tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90003286137032712482024-03-13T16:23:59.782-07:00Tanner FamilyTanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.comBlogger205125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-86945273647354469952018-04-01T19:08:00.002-07:002018-04-01T19:20:45.484-07:00Remember Me?<center>
Once you've been the <a href="http://jjtanner.blogspot.com/2015/04/my-brain-does-not-work-like-yours.html" target="_blank">target/victim of one of my pranks</a>, you won't soon forget me.</center>
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I have a blessing and a curse: my brain. </center>
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It doesn't shut off. That hamster is always running the wheel full steam. On average, I get anywhere between 3-5 hours of sleep per night due to this adorable rodent. That's a lot of thinking time during those waking hours. All I need is an idea and it morphs from there. Generally, for me, a subtle and tame idea moves to completely going off the tracks in a relatively short period of time.</center>
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April Fool's Day landing on a Sunday AND Easter no less was God's way of playing an April Fool's joke on me. BUT, I didn't let that damper my resolve to make this day work to serve as my entertainment...at the expense of someone else.</center>
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Protests are all the rage right now. At work, we thought we could throw together some posters and do a mock work protest, take some photos, send it to the boss man on April 1st and call it good.</center>
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Then my mind went to going a little off track and doing a video of interviews of why it's so difficult to work there. Then, going completely off the tracks, it turned into a horror movie trailer:</center>
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The sad thing? He acted those tyrant roles out for me without knowing why I was asking him to do it. That's trust folks, and says a lot about the kind of human being I am. </center>
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I posted this to our business page this morning letting over 1,000 followers believe we are having a Patient Appreciation Movie Night and this year's movie had been chosen, 'Nightmares On Young Street.' Oh yeah, there is no movie, and there is no Patient Appreciation movie night. 😏 That may come back to bite me.</center>
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What the general public doesn't know is there is a SECOND video. This was the uncut interview version, set to a Special News Investigative Report. This was the one we threatened would go live and viral if he didn't agree to bring us <a href="https://www.dutchbros.com/" target="_blank">Dutch Bros.</a> this week. It went over rather well:</center>
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Sorry, you will not be seeing the second video if I want to keep my job. But just know it was EPIC...and in safe keeping. I'm starting bids at $2,500. </center>
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Happy April Fools!</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-5343501073587561012017-01-19T23:27:00.001-07:002017-01-19T23:49:03.505-07:002 Heroes and a Ziplock Bag<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I reflect on my life, I've found any interesting stories I have to tell are either:</center>
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A. Run-ins with celebrities.</center>
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B. Disgusting experiences that strip me of any class or dignity.</center>
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C. Self humiliation.</center>
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We are going with category B tonight. As full disclosure; men, this deals with womanly issues so be smart and stop now. It's not nearly as bad as the Coachella story, but it still took my dignity nonetheless. If you missed the Coachella fiasco, read it <a href="http://jjtanner.blogspot.com/2015/04/hands-down-this-day-was-crappier-than.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</center>
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Last weekend while traveling back to Arizona from California, nature began to call. I had passed Indio and was about 50 miles from Blythe. There was one rugged gas station I had the opportunity to stop at, but figured I could easily hold it for another 40 minutes. </center>
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Then, the horrible sight of traffic build up appeared ahead. Ugh! Always construction!! But it wasn't construction. We came to a dead stop. After 20 minutes of idling, I finally turned off my car. As I watched other drivers get out of their cars to mix and mingle and solve whatever problems were ahead, I decided to take the break and try to enjoy the most of it. </center>
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Sadly, I was bored after 10 minutes. I started putting out the text to friends: "Get on a computer and find me an access road out of here." </center>
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Seriously, super impressed with my friends as they carried themselves like Houston Space Center, as well as the Find Friends app as they located my exact location and proceeded from there. Unfortunately it didn't get me far. The consensus was in, I was in the worst location possible. I was literally stuck. </center>
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1 hour in. My bladder is beginning to knock to get my attention. </center>
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Plan A: What is it we say to those who have to 'go?' "Think of a dry, hot desert." Duh, Jen, open your eyes and look around. Concentrate! I had desert, sand, sun, death all around me. I'm here to tell you, that theory sucks and doesn't work. </center>
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Plan B: Use a bush. Have any of you been in the desert? This is the biggest and best bush you're going to find on that route:</center>
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I might as well just squat in the middle of the road.</div>
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Now, what I didn't post on social media was that urinating was only half of my issue. The other issue was it was the second day of my period. Women, you know what that equates to, right? I was on the verge of needing a blood transfusion. Again, using a glorified tumbleweed wasn't discreet enough for the events that needed to transpire. </div>
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Plan C: Use my 4 door car as a shield as I squat between the front and back door. Good call. Unfortunately, I was in the left lane. Cars going west bound still had access to the eye candy and again, I would've left what looked like road kill on the road. Plan C, out.</div>
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Plan D: Relying on human kindness. This would consist of me begging someone to use their RV or motor home bathroom. As I looked around at my options, I wasn't too optimistic. Either the RV's were shady and/or their owners appeared to be.</div>
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Plan E: My friend offered me some Red Vines for my drive back. I denied her twice, yet she insisted and threw them in a Ziplock bag. That Ziplock was the only thing I could possibly use as a makeshift toilet. Problem, I had a very curious semi truck driver in the right lane next to me that had been endlessly looking in at me and making creepy eye contact. Not gonna happen, buddy. </div>
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2 hours in. I don't know anything else in my body exists besides my bladder. 3 cars ahead of me, a man has opened his trunk and is serving hard liquor from the bottle. 4 cars decide to go rogue and attempt to drive off the road in search of the side access road (that thanks to my friends I knew only lead to a dead end reservoir); one of the cars gets stuck in sand. 2 cars behind me a woman is arguing with her husband, kids crying in the backseat. Because of them, I decide to check my rear view mirror more closely. A few hundred yards back, it's as if the heaven's opened:</div>
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She was like an angel, sent just for me. All I needed to do was meet her owners, become BFF's with them in a 5 minute time frame, and plead for their kindness as I reassure them this experience will bond us forever. I stuck some money in my pocket just in case they already had best friends and I could offer a wad of cash instead. </center>
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I abandoned my car and made the journey while reciting in my head the many different ways the conversation could go and what my approach would be.</center>
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My luck, 2 men in their late 50's early 60's. Typically the best age I relate with. They tend to think I'm funny and cute and feel pity for me and I look to them as a father figure so I'm naturally comfortable and needy. </center>
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"Hey guys, you selling tickets for the use of your bathroom yet?"</center>
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"Sorry, hon, wish we could. We aren't the owners, we are just paid to transport the thing. With it being a $400,000 vehicle WE can't even use the bathroom."</center>
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UGH!!! None of my scenarios went like this. Back to Plan A. </center>
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Dang it! Still not working!!</center>
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"We've seen some ladies go out to the desert."</center>
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"Yeah, where??? There's absolutely no discretion."</center>
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"One will usually hold a blanket up for the other."</center>
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"Hmm, I have a sunscreen in my car." (Sounding pathetic, intentionally).</center>
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"We have a blanket in here you could use, just have one of your friends hold it for you."</center>
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(Not only sounding pathetic, but also trying to lay on the pathetic look). "Yeah, I could probably find someone to hold it for me."</center>
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"Wait, are you all by yourself??"</center>
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Quivering lip, and nod of the head.</center>
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(Now the conversation turns between the two of them).</center>
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"We could probably let her use it, right?"</center>
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"I won't tell if you don't."</center>
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"We have no power, and it's not hooked up."</center>
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"If we had some water, we could dilute it and manually flush it."</center>
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"GUYS!! I have a water bottle in my car I could go get!!!"</center>
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"OK, she can use it, but she can't tell a soul."</center>
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I make the gesture of a zipped lip as I walk back to the car to grab my water. </center>
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While I'm celebrating the fact I'll be relieved, I'm also freaking out about the tampon situation. I can't leave that in there if they are going to have to get in there and do something manually. They are going above and beyond to help me out, the last thing I want to do is leave them parts of my uterus to dispose of. </center>
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As I grab my water bottle, I see Red Vine's poking their heads out of my purse as if to say, "Hey, remember us?!?" I've hit full delusion at this point. The licorice was talking to me. I dump them out in my purse, grab the Ziplock and shove it down my pants.</center>
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The guys (my heroes) also managed to dig up some fast food napkins for me to use as toilet paper.</center>
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It was probably one of the best and stressful pees I've ever had. You have to have the speed of a pit crew to pee quickly without letting a drop of blood land in the water. </center>
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After a successful transaction, I was left with a Ziplock bag full of a murder scene. Now what? Where am I going to put this? Before you go thinking I stashed it in the motor home, come on, people! Give me more credit. These men were my heroes, the last thing I was going to do was something that could jeopardize their employment. I just needed to get the bag to my car where I could throw it in the trunk until a proper place to dispose of it. So, I shoved it in the waist of my pants, in all it's warmth and glory. Before I leave, I take a good look around the nicest bathroom I've ever been in on the 10 Freeway, look at myself in the mirror, and pat myself on the back that I lived to survive another day.</center>
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2 and a half hours in. I still haven't made it back to my car. The men are STILL talking to me. One is a retired cop and at least knows the details of why we're stopped...police chase turned police shootout just a mile up the road. I can't concentrate on a conversation. I'm trying to strategically hold the bag with my body so it doesn't slide down or out. </center>
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3 hours in. Police helicopters overhead announce traffic will be moving again.</center>
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I proceed to give the men a hug before I rush back to my car. Meanwhile, unaware that my shirt had been caught up in a portion of my pants, exposing the Ziplock bag all along. </center>
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Morale of the story: Just stop in Indio and use the restroom, use problem solving skills--preferably before going on a trip by yourself, stranger danger doesn't exist in these situations, Ziplock bags save lives, and always and forever, human kindness exists.</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-68803804204222218242016-01-05T19:20:00.000-07:002016-01-05T19:22:20.775-07:00Finally, Color!<center>
