher Susie that helped them discover the mysteries of their own bodies and how they process the information they gather from living in our world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Sid and his buddies with Teacher Susie</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The stage was brightly colored, the costumes were captivating and larger than life and the auditorium, filled with hundreds of children, was unusually quiet for most of the performance while the kids sat mesmerized watching Sid and his friends make their scientific explorations. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> I brought my 5 year old, who has seen the show but isn’t allowed to watch much television, so he enjoyed the performance but not on a visceral, ‘oh these are my friends’ kind of level. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> However, we did run into some friends, the Attars, after the show and they do watch the show regularly and had a much more enthusiastic response. Three year old Gavin really like the music and dancing while 6 year-old Jordan thought the character, Gerald was really funny and wished the audience could have actually made some of the concoctions created by Sid and his friends during the 5 senses exhibit the adults held after the show. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> The ‘after show’ exhibit was a lot of fun too. Kids didn’t get to make them but they got to try tasting various concoctions designed to let them experience sensations like sweet, sour and salty. They also got to smell a variety of scents and touch various textures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My only complaint was the sound quality seemed distorted during the song portion of the performances. While the talking was clear, the singing seemed blown out and was hard to decipher.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Overall, it was an entertaining afternoon wrapped in a healthy dose of education. Mother Marni Attar said, “<span style="color: #2f353b; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-effects-shadow-align: topleft; mso-effects-shadow-alpha: 40.0%; mso-effects-shadow-angledirection: 2700000; mso-effects-shadow-anglekx: 0; mso-effects-shadow-angleky: 0; mso-effects-shadow-color: black; mso-effects-shadow-dpidistance: 3.0pt; mso-effects-shadow-dpiradius: 4.0pt; mso-effects-shadow-pctsx: 100.0%; mso-effects-shadow-pctsy: 100.0%; mso-fareast-language: JA;">It was fun for the whole family and we hope they put on another show with a different concept soon.”</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-35438015293844195842014-02-20T12:32:00.000-08:002014-02-20T12:33:29.584-08:00Lostmnesia.....a process with some victories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABmC9xcmSRrTcC2eOJisfC-Kou2w4g6o3Ml66kAp49a7RTzr22XnPobANfJivafsUlrkLqDzVCdKepZ_CrDB_olUfCvpeR8moDuefrnsRlQJ6PpzeEesgRvI2obJyHwFy-inuqTYxa_I/s1600/lostmnesiatitle-620x264.jpg" height="136" width="320" /></div>
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<br />
I don't want anyone to think that just because I've had a short story and a feature magazine article published this month that I think I'm a rock star or some kind of super hero. But what really does deserves a pat on the back is that I overcame the limitations I placed on myself long enough to finally make something happen with that writing.<br />
<br />
First off, Lostmnesia was rejected by twenty four literary magazines. Twenty-four. Twenty four times, I had to read why someone thought my story was good but needed just a little of this or a lot of that or just wasn't right for them at this time. That's a little like: it's not you, it's me, so let's just be friends.<br />
<br />
And then there are all the literary magazines that just plain ignored me. I didn't even get the closure that at least comes with a rejection.<br />
<br />
If it wasn't for my supportive friends in my writing group - Writing Safety Tree - and my amazing husband, my writing wouldn't have happened.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzLtDHQ8JLhyphenhyphenS26eGG8yMtOdNqBjG32IIiKKyNkmfcAJvAGjq-d-I6tIjXMqSV5WUFM0HrWe8B8Hn9YGlr7a7HGhAx7EKQh_TSgA2-wervXVBfrdXTUdOV-K8EZz-a3fHd7Ds600enNU/s1600/writing+group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzLtDHQ8JLhyphenhyphenS26eGG8yMtOdNqBjG32IIiKKyNkmfcAJvAGjq-d-I6tIjXMqSV5WUFM0HrWe8B8Hn9YGlr7a7HGhAx7EKQh_TSgA2-wervXVBfrdXTUdOV-K8EZz-a3fHd7Ds600enNU/s1600/writing+group.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of us couldn't come because of mommy duties but from top<br />
left to right we have Laurel Janssen Byrne, Julie Gardner, <br />
Charlene Ross, me, Kim Tracy Prince and Lexi Rohner</td></tr>
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Writers (or me) are very sensitive people. So everything can hurt. But you have to be sensitive to pick up on the little things and then process them well enough to articulate what happened to complete strangers. Or friends. Or family.<br />
<br />
It all starts with sorting through the feelings in your own head though. And that can be a sticky uncomfortable mess. You don't know what's in there or where it's been or who's touched it. Ick. I think maybe that's why many people stay away from it.<br />
<br />
But then there are the <strike>masochists</strike> brave ones who insist on not only touching it but sorting through it and putting it together in an orderly fashion so that the next person might better be able to sort through <i>their</i> own sticky mess. I think that's what writers try to do. Or, I guess, what I try to do. Organize then inspire.<br />
<br />
But then there are the mean voices. You may or may not have them in your head but the ones in mine do two things when I finally decide I'm going in. First they say, hey, look at all the stuff you have to do, like dishes and ordering prints for that summer album, before you can sit down and waste your time with your trivial writing pursuits. Then they say, you have nothing to say anyway and even if you did, you don't know how to say it in the right way.<br />
<br />
Everytime.<br />
<br />
I didn't used to have the strength to show up and write anyway. Well, maybe only in my journal but then I'd worry that someone would find it and I'd be exposed. But if the planets did align and I did actually find myself in front of my computer (avoiding Facebook) and actually getting some thoughts down - finding that kernel of truth inside that chaotic spin - the result inside my body after was almost orgasmic. Yes, it's that kind of high. Overcoming fear, deciphering the noise and putting together a tangible sentence leaves me walking on a euphoric cloud.<br />
<br />
So, why can't I gather, to the forefront of my consciousness, all these fantastic memories of feeling just that and know that all I have to do is show up and sit down? Because the mean voices are louder than any others I can muster on my own. And it wasn't until I met my husband, who tries to drown out those mean voices with praise, that I started to suspect their lies. And it wasn't until I joined my writing group that I no longer felt destined to share a lifelong prison cell, inside my head, with those mean voices. I found out those voices live within every writer in our group. So, together, we lock hands and refuse to let them scare us anymore.<br />
<br />
And, that's the real victory. It's not that I've had two things published this month. No, the victory is despite the roadblocks my own head has put up to deter myself from doing the only thing in my life (besides motherhood) that I've desired with my full heart, I've managed to break through with the help of my friends and the love of my husband.<br />
<br />
So I guess that's the point. We are stronger together than we are alone.<br />
<br />
It's still a challenge sometimes (um, especially now that there are kids in the picture who consider me their on call servant 24/7) but it's less so today than yesterday.<br />
<br />
So, if you love something, go find someone that also loves that something and do it together. It's the miracle of communal creation. No one achieves anything alone.<br />
<br />
And if you want to read my new short story, you can find it <a href="http://www.subtopian.com/" target="_blank">here</a>. And if you want to leave a comment on their website to tell them what you thought of the story, you will have my eternal gratitude (well, only if you actually liked it, ha ha).<br />
<br />Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-91790733334787648002014-02-12T13:53:00.001-08:002014-03-04T21:38:10.928-08:00LA Parent photoshoot - the UNCUT version!I was honored this month to be published by LA Parent Magazine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPb3oiDg_6ZmP4uiymSb4diamSfDK3UmHGsLfZiLmJqmBybKYL7bZf8Si2aQOLGYb3w3RTsHU6Nn9sxNos1prTsNDY7qV8IhwX1xEDQbSdJz1ZiJBiRwo2WUO5ePjyVhqTbQexh4Fya8/s1600/la+parent+feb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPb3oiDg_6ZmP4uiymSb4diamSfDK3UmHGsLfZiLmJqmBybKYL7bZf8Si2aQOLGYb3w3RTsHU6Nn9sxNos1prTsNDY7qV8IhwX1xEDQbSdJz1ZiJBiRwo2WUO5ePjyVhqTbQexh4Fya8/s1600/la+parent+feb.jpg" height="400" width="292" /></a></div>
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It's the story towards the top of the page about Dating Your Husband. The article is based on a post I wrote for this blog called <a href="http://mommyhasastory.blogspot.com/2013/05/secret-dates.html" target="_blank">Secret Dates</a> and if you haven't run out and raided your local Vons, Pavilions, Gelsons or library for a print copy of the February issue.....you could read it <a href="http://www.laparent.com/article/dating-your-husband.html" target="_blank">here</a> (and leave a comment if you want to make me look good, I mean, help others with some great ideas of your own, ha ha). But it's so much more fun to see it in print. For me anyway.<br />
<br />
I had thought there was a possibility that we would even be on the cover because they sent out this very talented photographer, <a href="http://jodyealconphotography.com/" target="_blank">Jodye Alcon</a>, who took countless pictures of the families that were able to come to the park for the shoot. This is the photo they used in the magazine:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbLEJHaHMeEoJNHG1CLNR4fzIhl1oTztlX8toUNhceGdmK_l4v0DW2b2kyPlA7-ube09nkP84U2t6POFDLkxwY02kKcysHhSzQkrpoHolUvKgUk7FcMn3C6tmpyN3hrfqe1IF8kA4aXU/s1600/Jodye+-+Date+Night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQbLEJHaHMeEoJNHG1CLNR4fzIhl1oTztlX8toUNhceGdmK_l4v0DW2b2kyPlA7-ube09nkP84U2t6POFDLkxwY02kKcysHhSzQkrpoHolUvKgUk7FcMn3C6tmpyN3hrfqe1IF8kA4aXU/s1600/Jodye+-+Date+Night.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I think we look a little like a soap opera</span></td></tr>
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So this isn't going to be about romance or relationships - well maybe a little. This is going to be the UNCUT, behind the scenes version about the lovely group of people whose experiences helped shape my first magazine feature article. </div>
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First off, it was a lot of kids.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBybskyp55rFupREpkxIzky1ak-08vVdjfx6uANfUqqd3eNz1UC6-uE48SOizZd0ZnZkugMNhK08es4WABW-VGsq68SN6iCkdl3VO9Hsl1hoqqx1VU-oCwnKhGR9h_p2NXDUyCGqwh7eA/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_001.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBybskyp55rFupREpkxIzky1ak-08vVdjfx6uANfUqqd3eNz1UC6-uE48SOizZd0ZnZkugMNhK08es4WABW-VGsq68SN6iCkdl3VO9Hsl1hoqqx1VU-oCwnKhGR9h_p2NXDUyCGqwh7eA/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_001.jpeg" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
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And they weren't all exactly listening.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRkm4CGfLsQQpTzSFDkTC63dFoUBo2iNNYVNBnUD7if7oWO7sgjE-2URY4PezP3VKyGYvvHc2AmKThrNb_GjE1RVo-zFm7iNFLhN2xcxr6BrN4D02jNOvCXgh_IU5IkwXNFM_lKu7npE/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_088.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRkm4CGfLsQQpTzSFDkTC63dFoUBo2iNNYVNBnUD7if7oWO7sgjE-2URY4PezP3VKyGYvvHc2AmKThrNb_GjE1RVo-zFm7iNFLhN2xcxr6BrN4D02jNOvCXgh_IU5IkwXNFM_lKu7npE/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_088.jpeg" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
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And they had some feelings.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4orWLbOlclLk3msdY063i3XQR6ceaD_cz637M4GKYJcSFYksFWh1U8BHrcMea7jrqkXkS2DUo05YgJxzCtya8tA2ul81Wb7Xb0LsFHkOEmm6jf8TIVVYE23ECpxAcWy4h7Uca99sgMh4/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_002.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4orWLbOlclLk3msdY063i3XQR6ceaD_cz637M4GKYJcSFYksFWh1U8BHrcMea7jrqkXkS2DUo05YgJxzCtya8tA2ul81Wb7Xb0LsFHkOEmm6jf8TIVVYE23ECpxAcWy4h7Uca99sgMh4/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_002.jpeg" height="640" width="425" /></a></div>
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But Mommy-extrodinaire, Jen Press had a bright idea.....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOInfXvdGvpz5ebR4vIxzpCJVZBASKfBT6SVOzd-vDQGP9uE44plsrKL2Z461W4rXjgJi1l-5bBDTYxd0opp2gWtEB0rIv0Z81R4tjiKQ5V2DyqCRslFno_hReTW5tHiJUUNvsMOVFdUo/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_006.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOInfXvdGvpz5ebR4vIxzpCJVZBASKfBT6SVOzd-vDQGP9uE44plsrKL2Z461W4rXjgJi1l-5bBDTYxd0opp2gWtEB0rIv0Z81R4tjiKQ5V2DyqCRslFno_hReTW5tHiJUUNvsMOVFdUo/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_006.jpeg" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
