tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75464983942455242852024-03-13T19:49:11.003-07:00Something Like LoveKristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-7275766517494236352013-08-17T20:10:00.000-07:002013-08-17T20:22:38.008-07:00Boom Baby!... literallyI am a horrible blogger. It's been 5 months since my last post and a lot has happened: I HAD A BABY!<br />
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On June 3rd (a week past my due date) I checked into the hospital to be induced. I was given Cytotec and told that it would take 24-36 hours, and that in the mean time I should get lots of sleep. However, my restless legs had other plans. After it became apparent that my legs would rather be running a marathon, I was given Ambien, which, in case you don't know, is some pretty powerful stuff... it didn't work. I was wide awake and hallucinating. And to make matters worse, only 12 hours after taking Cytotec, I went into labor. During labor, I was still on Ambien and apparently asked the nurse several times if we were on a boat. When she finally said "no" I told her she was "a good captain anyway." (At least that's what Mark says.) Eventually the Ambien wore off and I pushed for 3 LONG HOURS before the Dr. finally said "screw it," grabbed some forceps and pulled out Hank: our 8 lb 21.5 in baby boy.<br />
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He's beautiful, and HUGE. He's was in the 91st percentile for head size (hence the forceps) and the <b>99th</b> for length! He's definitely earned his nickname: Hank the tank. </div>
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<br />Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-62215921530836263972013-03-26T13:42:00.003-07:002013-03-26T13:42:48.359-07:00Ready or Not<div style="text-align: center;">
It is a well known fact among my family and friends that I am not particularly fond of children. That being said, the following is a compilation of surprised faces from my family upon finding out that I am in fact PREGNANT:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WU_87FQAp8w/UH74bJGtInI/AAAAAAAAAWk/7tdeNj6MJKA/s1600/Mark2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WU_87FQAp8w/UH74bJGtInI/AAAAAAAAAWk/7tdeNj6MJKA/s400/Mark2.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I told Mark in a very sneaky way. I got a priority shipping box from the USPS. I purposefully got a box that was about the size of the Nexus 7 (the tablet that Mark wanted at the time) I banged up the box, smeared ink on some spots and printed off fake shipping labels from "Porter Electronics" Then I put it in the mailbox and waited for him to get home. Predictable as always Mark checked the mail 1st thing when he came home. He walked in the door with the box and asked if I had ordered something. I said I had bought him something very pricey and told him to wait till I got the camera so that I could record his reaction to the gift. Inside the box was a pregnancy test that said "Mark, You're going to be a Dad!" I wish our camera was better but as you can see from the photo above he was just as surprised as I was. </div>
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Sara and Emily didn't believe me when I told them that I am pregnant. They both immediately responded with "No you're not." It took me about 3 full minutes of convincing them until I was finally able to snap this photo. </div>
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Robin got an envelope with a note that said "This is the size of your new niece / nephew" below the words a mustard seed was glued to the paper. My parents and Coltin all got a similar note. Their pictures are below:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3Gm7bjLrRDs/UH76JOvs1pI/AAAAAAAAAXE/XqSex7R2Xbg/s1600/2012-10-06_15-53-44_788.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3Gm7bjLrRDs/UH76JOvs1pI/AAAAAAAAAXE/XqSex7R2Xbg/s320/2012-10-06_15-53-44_788.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Telling my cousin Brielle and her family was a little difficult. I had lunch with them and then told them I wanted a family photo. I went up to a complete stranger and said "Hey I'm about to tell my family that I'm pregnant. Could you snap a few photos after I say "1,2,3, Kristin's pregnant" Again, none of them believed me and the first photo taken was just of people with awkward smiles. You can see that Uncle Brent still doesn't believe me in this photo. But after some convincing my dutiful stranger-photographer got this hilarious gem.</div>
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Well there were lots of family members and friends that I have awesome photos of but this post would go on for a mile if I put them all on here. So I'll wrap it up with one more photo:</div>
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Meet Hank, our baby boy. He is named after my Granddad... well actually my granddad's name was Ianthus but that's a whole different story. </div>
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Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-22557216238356985042012-10-03T10:34:00.000-07:002012-10-03T10:34:20.600-07:00Naked Heat: A Horror StoryBeing from Texas, you would think that hot weather doesn't bother me. . . You would be wrong. My years of living in Utah have made me a pansy. I hate being hot, especially at home. So when our swamp cooler boke in the middle of July I was about ready to fill my bathtub with ice and slip into a hypothermic oblivion while blasting "Hace Calor" on the stereo (the Sesame Street version of course). But, before I could enact my arctic plan, my little brother came into town for volleyball camp. He of course wanted to stay at our house so I had to settle for an ice cold shower instead. <br />
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Here is where the horror story begins. After getting out of my frigidly refreshly shower, I noted how much cooler it was in my house without clothes on. Then, forgetting that my brother was outside getting his bags out of his jeep, I decided to sit on the couch and relish the moment of cool. . .<br />
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Upon re-enterin my house, at first my brother was like:</div>
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But then he was like:</div>
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And then he just went back outside, got in his jeep and was like:</div>
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Scarred for life. If you know my little brother PLEASE don't mention this blog post to him. It will only make his emotional trauma worse.</div>