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When we moved in the house years ago, the thought of painting the entire thing exhausted me before I even packed one box. I admit, I got lazy and did the unimaginable for me--I paid someone else to come in and paint every square inch...walls, baseboards, doors, closets. I wanted it fresh and neutral because I wasn't sure how I was planning to design my home. As you can tell, I didn't do anything real exciting for color with my furniture either. Hence, the pictures below: drab, boring, and total snoozers. </center>
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I did reupholster those floral dining room chairs though...those bad boys were my first reupholster job and took me an entire summer. Alas, the dining room is my next project.</center>
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Now, I'm normally not one to paint my walls a dark color, but I really wanted some contrast and pop. And for whatever reason, my iPhone picture quality stinks and everything is super grainy, buy you get the idea of the 'after':</center>
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I wanted a tufted couch, and I knew I wanted another brown (don't ask me why) but one with a gold/copper tint to contrast with a royal color. The problem with most tufted couches, other than the cost, is the low back, I had yet to find an actual comfortable one, and the feeling that you're a giant sitting on dollhouse furniture. Your head ends up resting against a wall, your butt nearly goes to the edge and looks and feels like the most uncomfortable thing. I had been looking for the perfect set for over a year and had almost given up. Then, one day, I walked into <a href="http://www.pruitts.com/" target="_blank">Pruitts</a> into their last showcase floor room. Rays of light shone and I swear I heard a choir singing. Almost as if in my head, I found exactly what I'd been imagining. The only drawback are these things are HUGE. (Said in my Donald Trump voice). Jason looks like he climbed the beanstalk and appears to be an 8 year old while sitting in them. </div>
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I went with <a href="http://www.rossstores.com/departments/for-the-home/furniture-decor/glass-and-hammered-brass-end-table/" target="_blank">smaller modern style tables</a> from Ross and <a href="http://www.hobbylobby.com/Home-Decor-Frames/Decorative-Accessories/Accent-Pieces/Tall-Geometric-Gold-Metal-&-Glass-Terrarium/p/80657125" target="_blank">geometric pieces</a> from Hobby Lobby; had I gone with anything bigger no one would be able to walk in the room. I had decided to go with a royal blue due to the copper and golds. At first I was looking at big area rugs, but once those couches were in the room, it felt like everything needed to be smaller. Again, the picture doesn't do it justice, but this is a <a href="http://www.athome.com/indigo-blue-senses-shag-rug-5-x-7-ft/124129562.html#q=blue%2Brug&start=23" target="_blank">glittered shag </a>I bought from the At Home store. Background story: The only one left was one they just opened to display- which the manager was using to set up a Christmas display. I told her I wanted it and that I hoped it wouldn't be too much of a problem. Her response: "Yes, it's a problem." Me: "Sooo, this means I can't purchase it?" Her: "Well, yes, you can purchase it, but it's still a problem and hassle for me." Who does that?! I'm not sure if I ruined her grand plan for the display of the year award, but if someone is willing to pump money into your store, you just deal with it. I only mention this because this has been a frequent occurrence for me here. Great, low prices, but you pay in having crappy customer service.</div>
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Also got the <a href="http://www.athome.com/36-x-36-in-antique-gold-beveled-sunflower-mirror/124114515.html#start=157" target="_blank">gold sun mirror at At Home</a>, but am still debating putting a piece of art there or possibly trying to find a bigger mirror. Notice my Valentine holiday tree in the background?? :)</div>
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My mom and I love going to antique stores. The quality is sound and we find some really amazing pieces. One of which was these pair of seriously outdated wall sconces. I loved how big they were (to compete with the King Kong couches), and the fact that I don't have any wall sconces instantly made me covet them. Problem, since it was an antique mall, the <a href="http://www.brassarmadillo.com/" target="_blank">Brass Armadillo</a>, hence no refunds. I had to make sure I could do something with these hideous retros before I spent Jason's hard earned cash. I went back 3 times within a couple months stalking them. I took Jason to get his opinion and the look on his face made me second guess myself, or possibly be more determined. The copper night lights and brass fixtures were perfect, but those shades and wood handles were the issue.</div>
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I refinished the wood and painted them gold, and got these<a href="http://www.lampsplus.com/products/leopard-print-drum-shade-15x16x11-spider__u0965.html" target="_blank"> fabulous lamp shades</a> at Lamps Plus.</div>
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I'm still on the hunt for some bigger sized pillows to go with the blue and gold pillows and will remove the animal print ones...so if you have any ideas, let me know!</div>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-79367923151334627272015-10-13T12:12:00.003-07:002015-10-13T12:15:36.337-07:00If You Are Cringing At My Christmas Post, Then I Wrote It For You<center>
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You probably saw this floating around Facebook recently and chuckled to yourself as I did because we all know that one person or department store(s) that comes to mind, right?? I think I even 'liked' this picture on several of your pages. We aren't even halfway through October and the aisles are already being set up for Christmas. The mummy's haven't been able to gather dust yet! Therefore, I am writing a post on Christmas, because I decided...I was wrong. </span></center>
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What I learned this week is two negatives DO make a positive. I was irritated about the Christmas decor and memes coming out so soon, and then I realized yesterday I was also irritated subconsciously that apparently we don't do it enough.</span></center>
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Confused yet? Welcome to my poor husband's life.</span></center>
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Read on...</span></center>
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Every Monday we do family night where a member of our family prepares a spiritual lesson to share with the rest of the family or we all study a lesson and share what we each got out of it. Last night, Nathan was in charge and decided to show us a short Christmas video. Immediately, I was slightly annoyed because I thought he went for the easy out by picking a Christmas video...that he didn't take the time to research something else. </span></center>
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The video was about giving gifts to the Savior, rather than receiving gifts or buying gifts for others. </span></center>
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Immediately after Nathan says, "Okay, Mom, what did you learn from that?" I hesitated for a minute because I knew he wasn't going to like what I had to say since the video irritated me as I watched it more than it got me into the Christmas spirit. I was irritated because it was based around Christmas. After understanding the message of it, I questioned why couldn't this have been done around Valentine's Day, a Birthday, or even an Anniversary for that matter. The same message applies. Why do we only associate when we should be giving something of ourselves to Jesus Christ only at Christmastime?</span></center>
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I saw the stunned and worried look on his face that his fantastic lesson idea may have backfired, so I went on to explain...</span></center>
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Christmas is generally a magical time of year and I don't believe it is due to the decor, the holiday sales, Santa Clause or the gifts. Symbolically, these things can lead our thoughts to why Christmas exists. Think of how many individuals are singing and listening to Christmas carols during the month of December...they are singing and hearing testimony of Him. Think of how many are volunteering at shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, or serving their neighbors and friends...they are serving as He would and being His hands to many in need. Holiday shows and movies typically have messages of hope, love, and charity...messages He taught and continues to teach for our hearts to be touched so we can become better. Christmastime is magical simply because of <i>the light of Christ</i> that is in the hearts, minds, and eyes of individuals. </span></center>
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People are generally happier, more hopeful, kinder, more giving as well as forgiving during Christmas. So why should this be only a once a year occurrence? If you know an individual who is full of joy and happiness and has a light about them, then you know, generally, these are individuals who demonstrate hope, love, kindness, charity, and forgiveness on a regular daily basis-regardless of the date. Therefore, if you want to be happier and have more joy in your life then put these Christmas practices into action more consistently.</span></center>
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The message Nathan shared was perfect, so perfect that I'm saddened so many feel or experience it only once a year. So to all you early Christmas goers: If decorating, listening to carols, and watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas can give you reminders of where to find joy and happiness and likewise give you the desire to serve your fellowmen with kindness and charity---then by all means--decorate, sing, and watch because now more than ever, our world needs it. I applaud you for seeking for it.</span></center>
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I am grateful for Nathan and his childlike humbleness to bring a Christmas message at a random time of year and all children for that matter who do such a better job of consistently typifying of Christ than most adults. </span></center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-50288799383873354412015-06-17T15:43:00.000-07:002015-06-17T15:58:28.197-07:0080/20 Vision<center>
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I've had to swallow my pride, put on my big girl pants and take my own advice this last week. I hate when that happens. I had to rely on my 80/20 vision.</span></center>
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I've come up with a theory. Well, I thought I did until I just googled it to make sure. It's called 80/20. I thought I was a genius--come to find out there are other geniuses out there using similar theories, but are gearing it towards business and success and focusing on the "20". My 80/20 is about life and happiness and focusing on the "80".</span></center>
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I love people and relationships. A great passion in my life is getting past superficial conversations and truly getting to know someone. I am amazed at times how asking one or two basic questions will leave me sitting back for half an hour learning about the life experiences of another human being. I've learned so much from each individual and many times use their experiences to better shape mine. </span></center>
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This is a big generalization and realize it isn't the same for each individual in every situation, but in my experience with these hundreds of conversations is the average ratio of satisfaction to dissatisfaction in our lives is 80/20. </span></center>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Look, nothing and no one is perfect- and that's a good thing. The ones who smile and say everything is perfect are the ones I know aren't being completely honest with themselves. If everything were perfect, we couldn't learn how to appreciate and be grateful. In every aspect of my own life I can apply this and maybe you can too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Examples</span>:</center>
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*I'm generally satisfied with 80% of the way I am, but wish there was about 20% I could change.</span></center>
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(Physically and Emotionally)</span></center>
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* I completely love 80% of my spouse, but there is 20% of him that drives me bonkers.</span></center>
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* I appreciate 80% of my home, but there are about 20% of projects I wish to commence immediately.</span></center>
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* 80% enjoyment of my job, 20 % of the nonsense makes me want to quit.</span></center>
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* 80% absolutely love being a mother, but there are those definite 20% days where I ask, "What have I done, when does the craziness end?"</span></center>
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*Enjoy my pets 80% of the time, the other 20% is made up of shedding, grooming, and finding babysitters for vacations.</span></center>
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<span style="font-size: large;">*Love living in the desert 80% of the time, 20% is like living in hell.</span></center>
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The list can go on and on, but what it boils down to me is:</span></center>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">*80% of joy and happiness, 20% of fear, pain, and loss.</span></b></center>
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The difference between individuals who were content and happy in life versus those who were less than satisfied or had made poor decisions rested on the principle of what number they chose to focus on- the 80 or the 20.</span></center>