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It was actually a bright blue idea.....</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOoYtdAK18ElUq9CTyyRcPQPS41hZQ3lrWxC7qcgdZXe1t2axx_6twlwNkcvlgR2RKKy_mrZzGXjkgojlQosoJT7oEWxaJNBnfqvh3IRO2P1M2fxkMlTZEwCYCTlDxtnb4Qz5CtKbac7U/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_007.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOoYtdAK18ElUq9CTyyRcPQPS41hZQ3lrWxC7qcgdZXe1t2axx_6twlwNkcvlgR2RKKy_mrZzGXjkgojlQosoJT7oEWxaJNBnfqvh3IRO2P1M2fxkMlTZEwCYCTlDxtnb4Qz5CtKbac7U/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_007.jpeg" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">yes, their mouth are blue</span></td></tr>
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Which got their attention.....but may have not been the best strategy right before picture time.....</div>
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However we got it done as you saw from the first picture.</div>
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And, I was obviously very excited and in the wee hours of the morning before we were to meet at the park for this photoshoot, I had some <i>great</i> ideas for some <i>fun</i> pictures.</div>
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First, I wanted all the guys to wear aprons.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaIw6W1No84SuazMuI7j4mRlZSR6tlvfj0iVXUUvOUoceQxolOnsKIQPW3WTUHmPOrEMGzdyAGwQvmyv537adA1oUllOa1vI3TG34DnTfXA3kGK-Ujj1xl-wCGBqB16IBIafPBE5OUUs/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_028.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaIw6W1No84SuazMuI7j4mRlZSR6tlvfj0iVXUUvOUoceQxolOnsKIQPW3WTUHmPOrEMGzdyAGwQvmyv537adA1oUllOa1vI3TG34DnTfXA3kGK-Ujj1xl-wCGBqB16IBIafPBE5OUUs/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_028.jpeg" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Don't they look handsome?</span></td></tr>
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I guess I shouldn't have been surprised at the eventual mutiny.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1D3ae23SJu_EhtYl1xKK0DJ2GUkFo3qDpg7Jj1pYDumlXGeil7wpnUSnjRonfhRB6UsG6VztwhI-tgGLKobM5YOvT8DDnOm0RGaNSbDc5i-xKVYNKXmWaUzhCh57OyD0k23JR0dwyZI/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_023.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1D3ae23SJu_EhtYl1xKK0DJ2GUkFo3qDpg7Jj1pYDumlXGeil7wpnUSnjRonfhRB6UsG6VztwhI-tgGLKobM5YOvT8DDnOm0RGaNSbDc5i-xKVYNKXmWaUzhCh57OyD0k23JR0dwyZI/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_023.jpeg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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I also thought it'd be cute for the girls to have roses, you know, to symbolize romance. We like flowers right?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9Y1FnM3AHxsI8DQ4ToaIHaulJnHWifX7wPjl9t_YC5A2pP_NBxsDQWxW9INmlqJfeRTcr8rtQ7u88voOgjymv2zF38vGf7zC9O2kH3Sa3H0L-wy299PN-3Tv_xDC6iZKKFeJ5Q3JPhg/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_033.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9Y1FnM3AHxsI8DQ4ToaIHaulJnHWifX7wPjl9t_YC5A2pP_NBxsDQWxW9INmlqJfeRTcr8rtQ7u88voOgjymv2zF38vGf7zC9O2kH3Sa3H0L-wy299PN-3Tv_xDC6iZKKFeJ5Q3JPhg/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_033.jpeg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Maybe just not in our mouths, yuck.</span></td></tr>
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I really wanted to impress the editors with my creativity. So we went for the Charlie's Angels look.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxeBkUFBxQXaxawVEco7tRVagW0Av3eL9vUIGilTdQ8kZpaQgldatpxwizIhXOYvEk69016_PdPaYxyFqW1JN53k4m8wlqvwGA6NKvZEffoUUS5TVrOitNFJi_7W4K0EjOzegKDrckrM/s1600/LA-1.Parent.12.31.13_041.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxeBkUFBxQXaxawVEco7tRVagW0Av3eL9vUIGilTdQ8kZpaQgldatpxwizIhXOYvEk69016_PdPaYxyFqW1JN53k4m8wlqvwGA6NKvZEffoUUS5TVrOitNFJi_7W4K0EjOzegKDrckrM/s1600/LA-1.Parent.12.31.13_041.jpeg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I think we look very intimidating....or confused....why are we trying to look scary with roses again?</span><br />
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And then we started taking pictures of the families individualy, which was really fun so go with me here....<br />
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Terri Harrah used to be my roommate in Santa Monica when we went to CSUN. I majored in Journalism and she in Drama.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAcA0MCffcP13Y4E8L1ermD4U482gTyMDrdamLLAhv-QP3ybB4ETxdtARSJueTSUM9C-4qnmOxncF_yZXhkLeC2EBIsNzCYXcwfxS08deokT3CyTwYmdlE2LkqVyRjPlbSKztwfSojIM/s1600/Terri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAcA0MCffcP13Y4E8L1ermD4U482gTyMDrdamLLAhv-QP3ybB4ETxdtARSJueTSUM9C-4qnmOxncF_yZXhkLeC2EBIsNzCYXcwfxS08deokT3CyTwYmdlE2LkqVyRjPlbSKztwfSojIM/s1600/Terri.jpg" height="320" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">she really is quite dramatic</span></td></tr>
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Terri is a down to earth, true blue friend. She cares about the planet, treating other people with kindness and dignity and homeschools her two boys Truman and Ethan.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv1vl3KvRzmtf4iNKuexQ2G1p3NjMJX25VDQK2djFTbyWYvjS43SnHhsSltAmRg8jU-pshnrRe9QDXB1gmSE0MB2YQ8aGSvymiTJlGa5qiqgNxRZJ2G5c3hFjGBG7jSyDLkNhfdLxQSHs/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_157.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv1vl3KvRzmtf4iNKuexQ2G1p3NjMJX25VDQK2djFTbyWYvjS43SnHhsSltAmRg8jU-pshnrRe9QDXB1gmSE0MB2YQ8aGSvymiTJlGa5qiqgNxRZJ2G5c3hFjGBG7jSyDLkNhfdLxQSHs/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_157.jpeg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ethan, 6 and Truman 9</span></td></tr>
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And she is happily married to her (working) musician husband, <a href="http://realitywebvideo.com/view_channel.php?user=James+Harrah" target="_blank">James Harrah</a>. They prioritize their relationship because they know it all starts with them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDWRS-plmoImDUkZkZOGqNrzTGKQ-s5G_c2eUEKlZNUFLxIhT50YyzzclnEuJTO_EGjgcD_GCj7frlkuWVsSnyUNYKRcSZEqh9z1tN1fbCWiP6ztQ5lL15zfG21LqWkIBL8p-OMoX7zA/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_167.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDWRS-plmoImDUkZkZOGqNrzTGKQ-s5G_c2eUEKlZNUFLxIhT50YyzzclnEuJTO_EGjgcD_GCj7frlkuWVsSnyUNYKRcSZEqh9z1tN1fbCWiP6ztQ5lL15zfG21LqWkIBL8p-OMoX7zA/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_167.jpeg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">Maybe Jen Press is such a quick witted parent because </span>nature has<span class="Apple-style-span"> forced her to be so. She is a work-outside-the-home mom to three boys. She's also a lot of fun. I don't get to see her as often as I like. (One of her most memorable sayings is "Only floss the teeth you want to keep." Yes, she's a dental hygenist.)</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWlP_b7kjX3Fj0ma3RnSz-tZ9RyaDrIsciBpmNWmhmwNdRYPOIjQ8emRgOXzYybcLQ08EgySyXv1WI0jhHQ0xme8Ocsb7lt4ydHnqRj__hdSZoebQCEkiizIecOiSVPxSjiNfJU5yjtJw/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_085.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWlP_b7kjX3Fj0ma3RnSz-tZ9RyaDrIsciBpmNWmhmwNdRYPOIjQ8emRgOXzYybcLQ08EgySyXv1WI0jhHQ0xme8Ocsb7lt4ydHnqRj__hdSZoebQCEkiizIecOiSVPxSjiNfJU5yjtJw/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_085.jpeg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Zach, 6 is between Trevor and Dylan, 4 - who are TWINS</span></td></tr>
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God bless her. Did I mention that her husband Jeff is helping to open restaurants all over the country, called <a href="http://www.firehousesubs.com/" target="_blank">Firehouse Subs</a> so he travels A LOT. Good thing she is patient and takes the time to plan outings that keep their fires kindled (oh and yes, they like to camp a lot too).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ssUokIhzctO5VzojYgcCxVE70D2DKq1ESfcwTN7wXHiP833tkbnZAk64VMdHeamhSxclo-nfmIbcGed-5L_vOQ6iS_eEG8QuPneAcnvq8Uyth4lBaCESiJmqpFHkErK7zbFWNXXYg4M/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_113.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ssUokIhzctO5VzojYgcCxVE70D2DKq1ESfcwTN7wXHiP833tkbnZAk64VMdHeamhSxclo-nfmIbcGed-5L_vOQ6iS_eEG8QuPneAcnvq8Uyth4lBaCESiJmqpFHkErK7zbFWNXXYg4M/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_113.jpeg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I don't know how they make it look so easy</span></td></tr>
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Laurel Janssen Byrne is a <a href="http://thisaintyourmamasblog.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">writer</a> too. She is writing her own life story with strokes of compassion as she is the gal to go to if you need a little TLC fix, and some steely nerve. I keep forgetting she's not from NYC because she and her husband Matt are so edgy. No, not cranky just so off the cuff honest with each other and the world. It's refreshing.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZslJLa02C93LxINElAUV98TqKqkpzOdQxL383q7wM5Ioiy3jBeC0J2-Ibd5VGYmfMVn1s-yiXx3qFTiY-gyvrzIOVGt2YGKLj74WPPb8UkpBAbRytzZackpkwvzPfcU50LWu51PwUSE/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_048.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZslJLa02C93LxINElAUV98TqKqkpzOdQxL383q7wM5Ioiy3jBeC0J2-Ibd5VGYmfMVn1s-yiXx3qFTiY-gyvrzIOVGt2YGKLj74WPPb8UkpBAbRytzZackpkwvzPfcU50LWu51PwUSE/s1600/LA.Parent.12.31.13_048.jpeg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yin and Yang - such a perfect fit</span></td></tr>
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And they make cute kid.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">good thing she is cute cuzz this couple is ONE AND DONE</span></td></tr>
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And of course, there was my family.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Kyle wasn't here because he went surfing this day</span></td></tr>
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And my guys were unusually patient and smiled on cue.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">brotherly love (rare moment)<br />Kaleb, 5 - loves rainbow loom, dodge ball and bey blades<br />Knox, 3 - loves his doggie blanky, all sports and homemade biscuits</span></td></tr>
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So thank you to the awesome families that were brave enough to share their stories and hopefully inspire couples to reboot their love lives....bring the sizzle back to their fizzle....make love not war. OK, I'll stop. But here again are the lovely families who make my life so much better by being in it. Thank you again.....<br />
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Two other families couldn't make it to the park this day (it was after all New Year's Eve day) so I just want to acknowledge and thank them too for sharing their stories.....<br />
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Morgan and Todd Addab (not their real name, ha ha) couldn't come because Todd had to work. Todd and Howard used to be fraternity brothers (insert the Animal House soundtrack here because I'm sure it applies) and their friendship has travelled the circuitous route that our lives sometimes take and has brought them together again at a time when our families are child compatible. And how many of our friendships end up being based mainly on this criteria? But in this regard we got lucky and I just love his wife Morgan who is one of the most gracious and kind people I've met.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Jon Jr., 20, Morgan and Todd, Justin, 5</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Nicole and Danny Baraz are the hip element of this article. Oh the days when we were hip.....</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Danny and Nicole, Mason (now 9) and Odessa (now 6, but gosh arent' they the cutest!)</span></td></tr>
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Thanks for reading and I hope you find the article useful or helpful in some way. Even if your relationship is solid and you couldn't squeeze more romance into it, at least there are some great date ideas! Now, go and spread that love! And Happy Valentine's day!<br />
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Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-80493978149363461332013-11-20T10:24:00.000-08:002013-11-20T10:24:09.562-08:00The ChairThis is the chair I have lived with for over 8 years.<br />
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It's the chair that I have come to accept as a practical part of my life. It's not my style but it's functional and there's no reason to go out and buy another chair since this one works. At least that's what I've been telling myself for 8 years.<br />
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There's a bit more to this story than just a functional chair. This chair used to belong to my husband's deceased wife. Her passing, 14 years ago, is a tragedy. It is one that we all live with, in subtle ways, everyday. I've done many things around the house that I inherited from her, things to make living here not feel like I am living in someone else's life. The living room has been remodeled, painted and shifted. The dishes have mostly been replaced. The bedroom furniture (and mattress) is new.....except for, of course, the chair.<br />