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<br />Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-15537713826587773672012-09-27T09:43:00.002-07:002012-09-27T10:50:04.424-07:00The Great American BisonWhen I was a kid I thought my Dad was a government spy. I also thought that he was 19 years old. I was positive that he had never told a lie in his entire life (which is why I still won't eat broccoli becasue it will make little trees grow out of my ears). And I was pretty sure he knew the names of everyone in the world, because he always knew what to call them when they we driving poorly. "Get out of the way Joe!" "C'mon Suzzy! Use your blinker!" <br />
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Above and beyond anything else that I knew about my father, I knew that his favorite animal was a buffalo. Occasionaly as a child my whole family would pile into our 9 passenger van and we would drive for days and days (Texas to Wyoming) for the sole purpose of seeing some buffalo. When we finally arrived at the buffalo we would park the van and wait while my Dad and Devin counted the buffalo. They kept a tally of all the animals we had seen on the trip, from ground squirels to deer, and the vacation wasn't over untill we had seen more buffalo than all the other animals combine. We stopped for EVERY buffalo, even if it was dead... especially if it was dead. <br />
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Somehow, I have managed to look back on those family vaccations with a inexplicable amount of nostalgia. So when Mark suggested we go to Yellowstone I was all in. We went with our friends Dan and Jacquie Bergquist. Here's a chronicle of our journey.<br />
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May 26th:<br />
We arrived in Yellowstone today. It was snowing despite being May. Ten seconds after arriving at the park Mark had to pee, so we pulled off the main road, but he decided to hold it when we discovered that we had company.<br />
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That's 6 buffalo for our tally and we've only been here for 60 seconds! Dad would be so proud. Then, I taunted a buffalo: (in case you can't tell I'm holding a bag of beef jerky)</div>
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Then I lost count of all the buffalo:</div>
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We saw buffalo in the mist:</div>
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After some geysers and things not involving buffalo, the highlight of the day came. To understand my excitement about this you need to have familiarized yourself with "The Guy on the Buffalo" a classic you-tube musical. If you have not watched this you are FORBIDDEN from continuing this blog post and I have graciously provided you with a link to it's glory: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5Lmkm5EF5E">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5Lmkm5EF5E</a></div>
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Awesome right? So now that you've watched "The Guy on a Buffalo" you'll understand why this was the highlight of my trip. We were walking in West Yellowstone when we happened upon a shop with a bunch of taxidermy animals, western attire, and a sweet old lady with a camera. </div>
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That is right ladies and gents, I am riding on a buffalo! I dun pa proud. </div>
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Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-24986358671345288432012-09-24T12:17:00.001-07:002012-09-24T20:18:03.989-07:00We're not ready for kidsI already wrote this blog post and I thought I published it but someone informed me that it somehow disappeared like socks in the laundry. So I'm re-writing it. Now the details aren't exactly fresh in my memory but here's what I recall. <br />
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It was a hot day in March. Mark and I we super excited to go to the festival of colors in Provo. If you've never been to the Holi Festival in Provo, Here's what you need to know: 500 Mormons, 25 Hindu's<br />
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In our fresh white shirts, ready for fun, Mark and I, as well as my cousin Sara and her hubby Tyler, drove to the Hari Krishna temple in Spanish Fork... well we tried. The closest parking was like 10 miles away from the temple (this number might be exaggerated slightly by my memory but it's not likely; I mean 500 Mormons right?). So we had to walk, and walk and walk; like the pioneer children only we were walking toward a Hindu temple not a LDS one. Blasphemy? </div>
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When we finally arrived my flat feet were grumpy. Regardless, we bought colored chalk and waited for the party to begin. I was walking across the plaza when this malicious, little punk kid (no older than 10) comes out of nowhere and hits the bottom of my chalk bag, making colored dust fly into my face and up my unprepared nose. I'm not exactly known for my patience and mild temper, and even on a good day I would have yelled at the kid. But, the chalk that I inhaled must have been blocking my brain cells from communicating with the "appropriate reactions" part of my brain so my grumpy feet took over the thinking and decided to elbow the kid in the face... hard. The following is not an inaccurate representation of what it may have looked like:</div>
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He cried, I felt a mild twinge of guilt, but the little punk deserved it. This is why we are not ready for kids. </div>
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On the brighter side, here's a fun photo we took:</div>
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Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-89533182362408802792012-05-15T09:37:00.001-07:002012-05-15T09:37:15.413-07:00Valentines Menu: DogIn 2012 Mark and I had plans to buy a puppy, but not just any puppy, a Vizsla! Vizsla's are awesome, they don't bark a lot, they don't shed a lot, and most importantly, they don't smell!<br />
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Unfortunately Vizslas cost around $1000. So we started saving. In February we had the $200 deposit saved up and there was a liter on its way with our closest breeder. We were finally ready to order our dog, that is until Valentines Day.<br />
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V-day 2012 was supposed to be low key. I worked late and wasn't expecting much. I came home to a candle lit foot massage and some strawberries and cream, but I was still hungry, so I suggested that we go to one of my favorite restaurants here in Provo, Communal. <br />