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Many who were discontent were so focused in on the 20% they felt were lacking that they spent years searching for it, stayed awake at night thinking about it, and slowly blinded themselves from the 80% which was right in front of them until years later they may have found the 20, but in the process, lost the 80.</span></center>
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I've used this with my kids. Brynna recently was talking about the things she was missing out on in life- driving being one of them. I had to turn the focus on all the things she CAN do (80) and not focusing on what she can't (20). It's truly amazing by focusing on the big 8-0, how blessed you suddenly realize you are and almost immediately her mood changed.</span></center>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So this week my husband was playing old family videos where I saw my kids as babies and toddlers. I walked around the house all depressed and lonely for a couple of days because I've realized how fast time has gone and how independent they are and barely need me---today, I had a voice in my head that said, "Think of the 80." </span></center>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Within minutes a bounce in my step returned as I became suddenly aware that I've been given an opportunity to raise children- a blessing not given to all, and that I've only just experienced a snippet of their lives, so much more is yet to come.</span></center>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I've put this to use in my life, not only does the 20 hold less weight when focused on the 80, but I've also learned to embrace it. We need the opposite to appreciate, rejoice, and come to a knowledge of what good we have to celebrate. We also need the 20 to re-evaluate and make steps towards progression where needed. Again, it's okay to have the 20, but it's not okay to linger with it, go on vacations with it, or move in with it and let it mess with our heads and hearts.</span></center>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So if you're struggling today, find your 80/20 vision. Let it open your eyes to all that is good in your world, there is so much to be discovered and remembered.</span></center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-21285168287759347892015-06-15T15:36:00.000-07:002015-06-15T15:36:41.680-07:00Oh, The Weather Inside Is Frightful<center>
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Arizona summers, we have a love/hate relationship. Growing up in the Midwest, I was accustomed to cold and am a disgrace now to my native state. I love the heat. Typically if it's under 85 degrees I need a long sleeve shirt or I'm uncomfortable. I love getting into our pool at night and it feeling more like a spa than a tall glass of cold water. This week, the heat here is really going to hit. And not that I particularly love the feeling of walking into what feels like a hot oven whenever I'm outside in the daytime- but it's ten times better than pumping gas in the blowing windy subzero temperatures. Am I right??</center>
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Beautiful? Dreadful? Take your pick. But regardless, why am I then dressed like this??</div>
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Because my husband likes to save money and likes sticking it to APS. </center>
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33 solar panels covering the entire back roof and patio of our house apparently wasn't enough. So while APS has their off-peak hours (7p.m. to Noon) he has the air conditioning down to 70 degrees. Not that bad, you say? You're a wimp, Jen? Coming in from 110 degrees to a 40 degree difference is like living in a meat freezer. I swear if I look close enough, I can see my own breath. Ok, not really. </center>
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During peak hours (Noon to 7 p.m.) we shut the air conditioning off completely- keep all the blinds shut- lights off- live in dungeon like vampire darkness until slowly throughout the day I begin to thaw until off-peak hours--when I get put back in the freezer. Sadly, this process works and has saved us a decent amount of money. It's approximately 3:30 p.m. and the temperature in here is 76 degrees. I can finally move my fingers to type. </center>
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So, my fellow Arizonan's- I thought I'd share this tip since it was graciously shared with us. Grab your coat, mittens, and hot chocolate and ride the Arizona summer out in goosebumps. </center>
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Stay warm my friends.</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-54428226395358423212015-04-26T23:09:00.001-07:002015-04-26T23:13:02.659-07:00Hands Down, This Day Was Crappier than Yours<center>
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Chances are, if you know somebody, they at one time dropped their cell phone in the toilet. If not, then you ARE that somebody. It happens. Does anyone not take in a device in the bathroom these days? We've forgotten how to just sit and think on the throne. And so what if it drops in?? Not only will a cup of rice cure our woes, but the phone got washed in water at the same time.</center>
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I'm about to tell you a true story. This story is tragic, horrific, and filthy. If I could rate it, it would definitely be mature, R, or possibly worse. It should come with its own advisory: You may want to save this story to read late at night when the kids are asleep so you won't have to console their cries. You don't want to be eating and reading for fear of choking/vomiting or both. You might want to read in a closet for if the neighbors hear your screams they may call the police. Proceed at your own risk.</center>
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As ugly and shocking as this story is above, it would've been heavenly compared to our story, but true to Tanner tales, it couldn't have been a clean toilet, nor a private toilet, or even just one toilet. </center>
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We were at Coachella music festival this past weekend where over 200,000 tickets are sold. If anyone has ever been to music festivals, then this is a familiar sight:</center>
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Porta potties. Imagine all those people sharing all those restrooms and I think you can see where I'm headed.</center>
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Brynna and I went to the restrooms and I had to wait an unusual lengthy time for her. She finally walked up to where I was but had this complete distressed look on her face. I figured it was the 'oh crap, I need a tampon' look. Unfortunately, my stomach cringed as she told me she lost her phone in the depths of the porta potty. I half wanted to point and laugh at her hysterically and half wanted to instantly throw my hands around her neck and shake.</center>
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This is where the story COULD have ended. We could have let it be a prisoner to plastic potty god, but no, I am too cheap and I will not lose to a toilet. Even completely damaged, we could still sell her phone for over $200- or pay a smaller than new phone fee for an exchange at Apple. (No, of course we don't have Apple care.)</center>
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I told Brynna, "We can't leave, you have to go get it!" Her look was how I felt as we went back to the restrooms. As we walked up, a horrible reality presented itself. Because she had been in so much distress when it happened, Brynna had forgotten which porta potty she had been in. </center>
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Remember on the movie Poltergeist when the mom went upstairs to save her children and as she stared down the hallway it got longer and longer and seemed like a mile? That was how the image was to me. Truly, it was an endless row like this:</center>
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We had it narrowed down to 5. We had to continually keep people from going in and using them; each one gave us the 'better you than me" look. </center>
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As I looked down the hole of each one, it was a dark blue abyss with only who knows what crawling around in there...and I was going to have to put my hand in there. I already hate lakes. I hate the fact that fish can brush up against me and I can't see them. This was the lake taken to the extreme.</center>
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Now before any of you say I don't have it in me- there was a time when Brynna had to wear a $250 contact in her eye. Once we were at a restaurant, she was 6 months old, and it was bothering her, so I took it out and placed it in a cup of water. I left the restaurant and didn't remember until later that afternoon that I left the cup. So what did I do? I crawled in the dumpster in the back of the restaurant and went through bags and bags of trash until I found it, which I did. Heck, if I could find a clear contact in a dumpster full of trash, an iPhone in tampons, used toilet paper, feces, and urine wasn't going to be more challenging- just way more disgusting. </center>
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I found a maintenance worker and asked if they had extra trash can liners. My critical thinking plan was to put my hand in the bag and use it as a ginormous glove and just blindly feel around until I found it. </center>
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Now, I've never wanted to kiss a big black woman before, but as she got on her radio and called for reinforcements and a staff of 5 people to come rummage through people's waste for me- I wanted to kiss her and leave her whatever inheritance I have. </center>
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Some went through with the handles of mops- some used the trash liner methods, and by the 5th porta potty, it was found. Those poor people earned every cent of their minimum wage that weekend on this experience alone. I feel so sorry for them, yet so grateful at the same time. They went far beyond the call of duty for something I was willing to do on my own. Coachella staff rocks.</center>
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The phone was nasty, I'm not going to lie but I'll spare you the details. We were all handling the phone like evidence from a crime scene. Carefully carrying it with our plastic trash can liners over to the sink to give it a thorough rinse, soap and disinfecting job. Since it had already been sitting in blue sanitation water (among other things) for over 10 minutes- I knew trying to sanitize the heck out of it wasn't going to harm it more than had already been done. We stored it away and tried not to let it ruin our weekend and let it go to crap. (I have plenty more puns where that came from).</center>
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We put it in rice when we came home. We knew chances were slim to none, but were shocked when 2 days later it turned on and was functioning. Now, mind you, it has a permanent blue background screen from the blue water, but amazingly is working. Unfortunately, Brynna doesn't want to keep her limited edition Coachella Porta Potty screen saver, so we are ordering a new screen which Jason will replace and this will one day just be a distant, gross, dumpster/porta potty diving memory which I may or may not need therapy for.</center>
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So next time yours ends up taking a dive in your own urine, take comfort in knowing you can identify who's DNA is on your phone. </center>
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<a href="http://s989.photobucket.com/albums/af12/jennjatan/?action=view&current=SmallSignature.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i989.photobucket.com/albums/af12/jennjatan/th_SmallSignature.png" /></a>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-62154945175362675002015-04-11T15:20:00.000-07:002015-04-11T15:20:47.353-07:00Senior Pictures...Sweet and Sassy<center>
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She's a little bit country... and a lot more rock and roll. More photos to come when the wheat turns white, it was a mud bath out there. Props to Quinn Kellis for hitting the road at 5:30 a.m. and taking some great photos and outtakes. </center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-35139464872390551892015-04-09T01:57:00.002-07:002015-04-09T02:15:10.092-07:00A Daughter Who Raised A Mother<center>
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You know how they say you will always remember where you were and what you were doing when you hear traumatic news? For example, for some it's the Kennedy assassination, or 9/11. I can replay it clear as day as I remember specifically the day I brought you home from the hospital and the moment it clicked that I would be responsible for you the next 18 years of your life. It was not a blissful thought; it was a traumatic, paranoid claustrophobic 'where can I jump out of the next window' thought. Up to that point, I'd never been responsible for anything for more than a week, let alone a month, year, or, oh my gosh, 18 years! I was only 21 at the time, barely over 18 myself. What had I done??!! I remember immediately picking up the phone and calling my mother and her reassuring me: You take it one day at a time. </center>
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Well, that magical age happened today and miraculously, you and I both survived. In reflecting back over these past 18 years, I've been asking myself this question repeatedly: Did I do my job, did I do enough? We can do a million things right, but yet, the things that stand out most are the small percentage of things we do wrong or know we could have done better. Those small percentages haunt me. So many times I wish I could go back with the knowledge I have now. I would be so different. Yet, I have realized I wouldn't be different without having those experiences which have shaped who I am today. </center>
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Yes, true to fashion, I'm making YOUR birthday about ME.</center>