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I didn't understand how much it bothered me. I realize now that, unconsciously, I used to picture her sitting in it and getting ready for her day, bantering with the husband we now share and laughing with the child she had to leave behind. In a way, the chair is her anchor to the new life I've tried to create with my husband and my little boys and, of course, the boy she had to leave behind. But for some reason, I didn't have the guts to get rid of it. Maybe, my reluctance was my way of letting her hold on to her grip to the most intimate part of my house. Maybe, in some small part of me, I felt guilty.<br />
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I finally shared the meaning of the chair with my husband one night.<br />
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He was surprised. He had thought I had brought the chair with me when I moved in. He had no recollection of it previously at all. He asked why I hadn't said anything sooner. I couldn't really answer past the tears clouding my vision.<br />
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This past Monday I celebrated my birthday. I love birthdays. I've decided that as we grow older, every year should be a party to celebrate that we're still here, that we still get to enjoy the gifts we've been given and resolve, in the next year, to become yet even better versions of ourselves.<br />
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My husband waited until the end of the day to give me his gift. I could tell he was up to something when I tried to go into our room and the door was locked. OK, honey, I called out. I have no idea what you're up to, wink, wink, I said to him through the door, laughing to myself that he always waited until the last minute to do these things.<br />
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Then the door opened and I rushed in to get something I needed for one of the boys. I stopped right in my tracks. And this is what I saw:<br />
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And I started to cry. Because, he heard me.</div>
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Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-87489103280689701912013-09-23T21:23:00.000-07:002013-09-23T21:33:27.909-07:00Fathering a Memory<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This is the stuff that favorite childhood memories are made of. These are the moments that cast bonds between fathers and sons that transend the body and tie the spirit.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On this father-son day, it was the water that brought God into the moment. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We joined our friends Brian and Ryan at <a href="http://beaches.lacounty.gov/wps/portal/dbh/home/detail/?current=true&urile=wcm:path:/dbh+content/dbh+site/home/home+detail/will+rogers+1" target="_blank">Will Rodgers State Beach</a> for the daddies to pass on a great love to their sons. Other great beaches to get cozy in the water or learn how to surf are <a href="http://www.wannasurf.com/spot/North_America/USA/California/LA_County/zuma_beach/" target="_blank">Zuma tower 14</a>, <a href="http://www.wannasurf.com/spot/North_America/USA/California/Ventura/Mondos/" target="_blank">Mondos</a> and <a href="http://www.beachlive.com/surf-reports-forecasts/beach/old-man's-tourmaline_24782" target="_blank">Old Man's</a> near San Diego.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">On this day, I followed behind with my camera and an extra set of eyes. So glad I did.</span></div>
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Howard with 5 yo Kaleb: here it comes!</div>
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go Kaleb go!</div>
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not a big fan of water in the eyes</div>
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we did it!</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">With my dad, it was cowboy movies and action flicks. We watched Clint Eastwood bury the bad guys and medieval warriors storm castles. Not very active or enriching beyond the actual time we spent together. My brother, Danny couldn't recall our dad passing on any skills to him either. "He even hired someone to teach me how to drive a stick shift," he groused. Though he did report they watched the rise and fall of Mike Tyson on the tube together. I'm sensing a theme here. But in my father's defense, he immigrated us to this country and worked many hours each day to get us ahead. He was mostly just tired all the time.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">All that hard work paid off. My father allowed my brother and me to spend days with our kids like last Sunday when the man I married got to share something that captured his heart with his sons.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And we got to hang out on the beach, just enjoying the day.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And we watched our kids gather the pieces of moments that will forever be the building blocks to their self worth and relationship with their own kids.</span></div>
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Ryan and William (he's a little older)</div>
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Brian and Jacob (he just looks a little older)</div>
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watch out below!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJseAlWQPwCvuMdwOeKrJjBBdjA9yjDjjQUmHzbGMEThaPK-dXx44NBDMuQj9_wIrXCd2a2uiuWdHkM3RVV0LFCnuyEGyy0231cuRyvrHVqoRVMgBf1T0u7hjEKFZW-EaP6V_TKcdLYCc/s1600/DSC_0090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJseAlWQPwCvuMdwOeKrJjBBdjA9yjDjjQUmHzbGMEThaPK-dXx44NBDMuQj9_wIrXCd2a2uiuWdHkM3RVV0LFCnuyEGyy0231cuRyvrHVqoRVMgBf1T0u7hjEKFZW-EaP6V_TKcdLYCc/s1600/DSC_0090.JPG" height="176" width="320" /></a></div>
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Howard and Knox (the baby)</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm going to be forever grateful for the sacrifices my father made for me to live the amazing life I get to live today. It is the gratitude that will forever bind me to my father, instead of the memories of these types of moments. And it is with great compassion that I see the other hard-working fathers who have to sacrifice the time they could be spending with their families to make sure their kids can get ahead. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">These are the real undercover superheros.</span></div>
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Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-65288706330495534812013-09-02T22:00:00.001-07:002013-09-18T11:49:42.792-07:00A Crazy Idea<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">They said it
couldn't be done. A girlfriend said the thought alone gave her an anxiety
attack. But I did do it. And it wasn't so bad.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">I took my son
to Hurricane Harbor and Magic Mountain....on the same day. And we went without
my husband. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">It could have
been much worse. The morning we planned to go, my other son, 5 year old Kaleb
opted out. He said he didn't want to go, that he'd rather go to sports camp or
hang out at his friend's, our neighbors, house. He's not really into waterplay,
didn't know we'd also be going to Magic Mountain and is definitely a handful.
Maybe two. So I didn't argue and let him go play while 3 year old Knox and I
sped off to meet our friends at Hurricane Harbor. We didn't hurry because we
have season passes.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">The water
park is divided into sections. The little kids section is called Castaway Cove
and there is more than enough to do there to last a whole day if your kids are
under 54". A multi-level structure with spouting water coming from all
directions, attached water slides, water cannons and even a tire swing, sits in
the middle of the shallow water "cove." </span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsktUKi3O5Y0WtjL8mCfgiVIaZFArDaU9H4KFCL9DUzJJK-2KywfKu-OCGO6nmhK1KP4sv9IT4LtBXB_6moS3XHnGYg1MNDwyRW67Npgk-jOBSsrutx7QqD1YVWrIlYCW3dFlFfxK8coo/s1600/IMG_4260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsktUKi3O5Y0WtjL8mCfgiVIaZFArDaU9H4KFCL9DUzJJK-2KywfKu-OCGO6nmhK1KP4sv9IT4LtBXB_6moS3XHnGYg1MNDwyRW67Npgk-jOBSsrutx7QqD1YVWrIlYCW3dFlFfxK8coo/s320/IMG_4260.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> It is flanked by a few other water slides that can be ranked from
"flat - scoot your tushy down by pushing your hands to move" </span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hnowdyewWezXaRv1rXL9YPKYJJ1Yp4CEW6fiA6IiX5UZ7CEX4PW5Wbual5rO8MiAiA0fJPerlCJOU9L2qrPgvxjD2g_Ke2ZpPiCgUx1RqJQkXtQXIVIcu5vt5n9InFeVj21BTlhugZE/s1600/IMG_4152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hnowdyewWezXaRv1rXL9YPKYJJ1Yp4CEW6fiA6IiX5UZ7CEX4PW5Wbual5rO8MiAiA0fJPerlCJOU9L2qrPgvxjD2g_Ke2ZpPiCgUx1RqJQkXtQXIVIcu5vt5n9InFeVj21BTlhugZE/s320/IMG_4152.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> to "yes you're actually moving and can get
a decent ride but nothing too scary." <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWs_PINs8Vvze7yEOE5o5nNJLiwzGuacmoMvJ-3XeW7KNRDzXfidEZ-VLkYff9WmCq1OllEqOpyW8kIvSUpax6FJyMk2Moz4nIGvrjMhraOnZd-2KE9wbCsFXOsBqGjBtLUPaxp2hXa14/s1600/IMG_4007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWs_PINs8Vvze7yEOE5o5nNJLiwzGuacmoMvJ-3XeW7KNRDzXfidEZ-VLkYff9WmCq1OllEqOpyW8kIvSUpax6FJyMk2Moz4nIGvrjMhraOnZd-2KE9wbCsFXOsBqGjBtLUPaxp2hXa14/s320/IMG_4007.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Knox had fun
getting his hair wet with his friend, Haley. </span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8kFCTvGSx-B9ZlDAoLiYUahvRipJLP6Qy_R1Vos1hJoA-78e-BXkt_8WuzEPN3MSWbAl3Q19uHfz9yRVhKdTQwU6cs7W1uFMOXX9r0GffgWXKgAOok1YkDmIyBck5d-Pp8FWIHcou1E/s1600/IMG_4159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8kFCTvGSx-B9ZlDAoLiYUahvRipJLP6Qy_R1Vos1hJoA-78e-BXkt_8WuzEPN3MSWbAl3Q19uHfz9yRVhKdTQwU6cs7W1uFMOXX9r0GffgWXKgAOok1YkDmIyBck5d-Pp8FWIHcou1E/s320/IMG_4159.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;"> He also loved the River Cruise although I felt like we
needed a bath in disinfectant after we left that lazy latrine river. It didn't
smell or anything but there were just so many people, it creeped me out. He
also loved the Forgotten Sea Wave Pool with its programmed waves but you have
to either hold on to your kid or put him in a raft or life preserver (which you
can rent or are provided) because the waves can get rambunctious.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">There are
plenty of lounge chairs provided by the park but even though there are so many,
they get taken fast. So, either get there early or use the lockers for your
stuff. Chances are you'll only be using the chair as a place holder or meeting
spot for your group.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">For older
kids there is another section called Splash Island that is a little more
thrilling and has height requirements between 36" to 40" - although
when I went on another day with my husband, we took 36" Knox down all the
slides his heart desired. He likes water and being splashed and it appeared the
ride attendants didn't mind as long as we were watching.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">There is a
100 gallon water bucket overhead there....that slowly fills up.....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHvNgtFgpzY9n0qFoWT733BnvaoUJNY5gwIg8ZDb9jl20SnaBH-4NnIkbxptw_ZMD4EA2U0tjNjQ6WaIhDNJFRWU7FFdkpc7xXBlmWbOtmJc8KFLt1yxZAiwpCpuu0-Rn73h3P8Mec4CA/s1600/IMG_4115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHvNgtFgpzY9n0qFoWT733BnvaoUJNY5gwIg8ZDb9jl20SnaBH-4NnIkbxptw_ZMD4EA2U0tjNjQ6WaIhDNJFRWU7FFdkpc7xXBlmWbOtmJc8KFLt1yxZAiwpCpuu0-Rn73h3P8Mec4CA/s320/IMG_4115.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">And then
dumps down<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9WBC5e_kndTrlalVG5NmTOcJoeobLkrpgVuNFLjg4leyKiGx3xKyGRL_qks6H4lDdUtxKZKeRwm3eRBpwDVcS2Q1UWZmIHb11vIB6RlEPQOB65Atobntzsc-47J3JurrlmapBTucH6c/s1600/IMG_4117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9WBC5e_kndTrlalVG5NmTOcJoeobLkrpgVuNFLjg4leyKiGx3xKyGRL_qks6H4lDdUtxKZKeRwm3eRBpwDVcS2Q1UWZmIHb11vIB6RlEPQOB65Atobntzsc-47J3JurrlmapBTucH6c/s320/IMG_4117.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Knox loved
it. Kaleb, (on the previous trip) not so much.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Eventually
Knox complained about being cold (the water is cool which is great on a normal
triple digit temp day, but on this day it was only in the low 80s) so we
decided to walk across the park to Magic Mountain.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">We had bought
a season pass last year for both parks because there is this little known
section in Magic Mountain called Bugs Bunny World <a href="http://www.sixflags.com/magicmountain/rides/kidsrides.aspx"><span style="color: #0537c3;">http://www.sixflags.com/magicmountain/rides/kidsrides.aspx</span></a> <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">that has a
couple small roller coasters and a bunch of slow moving, animated rides.