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When we arrived at Communal, the waitress asked if we had a reservation. We said no and despite the fact that the restaurant was half empty, she made a big to-do about trying to find us a table. She finally offered us a spot at the bar. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at us with their judgmental eyes so I was eager to sit down. When the waitress brought us a menu, she informed us that they had a set menu that day. I was aware of how expensive a set menu can be but Mark had no idea, so he just told her that that would be fine. As I looked over the menu I was looking for a way out of the restaurant while still saving my pride, after all the entire restaurant was still staring at us with their judgmental eyes. Luckily the menu had shrimp on it. I turned to Mark and said, in a voice loud enough for the waitress to hear, "Oh no, they are serving shrimp, we better go somewhere else cause I'm allergic" he did not pick up on my hint and said, in an equally loud voice, "That's okay, we just won't get the shrimp." <br />
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*Sigh* resigned to my fate I decided that paying for the meal was worth saving my pride. I assumed that the meal would cost around 60 or 70 bucks, and since it was Valentines Day it would be worth it... I was so wrong. When the check came Mark did his best to hide his surprise, but his bug eyes were my first hint that things were not as I had hoped. I discretely pried the bill from his vice grip and my heart dropped. $140... we don't HAVE $140!<br />
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Of course, we ended up having to spend the money we had saved for the deposit on our Vizsla to pay for our bill. And that is the story of how we ate our dog for Valentines Day.Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-67056564009095870922012-05-14T10:48:00.001-07:002012-05-14T11:08:32.911-07:00Previously on...It's been a long time, so I don't blame you if you've forgotten, but the reason I started this blog was for a class. The reason I abruptly stopped blogging is because I got an A on the assignment. Once the semester ended my overworked brain had effectively liquified and I had a hard time trying to seperate wit and humor from the mush that was once my mind. Have you ever seen the TV show "Bones?" Think of Doctor Hodgins with a strainer going through some bodily goop trying to find particulates... Thats what I've been doing. But I'm back and eager to catch up.<br />
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I love watching shows like Prison Break and Lost. But I hate watching the "previously ons." You know the part that says "Previously, on Lost, John Locke was a creeper who screwed everything up but Jack saved the day . . . again." Mark, however, LOVES the previously ons he likes to make sure he knows what happened before he moves on. Well, to catch you up on the last year, here's the "Previously on" for my life:<br />
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Previously, on Something Like Love:<br />
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Mark and I had a one year Anniversary! We decided to do this awesome photo shoot with our birds, Darwin and Stella. Things were great, until Darwin found a way out of the cage and flew the coop. Poor Stella was heart broken so we quickly bought her a new boy friend named Leland. <br />
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We went on a fishing trip with Syler!<br />
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We moved into a bigger house, I love it! It has a big yard so we got a dog. He was a German Shephard named Carlos, (no we did not name him) we had him for 3 days before he destroyed our house and went back to his previous owners. <br />
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4-wheeling trips with the fam,<br />
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We made our own grape juice,<br />
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Our new house has a big tree in the front yard and we would hang our birds out in the tree so that they could enjoy the summer weather, but then some little punk kid came by and thought it would be fun to beat their cage with a bat like a pinata . . . Leland and Stella died and I cried A LOT. :(<br />
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My birthday this year was on 11/11/11. I hosted a huge 1920's themed party. Justin was my bartender and Byrin was my craps dealer. We had fun taking photos, fake gambling and drinking mocktails!<br />
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Mark and I went on a canoeing trip with my fam.<br />
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We went to Texas for Christmas. We had so much fun staying with Mark's brother Todd and his wife Rachael and their cute little boys!<br />
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Now that I've caught you up 2011, we can now return to our featured program.Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-6780950477831158002012-05-14T09:48:00.001-07:002012-05-14T09:48:55.155-07:00Something Like True Love<div class="MsoNormal">
Finding the person you want to spend the rest of your life with feels like coming home after a long vacation. Maybe you were searching for something, maybe you weren’t, but either way you found it and it’s the most comfortable feeling I know.</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I started this blog for a class. I figured I’d write about the only thing I know: life. I have now completed the required amount of pages and I don’t know how much longer this blog will survive. But I do know this, mine and Mark’s one year anniversary is coming up, and weather I write about this next year or not we will still have adventures. Mark will still say funny things that make me laugh. And we will still have our odd relationship, which I like to think is Something Like Love. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">P.S. I better get an A+ on this.</span><br />
<br /></div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-66621072456229603992011-03-31T10:31:00.000-07:002011-03-31T10:31:47.280-07:00Returned MisionerosLearning a new language is like learning how to shave your legs. At first it's seems really fun but after a while it's just a hassle. There are always spots that you miss and you occasionally cut yourself. This is how I feel about Spanish. I pay attention in class but there is always something I miss and I frequently make a fool of myself. Well I was given a Spanish assignment to interview a native Spanish speaker and write a 2 page report about it.<br />
