Although we’ve held a few successful yard sales in our day, I’m not a habitual yard saler. (Should that be “yard sailor”? Yard sale, ahoy! I’d like to think so.) This is mainly because I don’t like to get up early in the middle of the week, much less on Saturdays. But Fancy Pants Acres
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Baby Addison hasn’t been able to keep her food down for a few days now. She was getting dehydrated, so Don and Carrie took her to the hospital this afternoon. The doctor ruled out pyloric stenosis, but that’s as much as they know at this point.
The spam comments have gotten overwhelming over here lately, so I’ve added another hoop for commenters to jump through. It’s a reCaptcha thingamabob, which should stop the robots. Darn robots.
Now I’m going to finish watching “Lost.”
My friend Amy is looking for a few songs to play at her wedding. She and her fiance, Joe, are going off by themselves to get married on an island, which means I will not get to dance, cry or eat cake at Amy’s wedding. But I love her anyway, so I thought I’d try
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I haven’t been able to get over to Don and Carrie’s house during the day to take pictures of baby Addison. Yesterday was no exception, but I went over anyway, and we tried to do a little photo session without natural light. It was pretty frustrating. I got a few shots that I was
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David Cook wins? I did not see that coming.
Last night I went to the library to look for some poetry books for Poppy. I came away with one for myself: “Good Poems,” an anthology put together by Garrison Keillor. (His introduction to the collection is wonderful. Don’t skip it.)
This poem, by Anne Sexton, was the first I read. It made me cry. I’d
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I don’t know why I’m watching “American Idol” tonight. I’m so tired of Little David Archuleta. And he’s absolutely going to win.
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