There's also a multi-story "clubhouse" called Looney Tunes
Lodge </span></b><b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">where kids can run around, climb, slide and blast each other with foam
balls. And there are usually no lines for any of it. After experiencing the
hours long wait times at Disneyland, this was a very appealing selling point
for us.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Last year
they also featured a live show with all the Looney Tunes characters in which
both my boys loved to participate. It makes for great home videos. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">It wasn't
playing this time but I hope it comes back.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">On this day,
Haley and Knox got to ride the roller coaster,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Cruise on a
practice date in their jeep,<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECkTLESclLiGfkyQTShPf83GY_0pM0ZE_f2fOAcaBrtXZRfatKxCQird-reXqU8No7P6j04EzbzCSdjooztkRS81ZZvgKiYsr-wAS2-OS_70LvJHXHWBv3pzo445QSIfXjAxap-8lmNw/s1600/IMG_4161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECkTLESclLiGfkyQTShPf83GY_0pM0ZE_f2fOAcaBrtXZRfatKxCQird-reXqU8No7P6j04EzbzCSdjooztkRS81ZZvgKiYsr-wAS2-OS_70LvJHXHWBv3pzo445QSIfXjAxap-8lmNw/s320/IMG_4161.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">And cuddle in
Bugs Bunny's house on his oversized pink sofa chair.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozqV7_M9tb-fivTb3QRSaq0cVTH7vmnrIS92usEjcBnpQtzIjYFoB3HxbOrXp-Lew8aw-qH0h0ILNmR_e3FGFFzATW7tThIhJoqPqhnV_OPyNV9o-a1ZGTbHdNIHmIrB4BiFi99a4rME/s1600/IMG_4162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozqV7_M9tb-fivTb3QRSaq0cVTH7vmnrIS92usEjcBnpQtzIjYFoB3HxbOrXp-Lew8aw-qH0h0ILNmR_e3FGFFzATW7tThIhJoqPqhnV_OPyNV9o-a1ZGTbHdNIHmIrB4BiFi99a4rME/s320/IMG_4162.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">Knox even got
to test his strength in the Strong Man hammer game. <o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">He didn't
actually ring the bell but after paying the modest $5 game fee, everyone is a
winner. So, he walked away with a Batman cape for his effort.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Times; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-language: JA;">It was a
great day. Knox was a great listener. And we can't wait to go back.</span></b><o:p></o:p><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1a1a1a;">You can read the LA Parent version of this post <a href="http://laparent.com/article/hurricane-harbor-and-magic-mountain-in-a-day.html" target="_blank">HERE</a></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-59806289652123825772013-05-24T12:31:00.002-07:002013-05-24T16:12:14.550-07:00Babysitters 101<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">OK, you're convinced ~ after my last compelling post ~ that you need to amp up your love life. Yes....with your husband! It'll be good for you, your hubby and most of all your kids, who will see their parents <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">in love</span> </i>and will then, in turn, choose someone to marry who embodies that ideal and who they will expect to <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">looooove</span></i> their entire lives. One of the whole points of a happy life, right?</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Or. If you're single, then you need someone to give you an </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">occassional</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> break so you can have an adult conversation, a girl's night out and maybe even meet the actual Mr. Right instead of that guy that was pretending to be him.)</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But. Who will watch the kids while you paint the town in crimson hearts accompanied by harps and violins? (Or shake that groove thang in your sequin capris?) If your family lives far away, or is just not available, you may have to find a babysitter. But, is it really worth the effort?</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have one friend who told me, a few years ago, when I shared with her that I had gone on a date with my husband at a time when my kids were still pretty little that she and her husband hadn't gone out in years. She said their dates consisted of sitting on the couch and maybe watching a movie on TV. I found out recently that they've since divorced. He cheated with ~ then married ~ her best friend, who went out all the time, ha ha.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">OK, that's an extreme example. But it does happen. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Maybe we don't divorce immediately but those of us who don't put energy into our relationship can languish in a murky sea of boredom and dissatisfaction. Who wants that? And it's scary to think that</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> every 13 seconds <a href="http://www.mckinleyirvin.com/blog/divorce/32-shocking-divorce-statistics/" target="_blank">a couple does divorce</a>.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If getting a sitter is the solution to a harmonious household or a merry, mellow mommy, then what are we waiting for?</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here's the how-to list....</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>Ways to find a babysitter:</u></span><br>
<br>
<ul>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Ask around</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Check babysitting websites: <a href="http://www.sittercity.com/?pc=gbrd&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_content=ggl-adtest-Brand-05&utm_campaign=Brand&gclid=CMOA38P4p7cCFStp7AodwgEAsg" target="_blank">Sittercity</a> or <a href="http://www.care.com/our-promise-p1087-q12296281.html?gclid=CNXd-Nf4p7cCFYxj7AodzjIA3A&_qs=1#utm_content=25219041990&utm_medium=sem&utm_campaign=General_Brand%7CGeneral_Exact&utm_source=google&utm_term=care_e&" target="_blank">Care</a> are good bets and you can even run background checks</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://jenslist.com/" target="_blank">Jen's List</a> is also a great resource</span></li>
</ul>
<br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The first thing you can obviously do, is ask around. Which of your friends has someone whom they love? That can be a little tricky though. Because, if you start using them on a regular basis it could cause a conflict with your friend's babysitting needs. This actually happened to me. I was so excited about my sitters that I started sharing their information with everyone that might need one including all my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://wvmomsclub.weebly.com/" target="_blank">MOMs Club</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> friends ~ which meant she could never babysit when I needed her. So ideally it would be best to find your own sitter. And only share her info with very close friends who will sign in blood not to use her on the nights you need her. One gal I did find from a friend (who wasn't using her much), Emily, is this amazing 16 year old who works 3 part-time jobs ~ between school ~ with great enthusiasm. When I asked her how much she would charge to watch my kids, she said it didn't really matter because she loved hanging out with kids so much. Really? Wow.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've also had great luck in two places online: <a href="http://www.sittercity.com/?pc=gbrd&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_content=ggl-adtest-Brand-05&utm_campaign=Brand&gclid=CMOA38P4p7cCFStp7AodwgEAsg" target="_blank">Sittercity</a> and <a href="http://www.care.com/our-promise-p1087-q12296281.html?gclid=CNXd-Nf4p7cCFYxj7AodzjIA3A&_qs=1#utm_content=25219041990&utm_medium=sem&utm_campaign=General_Brand%7CGeneral_Exact&utm_source=google&utm_term=care_e&" target="_blank">Care</a>. I prefer Sittercity but I'm not sure why. I've just had better luck there, I guess. When I first tried Sittercity I found a wonderful sitter, Tabitha. I was 6 months pregnant and already had an 18 month old boy who wanted to do anything except sit and listen. Mommy's swollen feet just weren't up for the chase so Tabitha was able to help me 2x a week. (Mommy was not feeling up to dating daddy too much at that point). Tabitha moved on to a more regular position as a nanny but now I have three other great gals in rotation (because when you need someone, you need someone). One of my sitters, Desiree is a volunteer fighfighter EMT who is in nursing school. Total tomboy, loves to play with my rambuncious boys. Another, Lindsey was president of her high school and is now studying PR at Boston University. She sits for us in the summers when she's back home (like now!). And the third, Allison (the one my friends stole</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">) works at the <a href="http://www.californiacartwheelcenter.com/" target="_blank">CA Cartwheel Center</a> and is studying to be an Occupational Therapist. </span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">These girls are more qualified to watch my kids than I am!</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When you place an ad online, you can get many responses. Do yourself and them a favor and listen to your gut. You don't have to interview them all. If she seems flaky on the website, she's probably even worse in person. And if the picture she submitted shows her partying with her friends, you might consider passing on that one too. Do an initial phone interview before you meet in person. Make sure she can accomodate your scheduling needs. If you decide to have her come meet you, have her bring a casual resume with a list of references. You have to ask for this because most won't think to do this and time is a-wasting! it's a good idea to have the kids there while you talk to her so you can see how she interacts with them. It's a great sign if she offers to help you with whatever comes up while you're talking to her i.e. she helps distract one of the kids while you answer the phone or includes your child in a quick conversation. You want her to actually like children. The caretaker websites offer a list of suggested questions for the interview. Scan the ones that are important to you, like: what would you do if my child got hurt while you were watching them and how would you handle it if one brother tried to impale the other with his lightsaber? You know. The usual.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You can also try <a href="http://jenslist.com/" target="_blank">Jen's List</a>, which is btw, an amazing, free, local resource for parents who like to do stuff with their family. Jen's List has a seperate section for nannies and babysitters referred by other Jen's List subscribers so you have a built-in reference and they're usually willing to talk to you and answer any questions you may have about their posting. And if they're taking the time to post, then you know they love her.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You'll know right away if a girl is a good fit for your family. Don't feel guilty if she's not. Just be polite and thank her for coming. During one of my babysitter searches, I couldn't win between the aspiring models who showed up to the interviews in stage make-up to the dominatrix who showed up in thigh-high stiletto boots. To play with kids, <i>really</i>? </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(she looked normal in her picture)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> But this last round, every girl was a winner. </span></span></span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In my babysitting job ads, I ask for someone who will play with the boys instead of watch TV with them. I ask for someone who is willing to do small chores around the house while the boys sleep. Things like, laundry, folding clothes, dishes, straightening stuff up and restoring the play area to it's original (or better) condition. All the girls that work for me, do all of this. Yes, they're college girls so you have to actually ASK them to do the things you want done. Don't set yourself up for disappointment by assuming it will just be done when you get home. Say things like, "I would so love it if you could fold the laundry when the boys go down." And, "It would really, really help me if you could do all the dishes and wipe the counters when you have time." You have to ask and if you ask with sweet enthusiasm, you'll feel better about it and so will they.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How much should you charge? And what should you have her do? Now this part is purelly a subjective call. Babysitters are asking outrageous amounts to play with your kids and watch TV while they sleep. For some reason, they think they are entitled to it because having them at your house is worth a lot of money. To them at least. I've found that the babysitters who ask for more than $12 an hour are usually too entitled to even do a good job for me. </span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I pay most of my sitters $10 an hour. One gets $12. And they are happy with that. Yes, I usually give a little more at the end of the night, for instance, I round up from the hour in which we came home. Or just give her a $5 or $10 bump if it's close to the end of the hour. But the agreement is for $10 an hour and that's how you weed out the hard workers from the entitled ones. You don't want an entitled girl. No one is going to make a living from babysitting for you, it's just extra money so don't feel like you need to support them. And going out shouldn't run you $500 by the end of the night. It's a tough economy.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Check her references if you like her and if she shines, put her in your smartphone. That way you have a string of girls and you can know in minutes whether they are available or not the day or night you need them.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Those are the basics, at least, for me. Did I forget something?</span>Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-22681662884314813262013-05-11T14:58:00.001-07:002013-05-22T16:16:10.015-07:00Secret Dates<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Remember the drum circle beating
inside your tummy, the feet running around your room trying to find the perfect
outfit, the make-up so meticulously applied all in anticipation of that evening
date with your special sweetheart? Then you married him. And all these years
later, what happened? You still love him but now when you see him you’re
running past each other, hair barely brushed (hoping you remembered to at least
clean your teeth as you graze a fleeting kiss across his cheek), sweat pants
hanging, yelling “Get off your little brother!” or screeching at your teenager
not to forget her lunch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s not
how you thought your love life would look before you married your Prince
Charming. But between dishes and homework and carpools, what can we do? How do
we go back and do we <i>really</i> want to? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yes. Yes, you do want to go back
and you <i>really</i> want to. Maybe you can’t be those swinging singles able to drop
everything for a spontaneous out of town rendezvous<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but you can still get excited, you can still
appreciate one another and you can get those drums in your tummy beating again.
But how? You may ask, between mouthfuls of a hastily put together lunch in the
middle of the afternoon or right before finally clocking out at the end of the
day after every person in your house has had their needs met.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’ll tell you. Between my three
active boys, two part-time jobs and a half-way put together house, my husband
and I have gone past the conversations crowded with irritated undertones of
“why are you doing it that way instead of the good way?” and into a space where
hands linger on each other’s fingers as we walk by and kisses happen in the middle of
the room, just because. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We do something we call Secret
Dates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yes, with each other. This is how
it works: Every week one of us takes turns planning an evening and doesn’t tell
the other what is in store for them until we arrive at our destination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So simple. And yet completely
transformative because it turns an otherwise blah blah occasion into an
adventure full of suspense and intrigue. When’s the last time you had suspense
and intrigue in your mommy life? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The last secret date we had was a
lot of fun. It was his turn to plan and believe me, he’s getting better at
this. First we went to a Peruvian Restaurant in Pasadena. This was improvised.