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As many of you know, Justin recently came home from his mission. He spoke in Church on the Sunday and afterward we invited a few family friends over to celebrate the only way we know how; with brisket. I took advantage of this opportunity to invite Mario and Marta Hernandez over so that I could interview them for the assignment. I told everyone in my family that they'd be coming over but somehow Justin got a bit confused. I guess he thought that I had invited them over so that he could teach them the missionary lessons . . . false.<br />
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We all sat down to dinner and I started asking Mario and Marta questions in my less-than-perfect Spanish. Suddenly Justin blurts in with this statement "Marta, ha orado para saber si el Libro de Mormon es verdadero?" or for those of you who don't speak Spanish "Marta, have you prayed to know if the Book of Mormon is true?" Here's what was going through my head: <i>Did he just say what I think he said? What is he doing? Stop!!</i> At this point I was discretely pinching Justin's arm and kicking him under the table. He didn't stop. So I excused myself and then 30 seconds later called for Justin's help in the kitchen.<br />
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Me: "What are you doing?"<br />
Justin: "I thought I was supposed to be teaching them"<br />
Me: "Noooo, I invited them so I could interview them for a school project"<br />
Justin: "OOOHHH . . . can I teach them afterward?"<br />
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Oh freshly returned missionaries, you are a special breed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-M1LVyWOzVBM/TY1qY0x_FbI/AAAAAAAAARc/I4mqCyQv1-o/s1600/Justin%2527s+home%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-M1LVyWOzVBM/TY1qY0x_FbI/AAAAAAAAARc/I4mqCyQv1-o/s320/Justin%2527s+home%2521.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-20828245424800602112011-03-25T18:25:00.000-07:002011-03-25T21:20:44.346-07:00St Pat's<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Almost 2 years ago, I found myself stepping off of a plane in Ireland. It was love at first sight. The green hills, the cool brisk air, the music playing in the distance. It was “magically delicious.” This is one of the reasons whyI love St. Patrick's day. It is one of my very favorite holidays. This year to celebrate I decided to make some Irish Coddle (a really gross-looking but yummy tasting soup).</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I invited our good friends "Standrew" Murray over for dinner, which turned out great. Afterward I made a St. Patirick's day creation of my own invention. I'm calling them "green refreshers." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">They are a combination of:</span><br />
<ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Sprite</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Pineapple or Lime Sherbet </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Vanilla Frozen Yogurt</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Limeade</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Green Food Coloring</span></li>
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</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It was a fantastic St. Patrick's day!</span></div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-31782915493963178732011-03-17T20:16:00.000-07:002011-03-23T15:09:49.609-07:00Busted Backs and WindowsRacquetball is like tennis right? Only instead of a net there's a wall? Call me crazy but it doesn't seem that dangerous. Then again there is a hard rubber ball bouncing off walls at high speeds, so maybe there's more to it than I thought. Well, there must be, because Mark came home from a racquetball game acting like he had just been hit by a car. He could barely move. <br />
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It was a Friday and he spent to evening in a hot bath while dictating the paper he needed to write to me. Saturday he tried to go to work but he quickly realized that, that wasn't going to happen. So, I picked him up and started calling chiropractors. I think I called every chiropractor in the Utah Valley and none of them were open on Saturday. We finally found one that was on-call. We went to his office around 7 pm and he worked on Mark's back for 2 and a half hours. <br />
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He started with some normal chiropractor stuff like massage and little adjustment tricks, but when none of those worked, things started to get interesting. First he did some electroshock stuff which wasn't too strange, but when that didn't help he strapped Mark into what looked like a torture chamber<br />
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Mark was still in a lot of pain so the chiropractor layed him on the table for what looked like another adjustment trick then... BODY SLAM! This guy literally had both feet off the ground when he landed on Mark. (he should look into professional wrestling). That didn't help Mark so he had one final trick, acupuncture. I think I was more afraid than Mark; just being in the same room with needles makes me queezy. It was horrifying to sit and watch a body-slamming, torture-chambering man jab needles into Marks back and then just leave them there. Worst nightmare, ever!! I did manage to pull it together long enough to snap a photo. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IBbGkw5O3tI/TYLNzEXcPPI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/2tGveSQ4Epo/s1600/IMG_20110312_201614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IBbGkw5O3tI/TYLNzEXcPPI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/2tGveSQ4Epo/s320/IMG_20110312_201614.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
After this long ordeal Mark and I walked out to our car only to find that it had been broken into. Our entire life savings ($5) had been stolen. Mark says it's my fault for leaving the car unlocked but, being from the ghetto, I say "I woulda had rather leave da car unlock and let dem steal fi bucks den bust da windows out my car." (sidenote: <em>Bust The Windows Out Your Car</em> by Jazmine Sullivan is one of my favorites songs). Luckily we didn't have anything too valuable in the car so nothing but the money was taken. But it made for a very eventful Saturday.Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-40060835392039365982011-03-11T19:33:00.000-08:002011-03-11T19:33:42.933-08:00Angry BirdsYou've all heard of the game Angry Birds right? Well the premise is that these little green pigs stole eggs from some birds, which made the birds angry and now they have declared war on the pigs.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Y8-H0RRH2FI/TXricuoXV1I/AAAAAAAAAQs/ZYpUzyZGkCY/s1600/angry+birds.