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I've seen you grow physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I've seen you acquire skills that will carry you through this life and the life hereafter bringing much joy wherever you go. Anyone can look at you and be fooled: "She's a great individual which equals she must have great parents." In reality, you came to us with the same loving, sweet, obedient spirit and light you possess today. We basically just needed to feed you, give you shelter, and tell you 'no' and 'stop being lazy' a handful of times. Honestly, parenting was more for me than it was for you. Through parenting, we both became adults.</center>
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You've heard me compare teaching seminary to Groundhog's Day (the movie). I put at least 2 hours of preparation in each day, teach a 50 min class, and feel relief and joy when I'm finished with instruction and almost immediately slump my shoulders because I know I have to turn around, go home and start the process all over again for the next day. It's never ending, non-paying and exhausting. Yet, don't dare release me because all the knowledge and spiritual experiences I'm acquiring on a daily basis, as well loving those I teach, far outweighs the 4:30 alarm and load that is placed upon my shoulders. Seminary isn't like Groundhogs' Day, it's like parenting.</center>
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Raising you wasn't easy and at times, extremely exhausting. You had endless doctor appointments, diaper changes, bottle feedings, sleepless nights, unfinished homework assignments, school commitments, extracurricular activities, friend drama, boy drama, and heartbreaks (which made my heart hurt just as bad). Yet through it all, I never wanted this day to come- when by the worlds standards, I have been officially released as your legal guardian. It's mind boggling really, the difference of one day, just like a snap of the fingers, you technically don't need me anymore. </center>
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Thankfully,I know I will always be loved and listened to as your mother, and we both know the parenting will never truly end. This knowledge keeps my heart from shattering into a million different pieces. </center>
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My dearest daughter, when you love those you serve and serve the ones you love, your heart is changed and magnified. What I want you to know on this special 18th birthday is in spite of trying to raise you, it was really you who raised me. It has been the greatest privilege to serve and love you for so many years. Without your presence in my life, I would still yet be a child: immature, selfish, impulsive, and distracted. 18 years was a long time to refine me, but you did it, and did so like my mother said...one day at a time. </center>
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I love you and thank you for all you do to help me become the woman and mother I need to be.</center>
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Happy Birthday.</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-33441612024765749322015-04-01T08:40:00.000-07:002015-04-01T08:40:00.161-07:00MY BRAIN DOES NOT WORK LIKE YOURS<center>
It's April Fools Day, the only day other than Christmas where I bounce out of bed early in the morning due to excitement!</center>
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Unfortunately, after many years of pranks, and refusing to repeat past pranks- my creativity is working overtime, therefore my methods are getting more questionable and morbid (but still awesome nonetheless).</center>
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Morbid and questionable you ask? Well, hmm, let's see. For my neighbor's last birthday I wanted to decorate his porch. From time to time we have birds that get stuck and die in our pool. So I bagged and froze them. And then when the time was right, like a fairy godmother, got them ready for the ball.</center>
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I don't think my neighbor was amused, but I don't think he appreciated the time and effort it took to make custom bird fitted party hats. AND, the neighborhood cats eventually ate them anyway...so no clean up was required.</center>
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Which brings me to today. I have a full day planned, so I'll have to update my post when all the shenanigans have been administered, but I'll give you a few starters.</center>
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I knew I wanted to prank my seminary students, but we're talking 18 kids- and I didn't have the time nor did I want to go overboard on my classroom that I would have to clean up myself.</center>
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I Googled to see what teachers do to prank their students. Pop quizzes, grades changed. Lame. </center>
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Since they all speak the same language of food, I thought of sabotaging some treats, but then I would be wasting time baking in the kitchen for something they would throw away anyway. So instead of doctoring a recipe, I thought I would just <b>doctor</b> (<i>pun intended) </i>how I administer it. </center>
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Luckily, I know a guy. I asked my doctor if I could get some urine cup sample containers. He did so in exchange for dark chocolate. </center>
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In the words of one of my students: "That's messed up." Watching them handle them with ultimate care as to not spill it, then with half the class; their noses over it, sniffing it to decide whether it was safe or in fact urine was like opening a Christmas present, it brought me great joy. </div>
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Once they knew it was apple juice instead of urine- then the snapchat stories and fun began. I was not prepared, however, for their creative juices on how they were going to use this at school to prank their friends and teachers and I immediately started to cringe. I take no responsibility for them once they leave my classroom. Sorry, parents.</div>
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Then, there is always the classic bumper sticker of the political figure you love to hate. I always make several of these in different fashion for my politically passionate friends. </div>
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The moral of the story is...it's April Fools and it doesn't really matter if someone else thinks it's funny, as long as you do and I am my own best entertainment.</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-90371276289800521172015-03-08T14:59:00.003-07:002015-03-08T15:16:24.767-07:00LEDroom<center>
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No, that's not a misspelling in my header. I'm unveiling my new ledroom today. For Christmas, Jason told me I could start my new bedroom project and order furniture as my gift. That furniture was back ordered and eventually became my Valentine's present as well. </center>
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This is a sampling of how the room looked when we moved in the house:</center>
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I failed to take a picture before I started tearing apart our own decor and furniture we've had since marriage.</center>
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It's wasn't awful, but a bit dark and woodsy for me and I was in need of a change. I wanted a more modern eclectic look with a bright and airy feeling. </center>
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I didn't have a grand master plan in the beginning. When I was out and about over the last year, if I saw something on sale that I really liked, I would grab it and work it into my plan. There were some certainties I wanted: hanging chandeliers, a solid colored tufted couch, and a giant mirror. Those were the non negotiables. In fact, they were such a necessity that our marriage could have been on the brink if something didn't pan out (not really, but he doesn't know that.) Imagine the horror when Jason came to tell me one of the chandeliers would not be installed because there was no way to access through the attic. He confirmed with another neighbor on our street that the area was non assessable. Apparently, our builders walled off an area he needed to get to in order to hang one of the lights, and there were no reinforcement beams to attach it to. </center>
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My response?" "So?" "What are you going to do about it?" </center>
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His response: "You're going to have to change your plans."</center>
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Me: "Um...That's not going to happen. You have to find a way to make it work."</center>
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Him: **Roll of the eyes and shake of the head and grumbling something inaudible.**</center>
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I was desperate and where there's a will, there's a way. I called my neighbor who has done many Mickey Mouse fix it projects and told him he had a chance to make or break a marriage. He came to the rescue and the guys brainstormed. With clever use of drilling, tent poles, creation of a support system, and teamwork the job was able to get done.</center>
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He was so excited to see his finished product and to ensure it worked that he went out and bought bulbs for the chandeliers. Now, there's the sun, and then there are LED lights. He went on and on about how they'll last forever, we'll save so much money...yada yada yada. I really didn't want them, but with all I had just put that man through, he won this time and had no argument from me. So, I wanted bright, and bright is what I got. When my son uses terms such as, "Wow, this room looks celestial" then you know it's bright. He did put a dimmer switch on it, so we can taper it down to where we don't get burned.</center>
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So, without further adieu (** please place on sunglasses):</center>
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Bed: Coaster Furniture $330</center>
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Chandeliers: Ikea $60</center>
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Mega Mirror: Irca (Refinished and painted) $160</center>
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Couch: Thrift shop $90</center>
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Pillows: Ross $10 each</center>
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Mirrors: $10 each clearance at Michael's</center>
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Peacock Canvas: Anna's Linens $30</center>
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Side Table: Ross (refinished and painted) $120</center>
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New Ceiling Fan (all white/no light) $54</center>
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All under my $1,000 budget.</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-49718668944172743612015-01-25T13:54:00.000-07:002015-01-25T13:54:54.284-07:00Perspective From a 2 Hour Hobo<center>
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The youth from church do an activity each year called "Where's Waldo" where they get members of the congregation to dress up abnormally, go to a public place, and see if the youth working in groups can find the 'Waldos'. </center>
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Of course I have no shame when it comes to costumes, so over the past 15 years off and on I have been asked to be a Waldo. Not only am I confident enough to look like an idiot in public but I'm also extremely competitive and I take this thing probably way too seriously. My goal is always NOT to be found and quietly get pissed when I do. My goal this year was to be a dirty (literally) older man. I had a newspaper that I would take to a bench, sit with my legs wide open, and wait for the wife to shop with the paper inches from my face which would force the youth to actually have to engage in conversation to get a good look at me. Just that one act alone scares so many away. Sad really. Where's the creativity? How about: "What time is it?" "Whatcha reading?" "Excuse me mister, can you direct me to Dairy Queen?" I know for years we teach stranger danger, but come on now, you're teenagers, who cares about your safety?!?</center>
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Kidding. But in all seriousness, the lack of ability to engage in conversation makes me want to teach a class about it.</center>
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This year an outside outlet mall was the selected public place. I went early to scout my area where I would be for the night and cringed the second I started walking around. There were only 4 other people (actual customers) walking around the complex. I thought, "Oh, no. This thing is going to be over in 10 minutes." Time to improvise. Time to not only hide my identity, but to hide myself altogether.</center>
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There is a portion still under construction and I thought maybe I could pass as a construction worker on break- but the place was dead. No one would buy it. So as I looked down at the broken sidewalk taped -off area I got an idea. If the youth are uncomfortable approaching a stranger, how much more uncomfortable and awkward can I make it for them if they think I'm a homeless guy? Light bulb.</center>
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I crammed most of the rest of my pizza down my throat and left a few bites in an open box. Then I positioned myself in a sleeping position and for the next two hours laid on the concrete with my newspaper draped over me and pretended I was asleep. I have to admit, it was brilliant and I was so excited to claim victory!</center>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EJMZhTv2UIACYym7g0jFPYgXROoQzWaEnrLjindILxqCXQlA6hqe3FCsmKikcTOZRRiMeipcCzZojFMJcB_hBs561AjqPqaH4zqcO_-Dj41jrQvmdHj9fsnw7BzyBVwLyXJsoTzz_wb_/s1600/Homeless.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EJMZhTv2UIACYym7g0jFPYgXROoQzWaEnrLjindILxqCXQlA6hqe3FCsmKikcTOZRRiMeipcCzZojFMJcB_hBs561AjqPqaH4zqcO_-Dj41jrQvmdHj9fsnw7BzyBVwLyXJsoTzz_wb_/s1600/Homeless.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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But as the night wore on, a deeper concern and more powerful message enlightened me.</center>