He knew the area well enough to know there would be several options close to
the actual venue where he was taking me. So Peruvian <a href="http://www.chozamama.com/" target="_blank">Choza Mama</a> caught our eye. They welcomed
us like family which I love in a restaurant. There was a live celloist/guitar
player softly setting the scene in the spacious earth toned room, the drinks
were local to the area and the food was dressed in savory spices. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Then we walked over to the main
event. He led me to the <a href="http://www.pasadenaplayhouse.org/" target="_blank">Pasadena Playhouse</a> to see a play by an author I enjoy,
Mitch Albom. He called it <a href="http://www.pasadenaplayhouse.org/box-office/carrie-hamilton-theatre/duck-hunter-shoots-angel.html" target="_blank">Duck Hunter Shoots Angel</a>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/VO8x2N-mj4Y?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">First of all, of all the things he could have picked, he picked a play. As I looked at the marquee, my mind started to jump up and down, clapping in glee. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At one point in our relationship, this type of activity was about as far from his thing as things could get. We have had many "discussions" over the years about him putting more effort into making our relationship a priority, into me having to do "everything" when it came to making plans for us and why couldn't he just be more romantic in general? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> So, here I am staring at this play poster feeling so loved
and cared for. I looked up into his eyes and he smiled down at me with pride. "Honey, you picked a play?" I asked incredulously. And he tried to sound very matter of fact, it's a no big deal kind of thing when he said, "Of course. I knew you liked him and I thought it'd be fun." Yay! I hugged him and we went up the stairs and proceeded to laugh out loud in a theater small enough to see the faces of the actors and big enough to host a very talented cast. The play spoke to our basic desires for love and redemption in the same way that Albom's books managed to snag a part of our souls while we read them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Last week, when I planned the date, we went to the <a href="http://www.the-stonehaus.com/" target="_blank">Stonehaus</a> for dinner and then to see my childhood favorite, <a href="http://www.toaks.org/cap/tickets/events/event.asp?eventID=1807" target="_blank">Grease</a> playing locally (which was a great change for us from having to schlep over the hill). But the point of these Secret Dates - besides the thrill of the surprise - is also supposed to be sharing what one of us really loves with the other. No arguments, no compromise because done is done.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So when he went out of his way to make me happy instead of satisfying his own needs, that to me was an unequivocal show of love. And it made me a better person because now I really want to find something that will make him as happy as he made me and if the competition is now about who can make the other happier, how can that be anything but good?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This just shows that even things that start out as mischevious acts of selfishness could blossom into beauty if watered with the right amount of love. Because this did indeed start out as a selfish way to get my needs met after we first started dating. I planned our first Secret Date when I decided he needed a haircut but we had just started dating and it was too soon to suggest such a drastic step. So, instead, I concocted this idea of taking him on a Secret Date which included us getting haircuts and mani/pedis. It's a wonder he continued to want to date me after that! But at least he knew what he was signing up for and I can definitely say after knowing each other for almost a decade, we have both become a better person as a result of our love for each other, warts and all.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, now that you've heard our sappy tale, I'd love to know what you do to keep your relationship vital and exciting?</span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-24324389706535584302012-05-02T12:54:00.000-07:002012-05-02T12:54:00.002-07:00Living Life On the SidewalkHow many of us are waiting for something to happen so our "real" life can begin? When I graduate from college then my life can start. When I get married, when I have a baby, when I get that job, when we move into that new house....I know I fall into this category. Over and over again. I'm always waiting for the next big thing to happen so my life can really start.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I shared a moment with my children when they discovered caterpillars on the park sidewalk.<br />
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I'm not sure if they too are already fantasizing about the day their "real" lives will begin (though I do hear Kaleb say things like, "Mommy when I turn five, then can I watch Power Rangers?" ~ he just turned four!) but it was at that moment that I realized that this was my actual life and it was already happening! I've done most of the stuff on my list: I graduated from college. I had a fulfilling career. I met an amazing man and married him. I had two incredible children and inherited one from my husband. My life is on. There is no reason to keep delaying my full appreciation of it.<br />
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I recently heard that people don't realize that they're happy until the moment's over. That made me so sad. It made me want to horde every moment so I can use every bit of it up while I still had it. Everything changes. Sometimes not fast enough, sometimes much too fast. But once it's gone, it's just a memory. I'm going to try and make my memories ones of moments I don't regret not appreciating.Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-28834648899668066182009-01-13T20:53:00.000-08:002011-07-12T22:01:54.895-07:00Kaleb Turns One<div>I meant to go back and edit this one day but since Kaleb has recently turned three and even has a not so brand new one year old brother, I figured I'd better gitty up! I am publishing this even thought it's ridiculously outdated because the pictures are cute!</div><div><br /></div>Kaleb is one.<br /><br />365 days of inching his way to take a bigger portion of space in this world and in our hearts.<br /><br />That is crazy. When they say it happens fast, they don't lie. He's practicing a new word: no. He's been shaking his head no since one night when we were taking a bath, maybe 2 months ago (the baby book didn't have a line for 'when he first said no' so I can't remember <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> when) and I asked if he was ready to get out. He shook his head no and that began the first instance of him communicating with me in a comprehensive fashion.<br /><br />Since then, he's started pointing at things he wants or where he wants us to take him or wants to know what they are. He'll sometimes make sounds that resemble a drunk's slurred "What's that?" I try to encourage enunciation but he ignores me. Or just laughs.<br /><br />Here are a few highlights since I haven't had a chance to post since NOVEMBER.<br /><br />He's crawling now but it took a while:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzkhYGonQ3JMfVsX5dEdYR9mQP9Qa1K9Fr6WWDW7lpAKZzkQy1IWtalCQb40a0O_mJUDJ4jb6mfX5F9xDh2iw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br />Daddy tried to help:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyYAURHjTWy-Ei8l3IUnKCXezo4NS17w3Sx1_rd7kbysUod6ysbMlUBkxJjqCs2gPX5AbK_um7swQJV6yKlWw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br /><br />Now crawling's a snap. His favorite place to crawl is on the changing table - while I'm trying to change him with a big poop still stuck to his tushy.<br /><br />He started expressing himself facially before he ever started saying any words. Here is how he began to express his displeasure with us.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0iFVofcrFH4ryN_C_yQQ5IuL3ncvoKZTqmeqWxCWPAquQCiRHFbq6LaksRA_WvtURunC7epmBgsh1PxDx0FCFDny5JEEEUcPJlC2ya4hOhxKiLdnw-5YooxxIe2dymP_jqxRcT1CCKg/s1600-h/DSC_0033.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0iFVofcrFH4ryN_C_yQQ5IuL3ncvoKZTqmeqWxCWPAquQCiRHFbq6LaksRA_WvtURunC7epmBgsh1PxDx0FCFDny5JEEEUcPJlC2ya4hOhxKiLdnw-5YooxxIe2dymP_jqxRcT1CCKg/s320/DSC_0033.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328115371272662402" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiyVCuJpDfSOCfrmynfZ9bMdOrA-rAsREa3IQFwo0oo6vfp2sfEVnXQ7w2_i4qOUyhExfMpzKr7nnQRbJervlMTghPuNrDz5IoDWsAW46_R7oVUNlACC66YWH6lgV9OhkFi76W365iS7Q/s1600-h/DSC_0035.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiyVCuJpDfSOCfrmynfZ9bMdOrA-rAsREa3IQFwo0oo6vfp2sfEVnXQ7w2_i4qOUyhExfMpzKr7nnQRbJervlMTghPuNrDz5IoDWsAW46_R7oVUNlACC66YWH6lgV9OhkFi76W365iS7Q/s320/DSC_0035.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328116609935856514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRnhjMXeG2t8lbJ3aRk7Y8Pe284buRDYNAWWGAL61qZGxBvR-hRQDkDEMnaKzj4zuNnS5e0suQ1W-7hPBSqlhUkz1I1C_yfieVKowUo7PhghLfcpmtAWXFoW-osX4uuvNGN1vAzkp9Aw/s1600-h/DSC_0036.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRnhjMXeG2t8lbJ3aRk7Y8Pe284buRDYNAWWGAL61qZGxBvR-hRQDkDEMnaKzj4zuNnS5e0suQ1W-7hPBSqlhUkz1I1C_yfieVKowUo7PhghLfcpmtAWXFoW-osX4uuvNGN1vAzkp9Aw/s320/DSC_0036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328116871193099474" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51HUhYqQtcYSCwTRUBpBf_VAdX9ReMje_bGibEdKBF2Am7CHvjt6xZLg0-lRhJuLchUkLlTOjBCHB79sn-onPS3km6pTvJwF0pukZUTF1tqyqMfMMlRVS840qR8XgC_l0JrEcmIJH8VA/s1600-h/DSC_0039.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51HUhYqQtcYSCwTRUBpBf_VAdX9ReMje_bGibEdKBF2Am7CHvjt6xZLg0-lRhJuLchUkLlTOjBCHB79sn-onPS3km6pTvJwF0pukZUTF1tqyqMfMMlRVS840qR8XgC_l0JrEcmIJH8VA/s320/DSC_0039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328117443628443922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />He's still not really napping and my mom is a godsend, she comes once a week (sometimes we'll kidnap her for a few days, yay!) so I can at least wash my hair and get some stuff done. No, he's still not napping more than 1/2 an hour if that. Unless I'm in the car, of course....<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1K_FC2gNWqqJaZf63u8n9ZI6aJxriElVZsGz2bleQTgx_3J-bD-n7eJwl3Ul8pLXezlULLWzSc8bOHWkOQunrvarweuDGP6AraUjtFV3_OeUPXfqssFZ6ilhz6S5DGst7U4JqzCfvs88/s1600-h/babs.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1K_FC2gNWqqJaZf63u8n9ZI6aJxriElVZsGz2bleQTgx_3J-bD-n7eJwl3Ul8pLXezlULLWzSc8bOHWkOQunrvarweuDGP6AraUjtFV3_OeUPXfqssFZ6ilhz6S5DGst7U4JqzCfvs88/s320/babs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328118384409330338" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For some insane reason I thought it would get easier as he got older. Well, I know what I'm doing now (at least that I won't drop or break him) but the problem is (and by problem I mean gift)....that he is growing at light speed.Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-83779696707204498132008-11-25T16:12:00.000-08:002008-11-29T17:59:11.316-08:00Superheros<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Sometimes I think if I could skip eating and going to the bathroom - I'd have more time to do other stuff. Stuff that's gotten neglected because Kaleb's average nap time these days is about half an hour......<br /><br />I thought, I hoped and secretly prayed the day we introduced solid foods to him at 6 months, THINGS would be different: I would get more than 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep - I would have a chance to finally finish my thank you cards from my baby shower - I could maintain order in the house - I could call some friends - I could squeeze a yoga workout in - I could WRITE and submit stuff to be published like I was doing while I was pregnant - I could wash my hair.....oh the dreams kept piling and my expectations of the moment solids first hit the lining of his bottomless pit kept growing...until the moment came and.....<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwgaibyAcGEJdfmaV3d33orbiM_CPKkHtCcVsGfUyOTxZp7_zmDkb9jqckpLVbbHgKkyumhxEmnpQAU1fwuYQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br />...nothing happened....<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 130%;">Well, not immediately anyway. You may have noticed that I am indeed writing right now (dishes undone and, uhm, some other stuff). I've even gotten the chance to make some pressing phone calls and still he sleeps. It's been over an hour. I have to pinch myself.<br /><br />Every once in a while I do get the gift of time. It didn't happen right away but sometimes now I get an hour or (gulp) two! to spend any way i wish.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">(definitely when I'm not teething that is: LOOK-my first two teeth!)</span></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz885vQDZliA31W_GWwka6N-xXt4QthUh1Mvp2TixtRk_UZE6ocepxIfi8XHPVhtFBHi3qPYFNAUsO_W8jcHVNX9CfOT5nJd4gtik5AjFK9wqQYwb6vPkZq6zd2Oh6E0XxwJ7T2J8ol7Y/s1600-h/kaleb+teeth.