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Y8-H0RRH2FI/TXricuoXV1I/AAAAAAAAAQs/ZYpUzyZGkCY/s400/angry+birds.PNG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well 4 weeks ago our finches laid 4 eggs and about 2 weeks ago we expected them to hatch, but instead, one by one, they all mysteriously disappeared. I like my birds and I don't like to think that they pushed their eggs overboard, because in my imagination they are sweeter than that. So, I've decided to blame it on the pigs. I don't know how or when but sometime little, green, legless pigs broke into my apartment and stole our eggs!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In an effort to avenge our caged birds, Mark and I bought smart phones and have taken up playing Angry Birds every spare minute we have. Before we bought these phones, we used to cuddle at night before we went to bed... now we just play Angry Birds till we fall asleep. We're a little bit addicted, but I never knew vengeance could be so fun.</div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-57270131026293851482011-03-02T10:00:00.000-08:002011-03-11T11:13:48.147-08:00The Bacon ManBacon. It makes everything taste better. I've always liked bacon, but Mark, well he LOVES bacon. In fact there isn't a thing that Mark can cook without bacon in it. For Christmas last year I almost got him a cook book called <i>177 Ways to Cook Bacon</i>.<br />
<br />
A few days ago I asked mark to clean out a pan full of bacon grease. His response was "Why do I always have to do it?" My reply was "You are the bacon man, you always cook the bacon, you always eat the bacon and so you always clean the bacon."<br />
<br />
Well Mark has really taken that to heart and sincerely adopted his new persona. An hour ago I walked into the kitchen and Mark quickly shewed me out. "Go away! the Bacon Man is working." Not much later he brought me a delicious sandwich and said "This is for being a good girl and listening to the Bacon Man."<br />
<br />
It ain't so bad being married to the Bacon Man.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-x1X1gQZU_7s/TWqdx_g-YkI/AAAAAAAAAQo/VJLObC9HL5I/s1600/Mark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-x1X1gQZU_7s/TWqdx_g-YkI/AAAAAAAAAQo/VJLObC9HL5I/s320/Mark.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-38832113595694445722011-03-01T09:56:00.000-08:002011-03-02T08:20:32.269-08:00A PrankHave you ever heard the story of of Scheherazade? The legend goes that the King of Persia found out that his wife was betraying him, so he had her beheaded. Then angry at all women he decided that every night he would marry a new virgin and then have her beheaded at dawn. Well he quickly ran out of virgins and there were only a few left in the kingdom: one of which was Scheherazade, who bravely volunteered herself to marry the king. On their wedding night she began to tell a story. The king listened in awe as she told the tale through the night, but when dawn came she said there was no time to finish before her beheading. Desperate to hear the story the King spared her life for one more day. The next night she did the same thing and again the King spared her life to finish the story. The cycle was repeated day by day until Scheherazade had told a thousand and one stories, and by then the King had fallen in love with her.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-j8N3KPDYEuY/TWqXcKPLlVI/AAAAAAAAAQg/jI09bqwZYvo/s1600/1001-nights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-j8N3KPDYEuY/TWqXcKPLlVI/AAAAAAAAAQg/jI09bqwZYvo/s320/1001-nights.jpg" width="252" /></a></div><br />
<br />
What's the moral of the story? Never bore your audience. That is the first great rule of writing. Now I'm not saying that my brother, Justin's writes boring letters, but they don't exactly satisfy his audience. For example, a few weeks ago I wrote him a letter telling him about the frostbite on all of my toes. I expected an email back or at least just a mention of me in a letter to the family but no... nothing. Instead it was just, "Such and such person that you don't know is progressing well" and "Joe Stranger is really great." In frustration I called my mom who turns out has a similar complaint. She always asks Justin questions which he never answers. So I decided some revenge was in store<br />
<br />
I wrote an email to Justin telling him that my frostbite had gotten worse and that my doctor had scheduled a time to have it amputated. "I'm going in for surgery this Saturday so by the time you read this email I will only have 9 toes" Additionally I told him that once the toe was removed I would be getting a tattoo that reads "Gone to Market" with an arrow pointing to my missing piggy. Much like this one:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-9anFDUfaeF4/TWqYtxHa7GI/AAAAAAAAAQk/PS5XdFuasw4/s1600/Toe-Tattoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-9anFDUfaeF4/TWqYtxHa7GI/AAAAAAAAAQk/PS5XdFuasw4/s320/Toe-Tattoo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well Justin finally emailed me back and here's what he said: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So are you officialy a 9-toe-er. That is.... ummmm.... almost funny and very sad. Sorry to hear about that. But don´t worry, in the resurrecion you will have all of your 10 toes again! Love you sister, even if you only have 9 toes Have a fantastic day, good luck with your feet. I´<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><span class="text_exposed_show">ll be praying for you.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He gets home in two weeks so he can just believe me till he gets back and see's my feet. That ought to teach him not to ignore my emails. </div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-42293643775182923072011-02-27T19:06:00.000-08:002011-02-27T19:06:00.186-08:00I got a jo- ...nope never mindAbout three weeks ago I saw an ad in the help wanted section for sales people at Wilson Diamond's. I had been on the job search for quite a while so I decided to give it a try. I went in for one of the oddest interviews on my life. Questions ranged from "If the clock says 3:15 what is the size of the angle between the hour and minute hand" to "Why do you think people were so outraged when Hitler started killing the Jews when just a few months earlier the Chinese government killed off an entire political party?" <br />
<br />