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I hardly watch the show "Undercover Boss," but I love the concept. I've had similar, more simpler experiences just in my role as a school board member. I've walked into a school site before and was treated horribly by the front office staff, but by the time I left, someone must have filled them in on who I was and immediately they were bending over backwards with kindness towards me. At that point I was like, 'too late.' I already saw and experienced how you really treat people. Why do we let people's statuses and positions justify and dictate how well or bad we treat someone?</center>
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As I laid on the concrete that night with a newspaper covering half my face, I took notice of those who passed by. There were those who noticed, but as fast as their eyes saw me, their glance diverted to another direction. I had parents who clung on to their children, pulling them into their bodies as if I was a monster who would hurt them. But I think the one thing that disturbed me most were the ones who passed and pretended I wasn't there. In a matter of 2 hours, I went from feeling devalued to a predator to worthless and then to feeling as though I didn't even exist. 2 hours. I can't imagine how a person on the street would feel after weeks, months, or perhaps years.</center>
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I don't write this to persuade you to run and give every homeless person a hug or even engage in a long conversation, Obviously, safety is always a factor and we need to use good judgment, but I do want to remind us all that these are people, like us, who once had dreams. They had lives of their own where people did acknowledge them and through circumstances we'll never know, are brought to this point. Sometimes we may engage in small chit chat, maybe we buy them something warm to drink on a cold night, maybe we spare change from time to time (without judging how they will spend it), maybe it's just a nod of our heads or a smile acknowledging that we 'see' them, or maybe it's just a silent prayer on their behalf. The lesson I learned from this experience is two fold really. Not only can my actions help them feel of worth in that they haven't disappeared into non-existence, but it also speaks of my worth in evidence of how I treat others. Once we turn off the caring and compassionate side of our hearts towards our fellow human beings and replace them with harsh judgments and assumptions- then sadly, we are the ones who've become worthless.</center>
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<span data-dobid="hdw">worth·less</span></div>
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<span class="lr_dct_ph">ˈwərTHləs/</span></div>
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<i>adjective</i></div>
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<span style="font-weight: lighter; line-height: 1.2;">having no real value or use.</span></div>
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"that promise is worthless"</div>
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(of a person) having no good qualities; deserving contempt.</div>
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And, only one group legitimately found me. :)</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-80530046778538384132014-09-25T14:25:00.000-07:002014-09-25T14:25:07.006-07:00Want to Make an Easy $20???<center>
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Sure, she was the bad girl, but who decided to make Poison Ivy gorgeous? There's nothing pretty about it. I've never had it...until this week. Oh, you want to hear about my fantastic trip to the mountains where I picked it up? I wish I could because at least I could say it was worth it. Unfortunately, it's second hand from my son who got it from none other than (brace yourself) a movie theater chair arm. Not only did I get to spend outrageous prices, but we brought home souvenirs!! Gross. I think I'm now going to become one of 'those' people who brings wipes in my purse for outings such as this. I used to make fun of 'those' people. Now I walk among them.</center>
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Nathan's spread all over his body before we diagnosed what it was, he's at the point where we have blisters popping. I hope you're not eating, did you know poison ivy turns to this:</center>
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He's finally on the mend, but I must have picked it up after applying multiple applications of Calamine lotion on him. I'm about to have a breakdown here- I'm itching SO bad. The only thing stopping me is seeing how bad it got on Nathan and not wanting to touch multiple parts of my body to look as he does, Therefore, I'm willing to pay anyone $20.00 to come scratch the living daylights out of it. Seriously, I want you to go to town, make it bleed. The longer the nails, the better.</center>
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Takers??</center>
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Otherwise, any other solutions other than Calamine, because it doesn't seem to be making a dent.</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-64987350960064349922014-07-06T20:59:00.000-07:002014-07-06T20:59:16.818-07:00My Personal Cape Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxmVWLN5LiLztuVcFUDndLcH2UAliXpXLgZPetYjqkWseRNG04FNlhVjvNeepT9XuVg4j8icltyN3Agd-3TOo1B5HkMiUpLh03HnUa-cQjw-BLO4HZRkRUYljnKACspZcOmm0PnwDTXLT/s1600/d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxmVWLN5LiLztuVcFUDndLcH2UAliXpXLgZPetYjqkWseRNG04FNlhVjvNeepT9XuVg4j8icltyN3Agd-3TOo1B5HkMiUpLh03HnUa-cQjw-BLO4HZRkRUYljnKACspZcOmm0PnwDTXLT/s1600/d.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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Behold: Peace and tranquility. Seriously, what could go wrong here? You know those people wherever they go, luck follows? I'm like them, except with bizarre craziness...it always finds me, even in my sleep I can't escape.</div>
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We spent our summer family vacation this year on the East Coast at Nags Head, North Carolina and nearly missed hurricane Arthur by a week. Jason's parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, so the family got together and rented a beach house for 19 family members who were able to attend. So, as you can imagine, the house was always buzzing, but with 4 levels and outdoor decks the chaos wasn't too out of control.</div>
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At night, there were bodies everywhere. Cousins camping out on floors together, spouses in bedrooms throughout the house. Jason and I slept in a bedroom on the base level and due to our internal clocks being on Pacific time zone, were usually the last to go to sleep so we always heard the house go quiet each night. </div>
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Rewinding several years: Nathan used to sleepwalk quite often. It was always unnerving when I'd wake up in the middle of the night with a boy standing over me next to my bed. It was like a horror movie and I never got used to it. Once I got my wits about me, I'd gently guide him back upstairs. Those few months were some of the worst nights sleep because even if he didn't enter the room in the night, I'd dream about it because I was paranoid it was going to happen. So, when the door opened around 2 a.m. and lights flashed on in the beach house bedroom, I had almost become accustomed to thinking we had a sleepwalker entering. I asked Jason who it was, he said, "I think it was Dominique (my niece)." <i>"What did she want?"</i> "I don't know, maybe she was looking for the boys in the next room." </div>
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I kept hearing movement up and down the stairs, but drifted back to sleep. Later the lights flashed on again with the door open and someone standing in our bedroom. I gave Jason a push to nudge him out of bed to take care of it. Next coherent thing I remember was his voice raised,<b> "Who are you??!" </b> I can tell you, my adrenaline has never pumped so hard than when I realized we not only had an intruder in the house, but that an intruder was in my bedroom. </div>
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In Jason's defense, she did look like our niece had our niece been 45 years old with Botox and extensive face lifts. Here was a woman standing in a itty bitty pink nightie and barefoot arguing with Jason stating this was her house and she was looking for her husband who was upstairs. This is how opposite my husband and I are; Jason was trying to listen and rationally explain why this wasn't her house while I was in defensive protective mode without a shred of care for this woman and barked orders to Jason to "get her out of the house!" </div>
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After he gently forced her through the door and she finally gave up the fight and walked away is when my compassionate side kicked in. I realized, we just shoved a lady in her nightie and barefoot out the door in the middle of the night to face who knows what. Then I started second guessing myself- should I have helped her rather than be so callous? Jason decided to call the police and they went in search for her to ensure she got where she needed to be. Turns out, she was the neighbor. :-/ Needless to say, she didn't make an appearance at night or in the daytime the rest of the days we were there. Upon talking to our family the next day, it was almost comical of many, being in a sleepy state the prior night, all thought it was one of the kids who came in and flipped on lights in their bedrooms. We're so happy this woman didn't come face to face with one of the kids, yet how scary that so many slept through or didn't let it cross their mind that a stranger was in the house. My brother-in-law carries his gun and we talked of how horribly the incident could have ended.</div>
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This woman wasn't drunk, but was almost in a drunken sleepwalk stage. One word: Ambien. I've seen some of the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNYT_rOgvIA" target="_blank">crazy videos on youtube</a> of Ambien users, but had yet to experience one in real life. I read some of the side effects under 'less severe': "Loss of ones sense of reality or identity" and "Hallucinations." If these are low on the severity list then what's severe? Dying? Being shot? Embarrassed for all of time? Reading the list was enough for me to stick with the old fashioned way of counting sheep. Unless of course I'm feeling gutsy- then instead of a Tupperware party, I'm game for an Ambien party.</div>
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<br />How many of you have or know someone taking Ambien? Is this rare? Bizarre stories? Anyone? </div>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-55782941577721013692014-06-17T00:33:00.001-07:002014-06-17T00:33:26.897-07:00Failure: A Pathway to Success<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #351c75;">A few months ago I had an article posted on <a href="http://heidipowell.net/6865/failure-a-pathway-to-success/" target="_blank">Heidi Powell's blog</a>. It was a great honor to hear positive feedback from those who struggle with this same issue. I realize I never posted it on my own blog and wanted to do so for those who aren't connected to me via Facebook. Therefore, EVERYONE can have an opportunity to read about my inner insecurities. Enjoy.</span></center>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDQmEBljxn5R35jO1abEE2_1U6huByZQ8a4Ueiq-g7mLLrJRotyMKEROEbF2vlXmDDiCzHTtJko1jUVCJhF13lqf36327rni-PLkAvpoRvmm3yNTI7Li2pZDUopO3kMUaOdLgaUnOe6pt/s1600/hurdle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDQmEBljxn5R35jO1abEE2_1U6huByZQ8a4Ueiq-g7mLLrJRotyMKEROEbF2vlXmDDiCzHTtJko1jUVCJhF13lqf36327rni-PLkAvpoRvmm3yNTI7Li2pZDUopO3kMUaOdLgaUnOe6pt/s1600/hurdle.jpg" height="457" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;">I’ve had a problem since my youth. I peeked at my Christmas presents because I wanted to prepare myself to be excited or disappointed. I skipped ahead in books so I could rest easy knowing whether someone lived or died. I let many relationships go because I didn’t want to end up hurt. Flying makes me uneasy because I don’t know what state the pilot or mechanics are in. I wish I could say it ends there but no, I’m Jen, and I am a classic control freak. I’m realizing through time and experience the negative effects from it and have found an emotion that has fueled this characteristic, and that is fear.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;">I recently started a new job, which I was excited and eager about. But once I met my counterpart (who was much more qualified), my weakness of wanting to be in control of a situation quickly stepped in to ‘save’ me. It would be easier for my ego to make the decision to quit rather than be defeated. At least I could say I controlled the outcome on my terms, rather than letting the outcome control me. No harm done…which is a lie.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><a href="http://1larwpdbnvqpcz84vezsi9nu.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/i-am-tired.jpg" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><img alt="i-am-tired" class="wp-image-6875 alignleft pib-hover-img" data-pin-media="http://heidipowell.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/i-am-tired.jpg" data-pin-url="http://heidipowell.net/6865/failure-a-pathway-to-success/" height="224" src="http://1larwpdbnvqpcz84vezsi9nu.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/i-am-tired.jpg" style="border: 0px; display: inline; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: auto !important; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 1.5em 0px 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" width="161" /></a>Lately, I’m aware of the same characteristic in my son and I’m getting a glimpse from the outside-in of the paralyzing effects it has and the potential joyful opportunities he’s missing due to it. His piano teacher would share concern that when a new piano piece was placed in front of him, he would refuse to play it out of fear of not getting it right. I watch him at baseball games letting ball after ball go past him without a swing, later to find out he was afraid of swinging and missing, allowing the pitcher to determine his fate. He’s competitive but will pretend not to care about winning and jokes at events in the off chance he loses, and therefore refuses to put his whole heart into it.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;">We are like two hurdlers in a race who, rather than focus on the finish line, we focus on the hurdle and let the fear of missing the jump block us from successfully completing the race.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;">A life changing moment happened for me while attending a <a href="http://www.becomingyourbest.com/" target="_blank">business seminar</a> where the presenter posed the question, “What is the opposite of success?” Most, including me, answered with a resounding, “Failure.” We were quickly corrected. The answer has changed my way of thinking. In our society, we automatically link success and failure as black and white, when in reality, the opposite of success is quitting. As our goals are measured by success and we fall short, is all the work done in the process suddenly insignificant and non-beneficial to learning? Of course not. Failures are our teachers if we allow them to be. We may fail in our attempts, but success is often achieved through failures.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;">My name is Jen. I’m 38 years old and I’m on a quest to becoming my best. I am tired of not finishing the race because I didn’t design the track. My first step is taking my need for control and controlling how I think; knowing that what I believe is what I will become. I know I may stumble on the way, but I need to trust that the hurdles are there to strengthen me, to give more endurance, to make the finish that much more sweet. I remind myself each day that as long as I don’t give up, the equation works and I will eventually cross the finish line and achieve my goals.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;">We often hear that failure is not an option, but I’m finding it’s a necessity to many successes and joys in life. Quitting is not an option.</span></div>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-67282084372254754782014-05-31T23:45:00.000-07:002014-05-31T23:57:43.892-07:00My Night With the Brits<center>