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz885vQDZliA31W_GWwka6N-xXt4QthUh1Mvp2TixtRk_UZE6ocepxIfi8XHPVhtFBHi3qPYFNAUsO_W8jcHVNX9CfOT5nJd4gtik5AjFK9wqQYwb6vPkZq6zd2Oh6E0XxwJ7T2J8ol7Y/s320/kaleb+teeth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273878478802619906" border="0" /></a><br /></span></div><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><br />Don't get me wrong, please, I love being Kaleb's mother. LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT. I always dreamed that no matter how high-powered my career would be (which ended up more on the caring side instead of the high-powered one), I would spend the earliest, most formative years of my kids' lives molding their silly-putty little brains into the musical, mathematical, analytical, eloquent and charming geniuses they would become. The world needs some heroes and I was determined to produce them.<br /><br />Now, though - I'm thinking - </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >maybe</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >....that's a little too much pressure to put on a 7-month old child. Maybe we could just just start by going to our developmental playgroup and making some art.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZURiNcLaVc8vBZUHTnMLRTBWE52pDII8RwBY0pcgcVQcSGHflJvJc5ycm9rztZzD5mrimA-8RBHUO6YaURTYKL_0bLB_iNQWjnbqCNO-5462h64JiWEekW5VftckS0CsiXdnf3CPiQY/s1600-h/OTB+-+10.17.08+-+Finger+Painting+-+102.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZURiNcLaVc8vBZUHTnMLRTBWE52pDII8RwBY0pcgcVQcSGHflJvJc5ycm9rztZzD5mrimA-8RBHUO6YaURTYKL_0bLB_iNQWjnbqCNO-5462h64JiWEekW5VftckS0CsiXdnf3CPiQY/s320/OTB+-+10.17.08+-+Finger+Painting+-+102.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273227286984905666" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUG6AIXsiRG8wvuFqoKEGT_UnbxfBpIuQWL6hyphenhyphenbzAhLxW8QAFiiK4oqKzPLYI7LflFvHN2lV-bRQNdt1PUhKhP5czhlqEg2s0TGKv9GV4-c_eonnbqCvSuoseh3ovsPXmQNm7X4RC1O9o/s1600-h/OTB+-+10.17.08+-+Finger+Painting+-+108.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUG6AIXsiRG8wvuFqoKEGT_UnbxfBpIuQWL6hyphenhyphenbzAhLxW8QAFiiK4oqKzPLYI7LflFvHN2lV-bRQNdt1PUhKhP5czhlqEg2s0TGKv9GV4-c_eonnbqCvSuoseh3ovsPXmQNm7X4RC1O9o/s320/OTB+-+10.17.08+-+Finger+Painting+-+108.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273219759945339394" border="0" /></a><br />We could do experiments in crazy outfits.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCc9bJGgp25wfirB8sWsTa1ZlVV1Jnp-Z6cU5tpAxsWiaC0EibzAzQQMBwvCF3h6OWPudMzGNuF08eWm5L3y6Xqq6-j9yBbCPQHQ-PU-shsn3MCdx5LwOVAua_oLF6shgdA4rTbfNdnY/s1600-h/otb-halloween.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCc9bJGgp25wfirB8sWsTa1ZlVV1Jnp-Z6cU5tpAxsWiaC0EibzAzQQMBwvCF3h6OWPudMzGNuF08eWm5L3y6Xqq6-j9yBbCPQHQ-PU-shsn3MCdx5LwOVAua_oLF6shgdA4rTbfNdnY/s320/otb-halloween.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273227869554502898" border="0" /></a><br />We could wear beads and philosophize about life.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJTRTOSzRjjQyGCW5tua6ruIb1qabRKdRV3H0e3D9nWDK16gQ9NYB2csD7kvrKgN7_TZJm45N0bl4bleGwUh2GcGcHmzNg3Yki8GIWV8zGsMAetvtTF-lvrZD7rFxWZis6GyKqb-9sY0/s1600-h/kaleb+beads.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJTRTOSzRjjQyGCW5tua6ruIb1qabRKdRV3H0e3D9nWDK16gQ9NYB2csD7kvrKgN7_TZJm45N0bl4bleGwUh2GcGcHmzNg3Yki8GIWV8zGsMAetvtTF-lvrZD7rFxWZis6GyKqb-9sY0/s320/kaleb+beads.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273232934182244146" border="0" /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">We could even make beautiful music together.<br /></span><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Frinas.roost%2Falbumid%2F5273799494371452993%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss%26authkey%3DoHli3tQBrVQ" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="400" width="600"></embed><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span></div><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Maybe it'll be enough that my son is a good, happy person that cares about others. Maybe </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" >that'll</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" > be enough to make him a hero to somebody and it doesn't have to be to everybody. I mean - if a person like Obama can't be a hero to everybody - an open-minded, intellectual risen from the depths of food stamps and a racist society - it just shows there are too many </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" >everybodys</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" > to satisfy them all.<br /><br />And speaking of Obama - during the Democratic Convention they aired a documentary that talked about </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" >Obama's</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" > mama - an outside the home worker - and how she used to get up at 4 in the morning with him to go over his studies.<br /><br />4 in the morning.<br /><br />I guess she wasn't breastfeeding every two hours but still! I had to dig myself out from under this particular inferiority complex by realizing that I'm doing the best I can - Kaleb and I go to <a href="http://www.otbee.com/">school</a></span><span style="font-family:arial;"> three days a week. He has his little backpack with all his "learning tools" - </span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" >maracas</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >, bells, streamers, spiders on a stick - you know, the usual.<br /><br />Sometimes, we'll even do homework.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NZwcR4fBtfcQR35nZltMzwJKU47WQKY4oVkLNp0aQNDvBCmC61XMVi1jiBJnsDlng5F8HbAPDkrnZt99spQzou4IvgfVi2QGvnOevab3jpKVAyYFg1iSmgV5HQmfdJKFRMpjAE8urvw/s1600-h/kaleb+backpack.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NZwcR4fBtfcQR35nZltMzwJKU47WQKY4oVkLNp0aQNDvBCmC61XMVi1jiBJnsDlng5F8HbAPDkrnZt99spQzou4IvgfVi2QGvnOevab3jpKVAyYFg1iSmgV5HQmfdJKFRMpjAE8urvw/s320/kaleb+backpack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273875864232021826" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />We read, we sing songs, we do tummy time but now it looks more like table time since he is preparing to crawl.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8dYduWiZlGU_RZOQtaLqRP-BxlDqbKvlg8QRQErzoPgbv6pRgGg09Ua6kNqjHCoSqSZRxeYkEiJmtGfjr4rlZuYVshPIxL680PX8NwoCa5q3t80OFe2lb7Tx2HjJh3ytpzUPqgomVWg/s1600-h/kaleb+crawling.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8dYduWiZlGU_RZOQtaLqRP-BxlDqbKvlg8QRQErzoPgbv6pRgGg09Ua6kNqjHCoSqSZRxeYkEiJmtGfjr4rlZuYVshPIxL680PX8NwoCa5q3t80OFe2lb7Tx2HjJh3ytpzUPqgomVWg/s320/kaleb+crawling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273876455802352674" border="0" /></a><br />I do more stuff for him than anyone else in my life and I was gratified to hear, from actually my mother - who loves him like crazy and has </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >plenty</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" > of baby experience - that he wasn't an easy baby. Really? How could I know? I don't have anyone to compare him to.<br /><br />I was going to throw in another slideshow of "firsts" but I don't want to overwhelm anyone with cuteness so be on the lookout for another blog soon (nap willing, that is!)</span>Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-48591937336641791422008-08-19T21:45:00.000-07:002008-08-21T21:08:24.355-07:00Kinda Camping<span style="font-size:130%;">If you put your face close enough, these days, Kaleb may reach up and give it a squeeze. He may explore your cheeks with soft, tentative fingers and sometimes you might even get a heartbreaking giggle. And if you're still standing, he'll knock you over if he accompanies this burst of love with a cavernous display of his toothless gums. Or maybe that's just me.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdE5njgkX7I3UKkyu6-uCQzKsO91manuA9b3LthFTYp17nupeaNqU-dOpasZBCLCz8PWT_0vp4IkDZ11xkUkb3tvWbRcwSTepMp5DE-vaMXYDgHN-m4XJXO0tELPU80StN27e8FPUhZY/s1600-h/momnk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdE5njgkX7I3UKkyu6-uCQzKsO91manuA9b3LthFTYp17nupeaNqU-dOpasZBCLCz8PWT_0vp4IkDZ11xkUkb3tvWbRcwSTepMp5DE-vaMXYDgHN-m4XJXO0tELPU80StN27e8FPUhZY/s320/momnk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236852757698988850" border="0" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />He's really gotten very social lately. He smiles at strangers when they stop to compliment him in a store (as mommy tries to slyly back away from the nice, potential germ-carriers).<br /><br />He used to cry when someone would stick their faces to close to his "turf" but no longer. He may glance at me for a quick smile of reassurance and then he'll turn it on for his guest.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXmrzK_eTf9ORw8vUkE8hT4AxshkDrGvV5w1qcSia-SAa5ipmuR7WaLWeyO4ovnpAOkCoyflFNimr1ciFhK5qIsbs4aNMPUlFGZmkDzNcveYA2z0sZpz9jrtTOT_Xbw9gl4ZrRjLpud8/s1600-h/smilek.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXmrzK_eTf9ORw8vUkE8hT4AxshkDrGvV5w1qcSia-SAa5ipmuR7WaLWeyO4ovnpAOkCoyflFNimr1ciFhK5qIsbs4aNMPUlFGZmkDzNcveYA2z0sZpz9jrtTOT_Xbw9gl4ZrRjLpud8/s320/smilek.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236854002702119090" border="0" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">His mystery crying has stopped. I guess he's old enough to start becoming a bigger part of this world (see previous entry). If he cries, there's a tangible explanation. Mostly it's because he's tired. Mommy will sometimes lug him around because she's still learning to live between nap times. Sometimes it's hunger (And that's a particularly loud one. No mistaking that one for say - boredom).<br /><br />The hair blow dryer has become my best friend. Times when he's too tired and fussy to sleep are quickly remedied with a 10 minute blast of rushing air (pointed away from the baby, of course!). I tried this as a potential remedy when I read that this "white noise" mimics the sound he heard in my womb. I don't know, I wasn't there but I'll tell you - it works like a charm.<br /><br />Turns out he's a multi-tasker. He's found his thumb and will suck on the little bitty thing whenever his heart desires. And sometimes it desires right in the middle of mealtime. Boob will compete with thumb for oral terrain. And sometimes he'll miss his mouth and instead stick his thumb in or on his nose or maybe his eye. Occasionally it'll end up in his ear.<br /><br />We went camping last week. Well, kinda camping. We rented a motorhome so the baby would be more comfortable.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCYLRc7ZZ24yEZVsmx1NkYBt-bFCLMZamY6F2CWjV80squqUFr-utER83Wn1TVYwIX3ArKI6-jyjfpL-o7JXiYmuMKQ8LRks2yYKgK9dSAVj1HpX9rBYPbwVzphOxCANQXmTZTixC7W4U/s1600-h/rv.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCYLRc7ZZ24yEZVsmx1NkYBt-bFCLMZamY6F2CWjV80squqUFr-utER83Wn1TVYwIX3ArKI6-jyjfpL-o7JXiYmuMKQ8LRks2yYKgK9dSAVj1HpX9rBYPbwVzphOxCANQXmTZTixC7W4U/s320/rv.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236856604038937314" border="0" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Now, I have always had very strong opinions about people who camp in motorhomes (Howard always laughs when I go down this road). When you have access to a bed and don't have to walk across a campground in the middle on the night to pee, you're not camping. When you can watch a DVD on a giant TV set and listen to the radio, you are not roughing it. I know some may disagree but I don't care. If you don't have to give up some of the modern conveniences to focus instead on the beauty of nature and your inner strength to endure it, what is the point of leaving your living room? Just make a day trip.<br /><br />Anyway, we rented a pretty sweet 33-foot motorhome "for Kaleb's sake."<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErPn5u1f4jERNR1_3K1UDPmk_0DGEBEOiDdvWDmJU9HVo5CR0VOUPn2FgHcpcxZfgjsWoGGBrkIUkorOhBmsEeu4EdeYVzpNMsWbAyHZCOPpHQSHcKytzSQp2LhwuKwRzqCsvgjXMm5k/s1600-h/gen+beach.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErPn5u1f4jERNR1_3K1UDPmk_0DGEBEOiDdvWDmJU9HVo5CR0VOUPn2FgHcpcxZfgjsWoGGBrkIUkorOhBmsEeu4EdeYVzpNMsWbAyHZCOPpHQSHcKytzSQp2LhwuKwRzqCsvgjXMm5k/s320/gen+beach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236857332190987202" border="0" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">We parked it at our favorite surf beach in San Onofre.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHRzmKsMFQgzKOsTAoNf2rvHXMYe1yu5fFQgOXOkG-wdIX8pZcojS-AJ-Pc1c8ayWstLpWnOWjbNWfwxatSAy_d-nAIAo8vnOjWTpss8YPvX3_MK0xUiqIPN-XzwjsgNw56yD_CSalfM/s1600-h/old+man%27s.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHRzmKsMFQgzKOsTAoNf2rvHXMYe1yu5fFQgOXOkG-wdIX8pZcojS-AJ-Pc1c8ayWstLpWnOWjbNWfwxatSAy_d-nAIAo8vnOjWTpss8YPvX3_MK0xUiqIPN-XzwjsgNw56yD_CSalfM/s320/old+man%27s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236858169708272162" border="0" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">And took turns surfing.