Needless to say it was nerve racking but I held my own and I got a call back. The manager called and asked me to come in for another interview the next day at 8 am "oh a bring something to sell me." He added on the end. I went in the next day like asked and some him a puppy (not a real one). <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F2NTEcMg22E/TWf7bs2u8rI/AAAAAAAAAQY/5izVWhwOJZ0/s1600/Beagle%252520puppy%252520400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" l6="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F2NTEcMg22E/TWf7bs2u8rI/AAAAAAAAAQY/5izVWhwOJZ0/s200/Beagle%252520puppy%252520400.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Days later he called and said "You're a remarkable young lady and we'd love to hire you." I was stoked!! starting salary was $10 an hour just for training and once you got to sales people averaged $14 an hour. The perfect job for Mark and I right now. I spent my first two weeks on the job in a back room learning how to grade diamonds. Much like the picture below. Most of the time it was just me and a microscope. I had very little personal interaction. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7BokUIWvJbA/TWgBdxT4KcI/AAAAAAAAAQc/nSn2OmnQOD8/s1600/w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" l6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7BokUIWvJbA/TWgBdxT4KcI/AAAAAAAAAQc/nSn2OmnQOD8/s200/w.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left">Finally on Monday (Presidents day) I went in to take the test. I did really well. The manager said "Wow you got almost everything right... you're fired" Say what!?!? He continued "I really like you Kristin but you're too straightforward and you're very intellectual and the combination of those two make you very intimidating. We only have 90 seconds to impress our customers and I'm afraid you'll just intimidate them."... </div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">I'm not sure why my boss found me intimidating, I really try to be friendly. How does he even know how a customer would react to me if he never gave me a chance to interact! Sure I'm intimidating to a microscope but give me some person to interact with before you make that judgement call!</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">Am I intimidating? Please let me know if I am cause I'm not doing it on purpose.</div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-2251791270231886442011-02-24T19:05:00.000-08:002011-02-24T19:05:50.401-08:00Modern Day PioneerWe've all heard the stories of the pioneers crossing the plains barefoot in the frigid cold. It's not surprising that many of the ended up with frostbite. I'm sure that once they finally reached Salt Lake all they wanted to do was rest their weary feet. When I was a kid my family went on a little pioneer trek I made it maybe a mile before my feet were aching and I rode in the handcart the rest of the way.<br />
<br />
That was the first sign. Over the years that foot pain would only get worse. I could hardly stand for 15 minutes with out my feet aching. So like most reasonable people do, I put off going to the doctor... for several years. I finally went last month. I just stopped by the health center to see a podiatrist and I was scarcely in his office for three minutes before he started naming my symptoms for me.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">"You're heels hurt all the time don't they? </div><div style="text-align: center;">And the only way to relive the pain is to wear high heels right? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Also your feet are usually purple and sometimes you hands. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh and when your feet get warm they itch and swell."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">His accuracy was both impressive and creepy. He then proceeded to tell me that my heels hurt because I'm becoming flat footed, My feet and hands are purple because I have Reynaud's disease, which limits the blood flow and the feeling in my feet. And finally they itch when they get warm because I have frostbite. (I guess putting ice on them to stop the itching was a bad idea)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I could have figured I was flat footed since everyone else in my family is, and I saw the Reynaud's thing coming, but frostbite!? I thought that was reserved for pioneers. Trudging through the harsh winter with out shoes! In an effort to raise awareness about modern day frostbite here are some picture of my feet.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dzR29gvIcYY/TWccPwg8uII/AAAAAAAAAQI/fSO07E_d19A/s1600/toe2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dzR29gvIcYY/TWccPwg8uII/AAAAAAAAAQI/fSO07E_d19A/s400/toe2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4qLJrykaQm8/TWccQVdO_tI/AAAAAAAAAQM/RAIl7GXLwjQ/s1600/toes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4qLJrykaQm8/TWccQVdO_tI/AAAAAAAAAQM/RAIl7GXLwjQ/s400/toes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TV9pToDNeVU/TWccQROAIgI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/_-BeN8Cx0eI/s1600/toes3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TV9pToDNeVU/TWccQROAIgI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/_-BeN8Cx0eI/s400/toes3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-89966301182712645612011-02-24T18:36:00.000-08:002011-02-24T18:36:35.712-08:00Ice Castles<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">List of things I hate about winter</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><ol><li>Cold</li>
<li>Ice</li>
<li>Snow</li>
<li>The need to wear closed toe shoes</li>
<li>BYU doesn't have a spring break </li>
<li>Mark disappears all season to be with his true love: Snowboarding :(</li>
<li>The heating bill</li>
<li>Impossible to keep your nose warm which leads to...</li>
<li>Runny noses and colds</li>
<li>COLD</li>
</ol><br />
<div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Despite my spite for winter there are three things I do like about it:</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><ol><li>Hot Chocolate</li>
<li>Snuggling with mark (when he's around)</li>
<li>Ice Castles</li>
</ol></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What are Ice Castles you ask? Well here are some photos of a trip Mark and I took to Midway, UT with his sister Audrey and out friends Jessica and Aaron. We had a lot of fun exploring these enormous Icicle-structure-things.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ixmMaSov23w/TWcUgfzI5dI/AAAAAAAAAPc/9k2fU0LmNJE/s1600/ice2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ixmMaSov23w/TWcUgfzI5dI/AAAAAAAAAPc/9k2fU0LmNJE/s320/ice2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is an Ice Castle</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-crc6kFzLIcg/TWcUfzbpWJI/AAAAAAAAAPU/mXPQCvAuupM/s1600/ice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-crc6kFzLIcg/TWcUfzbpWJI/AAAAAAAAAPU/mXPQCvAuupM/s320/ice.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here we are in the Ice Castle</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Rx1ytSpKmCI/TWcUgNkEBfI/AAAAAAAAAPY/OZeAfigSFyI/s1600/ice1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Rx1ytSpKmCI/TWcUgNkEBfI/AAAAAAAAAPY/OZeAfigSFyI/s320/ice1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KkT6xkScC7U/TWcUgqj-RyI/AAAAAAAAAPg/czDokevWvRU/s1600/ice3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KkT6xkScC7U/TWcUgqj-RyI/AAAAAAAAAPg/czDokevWvRU/s320/ice3.