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By popular demand, I am posting my story of May 28th.</span></center>
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As many know, my favorite pastime is researching, downloading and listening to music. My music library is a little out of control and I can't seem to get enough. If someone were to ask me who my favorite is, it depends on the day, but this band is <u>always</u> in my top 3.</span></center>
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Lyrically, I am moved. Musically, I am inspired. Put the two together, and I need to see and hear these people who create such masterpieces live in action.</span></center>
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When I saw they were finally coming to the U.S. and a quick trip to L.A. away, tickets were bought the moment they went on sale. </span></center>
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This is how most conversations went leading up to my trip:</span></center>
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Person: Why are you going to L.A.?</span></center>
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Me: Going to a concert.</span></center>
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Person: Who ya going to go see?</span></center>
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Me: You don't know them.</span></center>
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Person: Oh, who is it?</span></center>
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Me: Seriously, you won't know who they are. It's an Alt rock Indie band.</span></center>
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Person: I listen to that genre, really, who are they?</span></center>
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Me: Elbow</span></center>
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Person: Who?</span></center>
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Me: Elbow</span></center>
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Person: El-bow?</span></center>
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Me: Uh huh.</span></center>
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Person: Oh, I don't know them.</span></center>
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And then I proceed to try and explain how great they are meanwhile, all the person is hung up on- is the name 'Elbow.' Hence, why it's easier to say, "You don't know them." If you were to say 'Elbow' in the U.K., guaranteed most know who this band is because, lets admit it, most of the best music originates there.</span></center>
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I've waited seven years to see them live, so we left Phoenix and went straight to The Wiltern in Los Angeles. I wanted to be first in line, which would mean first inside, which meant first and front in Guy Garvey's eye view during the concert. We got in line at 4 p.m. and doors didn't open until 8 p.m. Before you judge, how long did you wait in a line on Black Friday?? </span></center>
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We made friends with the people next to us (also from AZ), had some good one on one conversation, people watched (never lacking or disappointing in L.A.), and enjoyed being out of the AZ heat.</span></center>
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When they finally opened the doors I felt like a kid at Christmas rushing down the stairs to open my first present. When I opened that present, it was socks.</span></center>
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Apparently, being the first in line for general floor admission didn't mean you got the front and center next to the stage. You got the first tier of the floor. Next to the stage happened to be the floor pit and we still haven't quite figured out how those tickets were purchased. Theories have been, after talking with other fans who waited hours, were 1. Reserved for the first 100 tickets sold. or 2. The Wiltern advertised becoming a VIP member of The Wiltern which offered more perks. Either scenario didn't sit well. Why? 1. Most of those individuals in the pit were way older than us. I find it hard to believe all of them knew how to use the internet and buy tickets in a timely fashion. Jason went online and bought the tickets the second they went on sale. If he wasn't within the first 100, then there had to have been a pre-sale that wasn't advertised. 2. This VIP crap ticks me off. It's annoying to watch people walk in 5 minutes before the show and mosey on up to the very front, meanwhile I invested 4 hours on the sidewalk. Who's the better fan? The one who is patient and endures or the one who pays the most? Obviously, money talks. It's this kind of shenanigans that led Pearl Jam to boycott and eventually start what became Coachella.</span></center>
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Our view was still great, just not what I had wanted or expected. We still had the front of the tier and I didn't have to worry about a 6 foot man in front of me. </span></center>
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The concert was definitely not a disappointment, other than it flew by. I was in awe. Their sound was perfection, with every instrument balanced. It was different than any concert I've experienced. Not only was the crowd mellow, but they actually held their applause until the last notes were finished because every second was art that you didn't want to miss. Guy's voice is almost better live than recorded which is a rare gem to find. One of Jason and I's favorite moments was the final song "One Day Like This" and ironically that moment wasn't because of the band. At the end of the song, Guy turns the microphone to the audience to finish the last few lyrics and all 1,500 attendees sing in unison. Then he asks us to sing in harmony and like a professional choir, half the crowd automatically switches to harmony. That many voices, singing together beautifully to something those artists created, what a tribute to what they do. </span></center>
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...and then things get awkward.</span></center>
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When the show is over, the lights come up and security starts pressuring us to exit the building. I'm always taking it slow, hoping to get a copy of the set list or some other form of memorabilia. </span></center>
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As we start slowly exiting, Jason spots a celebrity but can't think of his name. Immediately, I notice it's Brendan Coyle a.k.a. Mr. Bates from Downton Abbey. He's speaking with an older couple and I decide to eavesdrop and hope to possibly get a picture with him. I pull the ol classic- jump in the lunch line stunt-which I had mastered in high school. Just walk up, stand there like I belong, and if I'm lucky- interject in the conversation. We all know how these things and me usually go. (<a href="http://jjtanner.blogspot.com/2014/03/i-dont-always-meet-celebritiesbut-when.html" target="_blank">Read past experiences here</a>). </span></center>
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OK, scene is set, here's the script:</span></center>
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Brendan: (Talking with older couple, has a blonde friend with him who ends up walking away. I gather Brendan is a little tipsy by signs of slowed speech and back and forth swaying movements while he thinks he's standing still.) "Hey, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine, this is Julie." (Pointing to me).</span></center>
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Me: "Hey everybody, I'm not Julie...Julie went that way."</span></center>
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Brendan: "Oh, who are you?" (Said in an interested way)</span></center>
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Me: "I'm Jen, and I was hoping I could get a picture with you."</span></center>
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Brendan: "Uh, sure. Are you here with this guy?" (Pointing to some random dude).</span></center>
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Me: "No, I'm with THAT guy." (As I point around him towards the back of the room, where Jason is ready with the camera.)</span></center>
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Brendan: "Oh, he's a lucky man. You're very beautiful . He's a handsome chap. </span></center>
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Here, come sit down with me for awhile."</span></center>
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Me: SCREAM!!! (Inside scream, but totally cool and chill on the outside, all the while thinking, <i>Don't screw this up, please, not this time.</i>) </span></center>
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So we sit and chat for a few. I'm doing well. </span></center>
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Innocent. Nice. Polite. Good conversation.</span></center>
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Then either the last shot of vodka kicked in or my American charm won him over and he became VERY close.</span></center>
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Close enough that he said he wanted to kiss me. Uh, that's a joke right?? Isn't it usually the other way around, the fan kisses the celebrity?</span></center>
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He proceeds to tell Jason that he's going to kiss me and for him to get a picture.</span></center>
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If you look close enough, I think you can see my face muscles straining to resist his hand pulling me towards him. And like any great husband would, instead of fighting for his woman, Jason takes pictures because he succumbed to the charm of a man with an accent telling him he was handsome.</span></center>
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At that moment I went blank. I'm sure Brendan tried to get my number, stole a few strands of my hair, and had the best cheek kiss of his life, but the next thing I remembered was security giving us our last warning to exit the building. </span></center>
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I've actually had a few (crazed Downton Abbey fans) say, "Jen, why didn't you kiss him??" "You know how many girls would die to be in your shoes?"</span></center>
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First, what you do in a situation and what you think you would do in a situation are two different things, and more importantly, I already have my Lord of the Manor. </span></center>
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If you ever have a chance to hang with some Brits, it will be the night of your life!</span></center>
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And for the love...get to know this band: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUUASDWrBdc">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUUASDWrBdc</a></span></center>
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Here are some pics of The Wiltern. Fantastic historic venue.</span></center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-25844175926973213092014-04-18T11:28:00.001-07:002014-04-18T11:28:15.638-07:0012 Years Old and Dating...<center>
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There are several reasons why we have a rule our kids are not allowed to date until they're 16. One of the reasons is crystal clear above... I'd actually want him to have a chance at marriage some day. This is what you get when a 12 year old boy is out with a 12 year old girl. Yes, this is my son out on a "date."</center>
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So before you judge and ask why I've lost my standards, first it's not really a date (but it's all in the technical terms), second it was all arranged and chaperoned by his teacher, and third when you hear this story you'll understand why things are not always black and white. </center>