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSzzH7dh4-tFBTc0kUxX8wq_gWy69Qbuk1RZf1MnpSQIJ9PGR_Ye5T9cGffhD6qjNqVkfMATdjUK3cztdq-b7xQWrEKtvpPk1xcRBSGmMeolxhp2LCXowrGgYZddoUi00-oE7-39ZM7Xk/s1600-h/kylesurf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSzzH7dh4-tFBTc0kUxX8wq_gWy69Qbuk1RZf1MnpSQIJ9PGR_Ye5T9cGffhD6qjNqVkfMATdjUK3cztdq-b7xQWrEKtvpPk1xcRBSGmMeolxhp2LCXowrGgYZddoUi00-oE7-39ZM7Xk/s320/kylesurf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237137128271556642" border="0" /></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReEXdyADeWL0m2VI00Eq-7fu71rUV48jX5oOcTht_K2KaY_ziHs7u2ycscE-kQDFLJ75kkXptwflQqLmk8_3PlTrwi929KjbiPlplmv6BctaQ8-sh1byoyV0wdCyJdED3VYK9QrVrves/s1600-h/kylesurf.jpg"><br /></a></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhZ1yOLc7u7z5TG1IRjyMdSsxc_AsEI2fRzOid6bfiCzYNKWz5qldjyPtDTr9fKiJerz4o0RDgYT12KVEFWpEsbjV6gSzyX7WRgB8rGxA_S00W45ShULWVI5AO-8ffrsf2f3t5Tuok6c/s1600-h/howsurf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhZ1yOLc7u7z5TG1IRjyMdSsxc_AsEI2fRzOid6bfiCzYNKWz5qldjyPtDTr9fKiJerz4o0RDgYT12KVEFWpEsbjV6gSzyX7WRgB8rGxA_S00W45ShULWVI5AO-8ffrsf2f3t5Tuok6c/s320/howsurf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236861337361534882" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif665iDNsBlUJJG7gFkGjXGRzfR5KRqj_JxJHOuTKJuSpDcpF2rJeFThQwaGFtxGEUBaMi-bt49syVC08j3rITTfGb8pa20UiUdjka8XorHaXobT4sCGd784IcOuc2FoIg_6afZJ_8_H4/s1600-h/rinasurf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif665iDNsBlUJJG7gFkGjXGRzfR5KRqj_JxJHOuTKJuSpDcpF2rJeFThQwaGFtxGEUBaMi-bt49syVC08j3rITTfGb8pa20UiUdjka8XorHaXobT4sCGd784IcOuc2FoIg_6afZJ_8_H4/s320/rinasurf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236861587418490066" border="0" /></a><br />Kaleb joined in on the fun.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnNR95fUXzfLlaVF553foQgTRgLfzY_1M_Jr0jF9AXVua_ef_J_94P1rtywK3PsNIdTpCizTZ1XcsEQPcAwiuShcJcHEebeRb8LBxbfo8VeOQIpA8bW2RjFNLTAx8McOUcfzodb-IhxJQ/s1600-h/ksurf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnNR95fUXzfLlaVF553foQgTRgLfzY_1M_Jr0jF9AXVua_ef_J_94P1rtywK3PsNIdTpCizTZ1XcsEQPcAwiuShcJcHEebeRb8LBxbfo8VeOQIpA8bW2RjFNLTAx8McOUcfzodb-IhxJQ/s320/ksurf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236862154856910194" border="0" /></a><br />Though his "board" is the land-locked training wheel version.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObFPQ2k4STZikEOmJ0T-97Y3QgrvHdp_RqP530vFc7oldm-LTGmqPpXAUeNDyOcpbrwH7ieRi_5KQIT1FnJ5CLv-YcCRoqi2CVWSIdS1WqrrZ_uAkMEr8fpVrACnN2H2hXo1It_GlPlg/s1600-h/ksurf2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObFPQ2k4STZikEOmJ0T-97Y3QgrvHdp_RqP530vFc7oldm-LTGmqPpXAUeNDyOcpbrwH7ieRi_5KQIT1FnJ5CLv-YcCRoqi2CVWSIdS1WqrrZ_uAkMEr8fpVrACnN2H2hXo1It_GlPlg/s320/ksurf2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236862477939309186" border="0" /></a>(duh)<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">Our friend Rebekah came down to join us for the day.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQYV-QDi8FWupTlLOJrYHa2m_ulmxg32ncRVy3h6xh16RC8kDwMOiiF_fbdAuKrDCH9zPHoU5CY3V7wF4a12CMDSCdqo3lzj6N4BYz5Uw96wG3gKXUTkRJnAhxrMtmH2CeHD21jbQRulQ/s1600-h/rebsurf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQYV-QDi8FWupTlLOJrYHa2m_ulmxg32ncRVy3h6xh16RC8kDwMOiiF_fbdAuKrDCH9zPHoU5CY3V7wF4a12CMDSCdqo3lzj6N4BYz5Uw96wG3gKXUTkRJnAhxrMtmH2CeHD21jbQRulQ/s320/rebsurf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237137729132287810" border="0" /></a><br />And my college friend, Kelly also visited with her two little girls.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixRrJ4K6t-JR1twFsgz6XVYmI3ldSYpF6mFsWlRLppuW4WGKbrsYcarQ94chafoK-RBSGvJvlM8z0775O-l89BTzVJG9-PKYfKhyVlqG2zIyQr0j0NImkVhMcLeRcmzgB8m5r_A0PRqg/s1600-h/3lewis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixRrJ4K6t-JR1twFsgz6XVYmI3ldSYpF6mFsWlRLppuW4WGKbrsYcarQ94chafoK-RBSGvJvlM8z0775O-l89BTzVJG9-PKYfKhyVlqG2zIyQr0j0NImkVhMcLeRcmzgB8m5r_A0PRqg/s320/3lewis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237138870023324658" border="0" /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJVyYNcYUVTyxXOaFfQPPT7LyAXewRnbt5YcQ6-ouNCD5Vg6EHXEet8Mn79iwZBpjakdBiRlCkl-IOgRGyp-HFKtvpjKNwZ_7E7cwwlnD5M2Ut0ElEcpE-Qh8QsUswTNDIXCwggqZbMc/s1600-h/kelcamp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJVyYNcYUVTyxXOaFfQPPT7LyAXewRnbt5YcQ6-ouNCD5Vg6EHXEet8Mn79iwZBpjakdBiRlCkl-IOgRGyp-HFKtvpjKNwZ_7E7cwwlnD5M2Ut0ElEcpE-Qh8QsUswTNDIXCwggqZbMc/s320/kelcamp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237138203376808434" border="0" /></a>They actually camped!<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">We played Trackball.<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiay1wuMGuwK9IRRHl0jjzBhIsPsOYtfYzf-NUGANH4-Spkds4CIh_N9tg2Cu2bTpCEK9bdhy4DPeGLWR39Kwl36O252dixnefSmNpKuMI37H-Sq1nNgNWHEc-0irqaAR53no_MDSEcjBE/s1600-h/kyletr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiay1wuMGuwK9IRRHl0jjzBhIsPsOYtfYzf-NUGANH4-Spkds4CIh_N9tg2Cu2bTpCEK9bdhy4DPeGLWR39Kwl36O252dixnefSmNpKuMI37H-Sq1nNgNWHEc-0irqaAR53no_MDSEcjBE/s320/kyletr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237140742184526962" border="0" /></a></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitU-FNYSB7T-r8HFHRN-4jD_xRZnySSjaPU0gXBmmF0u3Y7_R1mCBw0a3QJMWVcPCRaqrhWJW9NOhP98cj3OZCyg0Zv_SxIJ-AHJ4T7JAtOVn6VrP70ff5gb2M13zlCYd-PSRgu7YfRcA/s1600-h/howtr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitU-FNYSB7T-r8HFHRN-4jD_xRZnySSjaPU0gXBmmF0u3Y7_R1mCBw0a3QJMWVcPCRaqrhWJW9NOhP98cj3OZCyg0Zv_SxIJ-AHJ4T7JAtOVn6VrP70ff5gb2M13zlCYd-PSRgu7YfRcA/s320/howtr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237141350966622306" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br />We made s'mores by the campfire.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnQR5Qw_GBm8a6Ofm67HakPfBkth8u7tocRiEN3sWU3wijQX4eqt38FFkJ3jbTNCVljYBcVZuiprgUJjbbGT1bw-LM4yTwV9IXOFlKAxEKMphmtRo1lY9ncavdKRiAAZcpdXjkID5PuM/s1600-h/fire.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnQR5Qw_GBm8a6Ofm67HakPfBkth8u7tocRiEN3sWU3wijQX4eqt38FFkJ3jbTNCVljYBcVZuiprgUJjbbGT1bw-LM4yTwV9IXOFlKAxEKMphmtRo1lY9ncavdKRiAAZcpdXjkID5PuM/s320/fire.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237143548968369058" border="0" /></a><br />We had a blast.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjksnnASgMXnkaLBYH7_If8KBwm3xpBqSmZ8sVBZ7rUN55bckRL2aEGYL8Sr-YbRBxSKQeKUrLiW-PdfIZIp5Vie9c4jpqB8CY7TvzrVjCjPtM__lCvsuCOw11BsbO3vTpX6EO-mCfWjE/s1600-h/fam.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjksnnASgMXnkaLBYH7_If8KBwm3xpBqSmZ8sVBZ7rUN55bckRL2aEGYL8Sr-YbRBxSKQeKUrLiW-PdfIZIp5Vie9c4jpqB8CY7TvzrVjCjPtM__lCvsuCOw11BsbO3vTpX6EO-mCfWjE/s320/fam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237144058142411154" border="0" /></a><br />Camping is fun in a motorhome. Even if it's not all that rough.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Frinas.roost%2Falbumid%2F5237145682793970033%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="400" width="600"></embed><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div>Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-87345898653985575692008-07-10T22:12:00.000-07:002008-07-18T00:12:59.137-07:00Kaleb the Sailor Man!<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/rinas.roost/KalebTheSailorManBlog/photo?authkey=JhmN27XJ718#5224235880165490082"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/rinas.roost/SIA22pQdPaI/AAAAAAAAAPo/gt0pmwj0JYk/s400/DSC_0116.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />Today Kaleb is 14 weeks old. (that's 3 months and six days for the laypeople)<br /><br />And he is changing and growing. Fast. Too fast (see previous entry....).<br /><br />When I first met him I thought he looked like a little Asian boy. Then he started to look like an Eskimo. I thought, who has Eskimo in their family? Then he started to fill in and started to look more Slavic . Which actually made sense since I am Russian and Howard has Polish in him. The outer edges of Kaleb's beautiful, cobalt blue eyes have that Slavic upturned swing - like a dancing, drunk Russian.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Which is a little funny since I always think after he finishes eating at my breast, that he resembles a drunken sailor. When he's rolling around on my lap with that drool barely hanging onto his lip, I'll often sing to him a song they taught us in Elementary School music class:<br /><br /></div>What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor?<br />What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor?<br />What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor Early in the Morning?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">(which also begs the question: why are they having little kids sing about drunken sailors? who makes these decisions?)<br /></div></div><br />At his three month check-up, the doctor told us he was 24 inches long (I think they say "long" until he can actually stand up - at which point he becomes "tall"). He was 14 lbs. and 8 oz. which puts him into the 75th percentile, down from the 85th percentile of last month. (85%! I couldn't believe it when the doctor told me - and then the dr. called him <span style="font-weight: bold;">chubby</span> and said something about <span style="font-style: italic;">cellulite</span> on his tushy - WHAT! - I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not - aren't babies <span style="font-style: italic;">supposed</span> to be chubby? at least they are in<span style="font-weight: bold;"> my</span> family!). And his small head is still in the 35th percentile. He gets that from his daddy.<br /><br />He laughs and giggles all the time now. At least in the morning. Or after he's had a nap.<br /><br />He talks up a storm. He says Ma-ma (or at least he puts those sounds together and I'll give him the benefit of the doubt).<br /><br />He sings with me when I sing to him - or when the iPod is playing he'll sing along. (maybe I'll video-tape this for next time).<br /><br />He rolled over from his tummy to his back two days ago. Twice. (Or maybe he was just trying to get out of tummy-time).<br /><br />He grabs at his hanging stuffed animals and sometimes swats at them when they're not responding to his opinions the way he likes.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/rinas.roost/KalebTheSailorManBlog/photo?authkey=JhmN27XJ718#5224236475146348706"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/rinas.roost/SIA3ZRu8qKI/AAAAAAAAAQI/6VAp0-2VPQY/s288/DSC_0130.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />He'll hold onto a stuffed bear now and will suck the fibers out of any blanket.<br /><br />And sometimes when he's giggling and cooing at me, he starts to get shy and tries to hide his head. If he starts to giggle <span style="font-style: italic;">after</span> he eats, which he frequently does, because who doesn't feel great after getting to eat your favorite food yet again (boob milk, my favorite, how did you know?) he'll be giggling, get shy...and then try to hide his head beneath my booby. He'll not know the irony of this for some time.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/rinas.roost/KalebTheSailorManBlog/photo?authkey=JhmN27XJ718#5224240717469481218"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/rinas.roost/SIA7QNnmeQI/AAAAAAAAAQk/z4ifJMeiSKw/s288/DSC_0121.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />But at night (or even some afternoons) he still sometimes acts like he's auditioning for the next Freddy Kruger flick. (How is he able to scream that loud and that long and not lose his voice? There may be future for him in Rock n Roll.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/rinas.roost/KalebTheSailorManBlog/photo?authkey=JhmN27XJ718#5224242825615187186"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/rinas.roost/SIA9K7EtHPI/AAAAAAAAARU/TifZOcBn7U8/s400/DSC_0131_2.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />And the beautiful thing is when I say he only <span style="font-style: italic;">sometimes</span> uses his vocal chords as claws on a chalkboard, I do mean sometimes.<br /><br />Some may call this "colic" - that mysterious ailment that had doctors previously giving <span style="font-weight: bold;">drugs</span> (anti-depressants and anti-spasmotics) to infants (!) to cure. But I read an article recently that said colic can start at two weeks, peak at 8 weeks and decline until it completely disappears at 12. I guess that must be a statistical average.<br /><br />But why does it seem like some babies have it worse than others? I think I know. Or, I have a theory anyway.<br /><br />I think when babies come into this world, they've just left G-d. They're closer to that World than the one in which they find themselves. They stare intensly into "empty" air for lengthy periods of time and laugh at things no one else can see (angels? fairies?). And at times, they <span style="font-weight: bold;">all</span> experience a type of separation anxiety. It must be shocking to realize that they're no longer there and instead find themselves with these strangers. Sure, they may be nice but when they're that new, they must also have a clear memory of their most recent bond and connection to their <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Love</span> and <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Creator.</span> I believe "colic" is a spiritual malady.