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ice Castles are made by leaving the sprinklers on in the Winter</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w5ubcw_-NrM/TWcUg2Q0RQI/AAAAAAAAAPk/TjIoVXtlRgc/s1600/ice4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w5ubcw_-NrM/TWcUg2Q0RQI/AAAAAAAAAPk/TjIoVXtlRgc/s320/ice4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">As you can see they are quite tall</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UUTpI1QNLL0/TWcUhHC03bI/AAAAAAAAAPo/KLHijCbaYbk/s1600/ice5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UUTpI1QNLL0/TWcUhHC03bI/AAAAAAAAAPo/KLHijCbaYbk/s320/ice5.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ra1hy6lW1aI/TWcUhqU7edI/AAAAAAAAAPs/61a9ZBqG23k/s1600/ice6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ra1hy6lW1aI/TWcUhqU7edI/AAAAAAAAAPs/61a9ZBqG23k/s320/ice6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AxCcg-dkWjo/TWcUh0wVLXI/AAAAAAAAAPw/UDSEOXRfwUE/s1600/ice7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AxCcg-dkWjo/TWcUh0wVLXI/AAAAAAAAAPw/UDSEOXRfwUE/s320/ice7.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-50z2CyK6hLE/TWcUiJt627I/AAAAAAAAAP0/3wZvW6NEw_A/s1600/ice8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-50z2CyK6hLE/TWcUiJt627I/AAAAAAAAAP0/3wZvW6NEw_A/s320/ice8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--8o3_NlsYmY/TWcUjD-Us3I/AAAAAAAAAP8/5-5QPBnreVo/s1600/ice10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--8o3_NlsYmY/TWcUjD-Us3I/AAAAAAAAAP8/5-5QPBnreVo/s320/ice10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Qi4Gu6sycY/TWcUjCQAaQI/AAAAAAAAAQA/LyUaFgqHApI/s1600/ice11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Qi4Gu6sycY/TWcUjCQAaQI/AAAAAAAAAQA/LyUaFgqHApI/s320/ice11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3rY2kWb6IUg/TWcUjsIodgI/AAAAAAAAAQE/7wlbn0orrjs/s1600/ice12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3rY2kWb6IUg/TWcUjsIodgI/AAAAAAAAAQE/7wlbn0orrjs/s320/ice12.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ARwYUYR63ZI/TWcUimWCklI/AAAAAAAAAP4/oO_SRDxjQSw/s1600/ice9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ARwYUYR63ZI/TWcUimWCklI/AAAAAAAAAP4/oO_SRDxjQSw/s320/ice9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mark and Aaron decided to climb on them... and then we got kicked out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div></div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-46748221435152529912011-02-16T22:37:00.000-08:002011-02-16T22:38:21.167-08:00Fishes and Finches Sound the SamePeople mourn in different ways after loosing a pet. Some people take it as harshly as the death of a family member. They go through all seven stages of grief (sometimes twice, just to be safe). Others, skip the stages and buy a new pet, name it "So and so 2" and continue on as if nothing ever happened.<br />
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After the lose of Swarley (the fish we only had for two days), which you might have read about in my previous post, Mark and I gave ourselves about two weeks and then decided we were ready for a new beta. We went to PetSmart to buy a fish. Our plan was to spend $3 max . . . instead we spent $100 on finches.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Just to clarify, this is what we went for:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ZODDd6F9hI/TVsKV9Zi6EI/AAAAAAAAAN4/HV5ylxzPRkM/s1600/beta-fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ZODDd6F9hI/TVsKV9Zi6EI/AAAAAAAAAN4/HV5ylxzPRkM/s320/beta-fish.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fish</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And this is what we came home with:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZfYtpykBUk/TVy9_aSRJUI/AAAAAAAAAOY/0TTNdgQ_mZ8/s1600/zebra-finch-18721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZfYtpykBUk/TVy9_aSRJUI/AAAAAAAAAOY/0TTNdgQ_mZ8/s320/zebra-finch-18721.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Finch</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't know how it happened. One moment Mark was standing next to me picking out a pretty fish, next thing I know he's talked me into a finch. They are Zebra Finches to be exact and despite my strong desire to name them La-a (pronounced "la dash a") and La/a (pronounced "la slash a"), we named them Darwin and Stella. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kpqgFjVB9vo/TVzAC5Z_MXI/AAAAAAAAAOc/JxJRSeVH5bA/s1600/darwin%2526Stella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kpqgFjVB9vo/TVzAC5Z_MXI/AAAAAAAAAOc/JxJRSeVH5bA/s320/darwin%2526Stella.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We brought them home, Set up their cage and even planted some wheat grass at the bottom so we wouldn't have to change the newspaper constantly. At first I was not very excited to have to care for these two, but they grew on me. And then they layed eggs. They laid the first egg 2 weeks ago and for a while I thought nothing would happen. They weren't sitting on it, they didn't even show any interest in it. then they laid another, and another and today yet another. As of Feb 16 the count is four. At this rate I'll have a whole flock of finches, which is called a "charm." I'm not sure I'm ready for all of this! After all, I just wanted a fish!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-81840764576380167792011-02-15T15:54:00.000-08:002011-02-21T12:25:27.189-08:00Buried<div style="text-align: justify;">What ever happened to global warming? One day Al Gore is predicting nice, warm sunny days then all the sudden a blizzard hits! Come back global warming, I miss you. Mark does not miss global warming because if there's one thing he loves more than me, it's snow boarding. So when we got a chance to go stay at a friends cabin in Beaver right on the ski run, Mark could not resist. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nAIQZtie_KQ/TVsSCHT9MSI/AAAAAAAAAOU/Q3Qv41Vic_k/s1600/SNOCAR.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nAIQZtie_KQ/TVsSCHT9MSI/AAAAAAAAAOU/Q3Qv41Vic_k/s320/SNOCAR.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We drove to Beaver, and we started to drive up the mountain but it bacame apparent that we needed snow chains. So we went back down the mountain, attempted to put snow chains on for about 4 hours and then headed back up the mountain. By this time there was an all out blizzard on the loose. We made it most of the way up but couldn't get up to the cabin... so we hiked. Through snow that came up to our knees, we dredged up to the cabin. Like every treacherous trek there were casualties. The pioneers lost many, the Donner Party was devestated, we lost a life that was very dear to us. RIP Swarley. You were a good fish, even though we only had you for two days. We're sorry you froze into a fishcicle.