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A few months ago we had the missionaries over and they were discussing the importance of being a light unto the world. They left us each with a challenge to think of how we could be a light to others and act upon those thoughts. After they left, we each talked about what we could do individually. Nathan immediately spoke about a girl in 7th grade at school who is extremely shy. He said she always sits by herself at lunch and won't talk to anyone. He said, "I want to be her friend." So, we discussed things he could do to befriend her without being overbearing. He started just by waving at her everyday with a smile. At first, she ignored him and tried not to look at him. Soon he started sitting with her at lunch. She never spoke to him but eventually began to look at him. If you know Nathan, he hardly shuts up, which works great in this scenario. He continued to ask questions, and in time she started to respond by shaking her head either 'yes' or 'no.' Nathan would come home from school and rarely ever talk about it, so we thought things had just remained status quo or that the interchanges had stopped all together, until I received an email from his teacher, here is part of that email:</center>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: start;">"Jane (name changed) is classified by speech as a selective mute. She won't/can't speak to hardly anyone, and that includes some family members. This impairment apparently started at the beginning of 5th grade. Last year, I was called to come assist a teacher with a student who was in the hallway; crying, shaking and rolled up in a ball...and this is how I met Jane."</span></center>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: start;">Nathan has started talking to her; asking her questions. Jane won't verbally speak to Nathan, but has started to write her answers on the whiteboard. This, in itself is big because in most cases Jane shuts down; she will lower her head, won't respond, sometimes trembles, if someone tries to talk to her or make eye contact. </span></center>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: start;">Nathan told me he wants to be her friend so I wrote her a note that Nathan wanted to be her friend and that Nathan and I wanted all three of us to have lunch together sometime. I asked her if she would like to do that? Her response to me was so funny. She wrote down..."yeah, sure... I guess." "When?!?!?!" Jane had the biggest smile on her face. I can't believe that she agreed, it's also her birthday. </span></center>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: start;"> My dear friend,you, have a son who has a pure and caring heart! I'm thankful that I get to witness how sweet his spirit is, and he lets his light shine!"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: start;" /><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: start;">
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Time has passed. Nathan spends his lunches and recesses with her. His teacher set up another opportunity for the three of them to hang out. They would go to dinner, watch a movie, and go ding dong ditching to surprise other students for Easter. Nathan has been looking forward to this 'date' for weeks. Even though we've tried to explain to him that this isn't a date, I try to imagine what I want his future dates to be like: spending quality time together, building relationships, serving others, but most of all- helping a girl feel valued, beautiful, and see her smile. At the age of 12, he's done what I hoped he would do at the age of 16. Jane still hasn't spoken to Nathan, and we are not expecting she ever will, but her smile and silent giggles is all he needs. He cares about her so much and I'm grateful he has received a glimpse of the power a little kindness can be. I cannot express the amount of love and appreciation I have for this teacher who has gone above and beyond her job description. This is what being a teacher is all about- making a lasting difference.</center>
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This has also been a reaffirmation to me of the importance of my kids being in school. They do face negative worldly situations, but my kids are finding as they stand strong to what they know and have been taught, they are a light to their fellow students and those students (and even teachers) are drawn to that light. </center>
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May we all let our light shine. </center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-82304915047579358702014-04-01T16:09:00.000-07:002014-04-01T16:09:54.519-07:00It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year<center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I could kiss the person who made this day a world wide sensation. Seriously, we could be best friends. Frankly in my opinion, practical jokes should be played more frequently than once a year, but to get a day where it is celebrated and encouraged- hats off!! I've been a prankster since the cradle. No joke. My mom told me how I'd cry in the middle of the night and when she'd finally walk in exhausted, I would just smile at her. I watched The Purge (clean version) recently and contemplated how the world would be if crime and mayhem were given one day to unleash- no consequences, no questions asked. Luckily murder and mayhem are not my style, but April Fool's Day is my equivalent to the Purge. You can't get mad at me if I fool you because it's on the calendar, it's expected, and you can't hold me accountable for what you were unprepared for. </span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>You've heard my pigeon prank which I pulled on my neighbor last year, if not you can<a href="http://jjtanner.blogspot.com/2013/07/would-you-like-to-be-my-neighbor.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;"> read about it here</span>.</a> He tends to be an easy target. Case in point, he leaves his car doors unlocked at night. A) We no longer live in 1985. B) I (Jen) am your neighbor. This year I bought a singing birthday card and dismantled the singing piece. So with some thread, electrical tape, scissors, the singing card piece and some help from the Mr., we rigged the brakes so each time pressure is applied while braking that stupid hamster song plays. Don't know which one I'm talking about? <span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaH_EvlDbK4" target="_blank">This horrific one</a>.</span> If he pumps his brakes enough, that hamster will be a rap star.</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Neighbor's cars are always great targets. If you'd like me to stop, then make room in your garage. This year I made a couple bumper stickers, nothing too hilarious, but enough if you know the owners.</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>It's getting tougher each year to get Jason. He is on full alert, so I'm having to turn to more subtle ways. I did a couple small things in the house, which were actually meant for the kids but unfortunately Jason got the brunt of it. Not that I mind.</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>This year, for him I thought it would be best to work through his taste buds. This man is addicted to Jelly Belly jelly beans. He can't help himself, he can literally eat them by the pound(s). Imagine my delight when I found these beauties:</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>What's the big deal, right? Turn the box over for brilliance:</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Put a goody bag together for a sweet treat after work:</b></span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I can't wait for him to get his first taste of canned dog food and baby wipes. But what's got me ecstatic is in knowing him, he's going to throw a whole handful in his mouth at once. The mixture of flavor is going to be stupendous! </b></span></center>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Just remember, <strike>go big or go home </strike>go fool or get fooled!</b></span></center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-91074949752627803862014-03-27T17:26:00.000-07:002014-03-27T17:26:34.054-07:00I Don't Always Meet Celebrities...But When I Do, I End Up Looking Like a Loser<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I LOVE the entertainment industry. I love musicians, movies, television, etc. but I'm not a typical 'star struck' person. I'm too empathetic maybe. I think, geez, they're just people, let them be so they can enjoy their dinner without getting their picture taken, signing autographs, or hear a 10 minute story about how their work has changed your Aunt's life. Apparently though, I need to be a little more star struck because every time I meet a celebrity, it goes wrong and if anything, I probably remind them why they do what they do in order NOT to be the ordinary Joe Schmo. </center>
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Some examples of my run-ins: I've hit Seth Green with my stroller, I've had Paul Meany come down from the stage with his microphone to sing a song with the crowd and get right next to me (like the Bruce Springsteen/Courtney Cox video) and I briefly forgot the words, I tried telling Thomas Mars a joke that ended up reversing and made me the butt of the joke, we all know how my run-in with Henry Winkler and <a href="http://jjtanner.blogspot.com/2012/09/daniel-silvabff.html" target="_blank">Daniel Silva</a> went, and alas my most recent with Anna Kournikova. </center>
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I was invited to a Championship Tennis Tournament of some of the great pro tennis players of old (Sampras, Chang, Courier, Philippousis, etc) which occurs each year in an effort to raise money for cancer centers. I get the VIP section due to my status of 'elected official' so I get to rub shoulders with some great people. I was thrilled with this tournament because I was excited to meet and schmooz with Pete Sampras, my date for the night but alas, he ended up with an injured soldier and had to back out destroying all the photo op's of him kissing my hand and cheeks I had planned for the evening.</center>
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The Mayor was making her rounds and had a crew with her, one of which was Anna, but unfortunately when my table full of high rollers asked who the blonde was, my response was, 'oh, that's the Mayor's daughter.' #$&!!*&$#</center>
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They approach Jason and myself and so I'm being overly casual (because I have a great relationship with the Mayor) therefore to her and Anna I'm saying things like, 'Don't you feel like you're in a wedding line with all these pictures?? Plastic permanent smiles when all you want to do is take the gifts and run!!' I've been replaying that idiotic conversation in my head and go between cringing and chuckling. What a L-O-S-E-R! </center>
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Finally, we are formally introduced and so I do the only damage control I know how to do: pretend that I knew all along. She was very sweet, of course lovely, and an easy conversationalist. We talked tennis and life of being in our 30's, we both have health issues. By the end of the conversation, she's running her fingers through my hair. True story. I haven't washed it since. Ok, I waited a day.</center>
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Moral of the story, if you ever want to meet a celebrity and make a good impression, don't accompany me. I keep thinking of all those poor people at my table who didn't take the opportunity to meet and shake hands with Miss Kournikova because they're all like, 'eh, it's just the Mayor's daughter.'</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-70847953360360983902014-02-24T14:15:00.001-07:002014-02-24T14:15:57.592-07:00Embrace Your Inner Nag<center>
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Plain and simple-I'm the nag in the house. Sometimes I wish I could be Jason at times. When he is with the kids it's fun time, unless you count him reiterating what I've tried to say several times prior and am at my wits end. He really is supportive and would do anything I ask--but that's usually the point, I have to ask. He will step in because he knows when I'm frustrated and he interjects to try and save my last nerve of patience. </center>
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I know I'm not alone in this, right ladies? </center>
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Kids get home from school and everyday I'm a broken record:</center>
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Did you do your chores? All of them?</center>
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Can you not see the dog doesn't have water and the pets need to be fed to stay alive?</center>
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What time are you starting homework?</center>
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You need to read scriptures.</center>
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Did you get this other task completed that you've had on hold for a week?</center>
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Isn't it time you practiced piano?--no, playing music from bands you are emulating from youtube doesn't count!</center>
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How are these questions not programmed in their cerebral? How can they not anticipate these questions from me and just put them into practice without the nag having to do it? Is that what my role has come to? Why can't I just be the nice welcoming mom with warm baked cookies and hugs? Oh, that's right...I'd have to nag them to pick up their crumbs.</center>
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Seriously, from 3 p.m. to bedtime I am not a mother, I am a nag...every stinking day. </center>
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I remember when the kids were small and would run to me everyday when I'd pick them up from school. I was their hero, I could do no wrong. Now, I'm just the task master and their eyes avoid meeting mine out of fear for an added responsibility or a question that requires action. (**Gasp)</center>
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My heart rate is accelerating just writing this and this frustration led me to put February to the test. I took one thing away that I was going to 'gently remind' (a.k.a. 'nag') of. I picked piano. Both kids have been taking piano since they were 7. That's a lot of invested $$. I have had numerous talks with them in the past year that if they didn't want to do piano (because of getting up every 10 min of practice time to 'see how much time they had left') to let me know and we would stop lessons. It's not worth the money if there isn't progression-and there isn't progression without practice. They've assured me multiple times that they enjoy piano and didn't want to stop.</center>
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Without any piano promptings Nathan passed with flying colors, Brynna on the other hand didn't practice once. Now granted, she is extremely busy and I know it's a sacrifice to fit it in her overly filled plate. But she still managed to find time to play her guitar and sing, follow people on instagram, eat, etc. If it's important to you-whatever it is, you make time for it. This solidified my decision to pull the plug on piano for her.</center>