<br /><br />I also think some babies just feel things on a much deeper level than others. It's the emotional seedlings of the people they will become and some carry the echo of this mysterious loss into their adult lives (you know who you are). But when these babies first arrive into this world, they must have an <span style="font-weight: bold;">insatiable</span> yearning to return to that Love. It must literally feel like they're going to die without that Love and they wail their frustration at having been abandoned, screaming out the injustice of it all. Then, they (we) start to forget (or the lucky ones anyway). And slowly - they start to also notice the new <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">love</span> being showered upon them by their new guardians: their parents. And eventually they calm down because they like it.<br /><br />But - then again, it's not like we can ask.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" width="800" height="533" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Frinas.roost%2Falbumid%2F5224234526426983921%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss%26authkey%3DJhmN27XJ718" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><br /></div>Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-37331935958215123882008-06-22T22:13:00.000-07:002008-12-10T03:36:25.802-08:00Please Don't Grow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZc-c-ofZzq-NaTOwx59ZRGsXw_Y0_LqZEz7ZnLQ6ea0hEiJMB4ohQkDS5UPKrc0zpXCLCj_OM461RNeCorq9IBppy1Dk3nFcd9TWmHN8xOM-bmKb9M98rsM_-ZyHqr6WozJmyFUYTik/s1600-h/DSC_9921CoffShpAdjContB&W..jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZc-c-ofZzq-NaTOwx59ZRGsXw_Y0_LqZEz7ZnLQ6ea0hEiJMB4ohQkDS5UPKrc0zpXCLCj_OM461RNeCorq9IBppy1Dk3nFcd9TWmHN8xOM-bmKb9M98rsM_-ZyHqr6WozJmyFUYTik/s320/DSC_9921CoffShpAdjContB&W..jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215203580381653842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The first time I met my son I immediately fell in love.<br /><br />Well, not immediately, if truth be told. Immediately I thought - "Who's that?" after they laid his slippery body on my stomach and his face shot up to within inches of mine - and we looked at each other with mutual fear and surprise.<br /><br />But later, as the pain became something I would gladly endure again and again to receive such an amazing reward (mostly because it was now a memory), I gazed on his sleeping form on the eve of our first night together and thought I'd never loved anyone so shamelessly and completely.<br /><br />And I could tell he was an old soul - not just because he came with male-pattern baldness and a comb-over.<br /><br />For the first time in my life, I didn't want TIME to hurry up and get somewhere else.<br /><br />All I wanted was to hold him and love him and have him in my arms. I wanted TIME to stop so he wouldn't grow up and leave.<br /><br />Other mothers have said in consolation that TIME brings new joys with children and that it just keeps getting better. Two months into Kaleb's life (10 weeks and three days) - I believe them - but am happy to just enjoy what I have. Although....I have to admit I am really enjoying the awareness that TIME is bringing into my son's life.<br /><br />Last week, we were hanging out in Kaleb's room, my iPod playing in the background, me putting away his laundry - him lounging on his changing pad. Suddenly, I heard coos and aahhs join the chorus to Jet's 'Are You Gonna Be My Girl?' Yeah! I yelled and grabbed him up to dance with me. And we rocked out together.<br /><br />For a few weeks now I've had a couple cute, stuffed animals hanging off the handrail atop Kaleb's car seat. Mostly, they were for me. They looked adorable but he was completely unaware of them. A handful of days ago, he started engaging the black and white cow and the pink teething pig in an emphatic conversation. I'm pretty sure he's convinced them to see things his way.<br /><br />And on occasion, my soothing voice actually cuts through his senseless fussiness. And by fussiness I mean: brain shattering, throat ripping, heart piercing wails for which I've been given no translation guide. (That part hasn't been as much fun). But kisses will sometimes now turn his heartaches into smiles. It's the best.<br /><br />Right now he's mine. Or ours. Our little guy. And my worry is: when he gets older, I have to give him up. And of course I do. That's my job: to raise him to be a self-sufficient adult and a kind and happy man. But that also means I'll need to let him go. And I am already dreading this.<br /><br />I'm already seeing it happen with my 10 year old step-son, Kyle and his father, my husband Howard. Just a </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >couple</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> short months ago, Kyle would turn his head away in disgust when he'd witness people kissing on television. "Ewwwwww," he'd plead if it was us showing the affection.<br /><br />But last Wednesday, he graduated from Elementary School. He'll be attending Lindero Middle School next year. And before they sent them off, they gave them a 5th grade graduation dance. And he asked a girl to be his date. A girl....with no ewwws in the vicinity.<br /><br />Howard suggested Kyle ask her if she'd like for them to pick her up beforehand</span><span style="font-size:130%;">. And Kyle almost immediately picked up the phone to call and ask her! With no hesitation. Wow. I was really impressed with his temerity.<br /><br />Before talking to him, she made sure when she answered his call, that it was really him by quizzing him about things only he'd know (like his last name). Apparently, some not as mature 5th graders had been plaguing her with crank calls pretending to be him. After ascertaining that it was indeed her date, she informed him that she planned on going with her friends and she'd just meet him there.<br /><br />Then Howard suggested he bring her flowers. "OK," he said and went across the street to a vacant neighbor's house in search of the perfect rose to clip off their bushes. Just like that. Again, I didn't remember being so fearless with the opposite sex when I was his age.....or even when I was 30.<br /><br />He went to the dance and we got to peek in and see him jumping up and down with the girl and their friends and later we heard there was a slow song that he danced to with his date. Again, wow. I couldn't believe this was the same boy I had met four years ago, age 6!, now a budding pre-teen.<br /><br />I am happy for Kyle because he seems more relaxed in his new awareness. But I am watching my husband's pain as he grapples with the reality that next year they won't be walking to school together every morning - as they have done since Kyle entered Kindergarden.<br /><br />And now I understand.<br /></span><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Frinas.roost%2Falbumid%2F5215206699283695201%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" height="267" width="400"></embed><br /><br />Most Photos are provided by our photographer friend, Suzy Shearer (that's why I'm in them). Thanks Suzy! (<span></span><a set="yes" linkindex="295" href="http://mrd.mail.yahoo.com/compose?To=shearergs%40aol.com">shearergs@aol.com</a> for more info)Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-34247796629861010902008-05-19T13:19:00.000-07:002008-05-19T16:35:18.088-07:00It Takes a VillageAlways I hear this, "It takes a village to raise a child."<br /><br />Well, I didn't have a village. My family immigrated to this country when I was almost 5 and it was me, my pregnant mom and dad (later my brother, 5 1/2 years my junior, came on the scene). My dad's brother also moved here with his wife and daughter. But we didn't really hang out with them too often because they ended up moving to the valley and we moved to Santa Monica. So, really, it was just the four of us in this really big land called America.<br /><br />But on Mother's Day 2008 - my first official, just had a baby Mother's Day - we had a village at attendance around our dinner table. The boys, with Auntie Mara and Cousin Melinda, made us lunch. The Moms sat around and ate and laughed and admired the newest member of the Nehdar clan. The Moms included three generations of family. Kaleb has a great-grandmother. I didn't even have a grandmother (in this country). Or a grandfather (ever - long story). Kaleb has a whole family tree that more resembles a forest.<br /><br />He is a lucky guy.<br /><br />I always envisioned myself marrying a man with many roots sprouting from his lineage. I married a man who is related to half of Los Angeles. And they hang close together.<br /><br />And now that I've had Kaleb, I'm part of that history.<br /><br />I have been admitted to the sacred mom's club. This is a little like when you're traveling in a foreign country and you see someone that you recognize originates from yours - suddenly you are bonded and feel like you've been reunited with someone that gets "it". This is the mom's club that I know belong to and this is how I felt that day sitting around the table sharing a meal and a world with these women for whom I had suddenly found a whole new dimension to appreciate.<br /><br />HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY! (click on the slideshow pictures to see an enlarged view of our day)<br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" width="400" height="267" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Frinas.roost%2Falbumid%2F5202231046316623201%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed>Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4500549983421586674.post-71649033107834749992008-05-06T10:19:00.000-07:002008-05-19T16:38:42.265-07:00Binky and Bottles.Kaleb still lives in the Valley of Firsts.<br /><br />Everyday (almost) it seems he is experiencing something within his world for the first time. I doubt he's as aware of the implications of this as much as we are. I doubt he cares - when he bobs his head up and smiles at us - but we are overjoyed, ecstatic with glee. "Did you see that?" We point at his toothless grin, "He loves me!" Further proof of his genius.<br /><br />Everyday it seems he is becoming more cognizant of his surroundings. He makes eye contact and holds his gaze evenly until his attention becomes focused elsewhere.<br /><br />He is three weeks and five days old now. Oh, they grow up so fast!<br /><br />I had certain plans for how I was going to raise our son - at least in the beginning: Breastfeeding, cloth diapers, no pacifiers, lots of hugs and kisses.<br /><br />Even though I had planned on breasfeeding, I bought a pump so I could express milk and have other people join in the feeding fun. Well, when the recommended three week milestone to start to introduce the bottle came, I discovered, to my dismay, he didn't like the bottle.<br /><br />He cried and threw distress at me with his blotchy, red, contorted face, that, really, he wasn't very interested in this plastic nipple thing and would much rather prefer the real thing. OK. No problem. I am patient and I could work on it with time.<br /><br />So, he fed on my tit. Relentlessly.<br /><br />I complained to Kaleb's doctor about my sore (and now damaged) nipples and he told me to give him a pacifier in between what should have been the time between feedings. He should have been eating every two hours but at times, he would give me a bathroom break (maybe) and ask for more. Sometimes for hours at at time. In the middle of the night. I was hallucinating patterns on my baby's face. That didn't seem good.<br /><br />At this point, I felt I had no choice. The doctor said he wasn't really eating for all those hours and my boobs <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> needed the break.<br /><br />So, with a cocktail of feelings mixed with guilt, shame and hope, I gave him a pacifier. And he hated it. Secretly, I felt a little relief. My boy was above that. He didn't need any false stimulation to address a burgeoning oral fixation. I didn't need to hang that on him.<br /><br />But the bottle, I was determined to work on. I had a plan. Maybe if I started with the boob and then switched over to the bottle, he might not notice.<br /><br />It worked.<br /><br />Yay! My boy would eat with other people. Yay! I could go and do things for more than 1/2 an hour outside the home and know my son would not starve or be uncomfortable!<br /><br />Then he started to cry. And I thought to myself: maybe now that he took the rubber nipple, he might be coaxed to take the pacifier too. I tried. And again, it worked.<br /><br />I put him in his stroller and we walked into the park where I treaded on a path of guilt. How could I encourage such false dependence, based solely on my comfort? How could I sell out my own son, so quickly, because I needed a break?<br /><br />This was the day that he first ate from the bottle and he first took a pacifier.<br /><br />I wasn't so sure I was happy with either.<br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" width="400" height="267" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Frinas.roost%2Falbumid%2F5198067846264930529%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed>Rina Baraz Nehdarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05492827866558457255noreply@blogger.com9