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Yesterday I had a conversation with Brynna and told her the news that today would be her last day of a piano lessons and that I had spoken with her teacher. She stood in silence. I knew she felt bad, I could see it on her face, but it wasn't bad enough for her to put up a fight.</center>
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This should have felt like a victory to me, due to all my feelings listed above. Instead, I went in my closet and bawled my eyes out. Yep, it was ugly. Snotty kleenix, uncontrollable intake of breath, massive hangover headache type of crying. All that came to my mind was memories of sitting on that piano bench with my little girl helping her or battling it out as she practiced. Ghosts of all the beautiful piano pieces filled my mind that once filled our home with music- that even after hearing them for 100 times-gave our home a special feeling that is irreplaceable. All of a sudden, in that moment, our home felt too quiet. I saw 8 years of built talent that will no longer be put to use on a daily basis, and thus will slowly wither away.</center>
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That 5 minutes of hell in my closet was one of the few times I wished to be a hypocrite. As parents, we said early on we would never force our kids in a sport or activity because WE wanted it. Our desire was always for the kids to have a choice. She made a choice and I didn't like it. Agency can be a real bear when it isn't going your way. </center>
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In reality, I know what the real issue is here and it's not necessarily about the piano. My daughter is growing up and will soon be moving on. I am overly excited to see what she will do with her life and for all the things she will accomplish. What I'm not excited about is when those accomplishments happen-it won't be under my roof. I'll hear about it via telephone or text, but rarely in person face to face. By knowing her piano music will stop was like a slow death to me. A piece of her has already left home. As I was composing myself I wondered, is this a blessing that we experience these small pieces of separation to prepare for that final one? Maybe you moms who have experienced this can help me. What's better? These small pieces of reality that remind you of what's to come (slow death) or having it all go in one painful moment (quick death)? All I know is both hurt and I don't know if I'm cut out for it or that I could ever be prepared or ready enough for that moment.</center>
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I think I'd rather be a nag.</center>
Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-73256170149331278302014-01-16T09:37:00.000-07:002014-03-28T13:47:52.234-07:00Becoming My Best<center>
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I had the privilege a year or so ago to do a favor for a friend who asked me to read a non-published manuscript and provide feedback. The book, "Becoming Your Best: The 12 Principles to Highly Effective Leaders", is set to be released later this year and is an appendage to the <a href="http://www.becomeyourbest.com/" target="_blank">Becoming Your Best </a>company. Little did I know how that one decision would set things in motion. Life truly is about one choice at a time. </center>
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I'm always a little hesitant of leadership or self-help books and am very selective because of unknown authors. I have concerns like, 'Do they practice what they preach?' 'Where's the evidence I can see in their lives that this works?' I've often heard of counselors or therapists where their lives were in shambles. This is why weight loss commercials with 'before' and 'after' pictures work on me. I believe what you're telling me, but I still want to see proof.</center>
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Later, upon learning who the author was and in researching more about him, the proof was manifest. The author is Steven R. Shallenberger. Not only does he have a very successful 40 year track record in his business endeavors and in working with some inspiring people like Dr.Stephen R. Covey, but also has a loving family. Our lives have been touched by some of his children and spouses and I know they were raised on these same principles which is evidenced in their lives. I was sold.</center>
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<a href="http://www.becomingyourbest.com/" target="_blank">'Becoming Your Best'</a> wasn't like some of the other books I've read in the past where I felt more weighted down and guilty of things I wasn't doing right. This was inspirational and gave me an empowering feeling of hope that I, an average girl in the world, am capable of great things beyond my expectations. Not only did it teach me what I need to <u>do</u> to become my best, but also gave me tools of <u>how</u> to apply those principles. Proof was manifested within the words of the manuscript by highlighting very successful people in history and influential people of today who have applied these same tools and the success that resulted from their actions. This proof gave me confidence that this is something I wanted to try and was capable of.</center>
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The book focuses on 12 key principles of success. I focus on one of these 12 principles each week and use application tools given to assist in my process. I've already noticed great improvements in my life in self confidence, how I act and react in my relationships, and feel I've increased my capabilities as a mother. I went to a <a href="http://www.becomingyourbest.com/" target="_blank">"Becoming Your Best" </a>seminar where Rob, the CEO and presenter shared, "The difference between today and four years from now are the people you meet and the books you will read." One choice for me, a choice to read a book has sent me on this journey, is day by day changing aspects of my life. His statement is proof which is manifesting in me. </center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-82413469743841830072013-10-31T14:52:00.001-07:002013-10-31T14:52:50.185-07:00Happy Halloween<center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-31475013498874200792013-10-22T09:51:00.000-07:002013-10-22T09:51:28.950-07:00Murder in Margaritaland<center>
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It's thee best time of year! I have been hosting murder mystery parties for roughly 12 years and even though Jason doesn't like the time, money, and stress I put into it, I absolutely love it when it all comes together that evening. He ends up being a good sport and does much of the heavy lifting for me. I decided to take a few days to go to California beforehand and left a detailed 'honey-do' list which consisted of a diagram drawing of the backyard for him to replicate. I end up with a lot of the thanks, but this man deserves his kudos.</center>
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I've worked with different companies and <a href="http://www.nightofmystery.com/" target="_blank">Night of Mystery </a>has the best product. They have story lines which make sense and come together nicely, they allow up to 80 people or so, and it's very organized. </center>
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This year we had less people due to fall break and had a main character fall ill to food poisoning (not our food), and spouses who had to work (seriously, isn't this important enough for a vacation day?). Thankfully, we had an 'extra' show up and take that role, which ended up being vital to the story.</center>
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We seriously have some of the best people who put everything they have into this, which is what makes or breaks the party. Whenever people tell me how much fun they had, my response is it's only as fun as what the people put into it. When you have individuals diving into a pool in October, or a woman you think may actually be drunk because she plays the part TOO well, or you have people who show up in Hoverrounds, or people who burned their face due to practicing a fire dance, or have practiced 'pick-up' lines in other accents--- you are destined to have a good time.</center>
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I just now realized I never put up last year's mystery party. I have a private Facebook page for the attendees which I post the pictures and information. I'm realizing I'm tending to neglect my blog more frequently and have decided I need to be more vigilant about using it more. </center>
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Therefore...here are pictures from our heavily sugared mocktailed evening:</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-19066000472982132382013-10-08T15:42:00.003-07:002013-10-08T15:53:34.665-07:0016 Years Later...I'm Still Up With Her In the Middle of the Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's poetic, really. I used to have to drag my body out of bed for late night feedings with the kids a decade ago in the middle of the night. Now, I am dragging them out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night for their responsibilities. </center>
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Yesterday, Brynna had hours worth of homework and projects to work on added upon seminary at 5:45a.m., 6 miles worth of cross country, piano lessons, and daily chores. I half felt empathy for her, but then I remembered having heavy schedules in my high school years and realized those hard accomplishments taught me valuable lessons about priorities and finding balance. Never mind, I didn't feel bad for her. Enjoy that youthful 16 year old body while you still can!</center>
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I headed up to bed at midnight and decided to check in on her since her light was still on. I open the door to a girl sprawled out asleep on her floor, drool spilling out near her not even half completed project. A little tidbit about Brynna, once her body goes horizontal sleep is inevitable. I awoke her as I was upset she allowed herself to succumb to sleep realizing all the work she still had to accomplish. I could have let her keep snoozing so she would wake up and learn a hard lesson, but that isn't in me. Her lesson would come in extreme drowsiness from being up another few hours.</center>
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After the 'lecture', I went to my room and laid down on my bed awaiting beautiful, peaceful sleep. In about five minutes I had a softening of heart as memories flooded my mind of being up with her in the middle of the night in her infant and toddler years. She needed my help then, and she could definitely use my help now. I grabbed the markers instead of a bottle and went to her room. Instead of holding her in my arms, I laid next to her on the ground and we worked side by side in the quiet of the night. While both exhausted, it was those quiet moments that I know we both cherish. We were there when we needed each other. She needed me, and as a mom I need to be needed. I'm grateful these opportunities still come even if they may not always be pleasant. Whether helping her through drama turmoil until 4 in the morning, sitting awake in the late hours because she wanted to talk about her date or night out with friends, or working on homework projects together, I am thankful because at times, these are the only private moments we have anymore. When she was little it was those late hours where I saw her early first smiles and heard her first words almost as if they were reserved especially for me as a reward for my late night sacrifice. Today, these late hours are still what binds us as we are able to have precious uninterrupted time together and share all the thoughts and emotions that seem to be trapped under the surface during the busyness of the day. I'm still being blessed for my sacrifice.</center>
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Sleeping through the night is overrated and much can be missed in all those hours. </center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000328613703271248.post-61072431116853928042013-07-15T23:38:00.001-07:002013-07-15T23:38:12.833-07:00Would You Like To Be My Neighbor?<center>
It's nerve racking when the house next to you sells, especially if you really liked your previous neighbors. She was my 'go-to' for a cheese grater among other kitchen supplies. He and Jason would play ball together with the boys. We spent Christmas/New Year's street parties together. The worst part is I was just starting to warm them up to who 'Jen' really is. Maybe that's why they moved.</center>
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A few weeks ago, another neighbor came to deliver something to our house and I noticed he had a huge gash on his head. He implied he received it from a fall off a ladder from 'trying to spray pigeons off his roof with a water hose.' I've razzed him ever since that H2O isn't the typical cure for pigeons. Since his mishap I will place money that more pigeons roost on his roof than any other on the street. Hmm...trip sensor synapse for prank idea in my head. </center>
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Imagine roughly 30 or so of these puppies posted on mailboxes, light poles, parking lots, park equipment, and liquor stores within a 5 mile radius:</center>
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Why do I do it? I have no idea, other than I lie awake in great amusement at night while scenarios run through my head of how this ends. </center>
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This is only a sampling of what our neighbors over the years have had to endure...all for my cheap thrills. THIS folks, is my hobby.</center>
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As I look out my window and see the new <strike>victims</strike> neighbors moving in, I can't help but feel sympathy for them and hope they have relatively thick skin, or at least a humorous bone in their body. </center>
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Oh, and if you see my neighbor's pigeon...please don't hesitate to call.</center>
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Tanner Famhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08051247215329571013noreply@blogger.com2