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ZODDd6F9hI/TVsKV9Zi6EI/AAAAAAAAAN4/HV5ylxzPRkM/s1600/beta-fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ZODDd6F9hI/TVsKV9Zi6EI/AAAAAAAAAN4/HV5ylxzPRkM/s200/beta-fish.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After mourning Swarley's death we began the difficult task of shoveling off the decks. Here is a picture of Mark shoveling through 6 feet of snow:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mqZMB7mEeJc/TVsKiAsQMRI/AAAAAAAAAN8/RzjDQXQ8OHc/s1600/snow.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mqZMB7mEeJc/TVsKiAsQMRI/AAAAAAAAAN8/RzjDQXQ8OHc/s320/snow.bmp" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There was so much snow!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--agJsKaVuFY/TVsPIzMjixI/AAAAAAAAAOA/NupZcNLQtm0/s1600/so+much+sno.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--agJsKaVuFY/TVsPIzMjixI/AAAAAAAAAOA/NupZcNLQtm0/s320/so+much+sno.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This was the view from our second story window. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Eventually we dug out way out of the snow and hit the slopes and it was a lot of fun, except you might remember that I am an AWFUL skiier. I went on the baby hills most of the time and the one time I tried something bigger I almost peed my pants. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rfXE5jfU_XE/TVsPjU6EvVI/AAAAAAAAAOE/OaSs7SxTo_Y/s1600/SNO+BUNNIES.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rfXE5jfU_XE/TVsPjU6EvVI/AAAAAAAAAOE/OaSs7SxTo_Y/s320/SNO+BUNNIES.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The scenerey was beautiful!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-44U7a83vmoE/TVsRTsP2MXI/AAAAAAAAAOI/mAhRLIa-DHU/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-44U7a83vmoE/TVsRTsP2MXI/AAAAAAAAAOI/mAhRLIa-DHU/s320/untitled.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2IHfm-dxZa4/TVsRVR6sjbI/AAAAAAAAAOM/H4e92M4JU8M/s1600/SNO1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2IHfm-dxZa4/TVsRVR6sjbI/AAAAAAAAAOM/H4e92M4JU8M/s320/SNO1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-62NDKwkyxZA/TVsRVqP_V2I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/DHY8iNvPLtU/s1600/SNOW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-62NDKwkyxZA/TVsRVqP_V2I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/DHY8iNvPLtU/s320/SNOW.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Our time in Beaver was a lot of fun. Freezing but fun. When we weren't snowboarding/ skiing we were playing Wackie 6 with friends and watching "How I Met You Mother." It was a great way to start the new year. <br />
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</div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-26462629893858550792011-02-12T11:02:00.000-08:002011-02-12T11:02:00.109-08:00Our first Christmas TogetherI'm dreaming of a Texas Christmas, just like the ones I used to know, where longhorns replace reindeer and Santa wears hunting gear and there's not a single flake of snow, oh no...<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My family moved from Texas when I was 15. But although we left the state we really never left Texas; we brought it wtih us. So despite the fact that Mark and I were spending the hollidays in Vegas, it was still a Texas Christmas. Every year my family decorates our traditional Texas tree, which towered over mine and Mark's Christmas tree:</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzZ8Kyo3SUI/TVWOHV3lMgI/AAAAAAAAANw/nNZ8r0IjiEk/s1600/1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzZ8Kyo3SUI/TVWOHV3lMgI/AAAAAAAAANw/nNZ8r0IjiEk/s320/1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We chopped it down in the woods</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MxHljpK2IJ8/TVWOJMSt0SI/AAAAAAAAAN0/oREbEF2cQM4/s1600/2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MxHljpK2IJ8/TVWOJMSt0SI/AAAAAAAAAN0/oREbEF2cQM4/s320/2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was tiny,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When Mark and I got to Vegas we had gotten so used to out tiny tree that we forgot how big the Texas tree was (everythings bigger in Texas). It was a bit of a shock at first, but that's what a Texas Christmas is all about:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Oqg7T1N30A/TVWMPUwKljI/AAAAAAAAANI/4ySmrXVFYG4/s1600/1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6Oqg7T1N30A/TVWMPUwKljI/AAAAAAAAANI/4ySmrXVFYG4/s320/1.bmp" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5vL8FQyZdM/TVWMd4wb7oI/AAAAAAAAANM/eQrZurHiYfI/s1600/2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5vL8FQyZdM/TVWMd4wb7oI/AAAAAAAAANM/eQrZurHiYfI/s320/2.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SzRc2jUrZzk/TVWMwNdST_I/AAAAAAAAANo/gFjKf4fxO1I/s1600/10.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SzRc2jUrZzk/TVWMwNdST_I/AAAAAAAAANo/gFjKf4fxO1I/s320/10.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XG74Sstk4OA/TVWMgJPS6YI/AAAAAAAAANQ/DpjOwgI8wdQ/s1600/4.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XG74Sstk4OA/TVWMgJPS6YI/AAAAAAAAANQ/DpjOwgI8wdQ/s320/4.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">tinsel is for sissies we use lasso</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Fo8vG5uwQs/TVWMhmCpojI/AAAAAAAAANU/SKOF3Wmx1PE/s1600/5.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5Fo8vG5uwQs/TVWMhmCpojI/AAAAAAAAANU/SKOF3Wmx1PE/s320/5.bmp" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-piIkIsQ0Qzc/TVWMjSgmmRI/AAAAAAAAANY/PwFiPejEb9A/s1600/7.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-piIkIsQ0Qzc/TVWMjSgmmRI/AAAAAAAAANY/PwFiPejEb9A/s320/7.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ILykf4dWdc/TVWMkjpaniI/AAAAAAAAANc/DcvlDmE_q24/s1600/6.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ILykf4dWdc/TVWMkjpaniI/AAAAAAAAANc/DcvlDmE_q24/s320/6.bmp" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xhh8R5wQbkY/TVWMm30_4DI/AAAAAAAAANg/2BoXbPIVF3E/s1600/3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xhh8R5wQbkY/TVWMm30_4DI/AAAAAAAAANg/2BoXbPIVF3E/s320/3.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HctOJG9vXwk/TVWMoS6VlVI/AAAAAAAAANk/tfrYm7gOei8/s1600/8.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HctOJG9vXwk/TVWMoS6VlVI/AAAAAAAAANk/tfrYm7gOei8/s320/8.bmp" width="240" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">and of course there's the lone star on top</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fkCO_tJy1J0/TVWMx0aAvSI/AAAAAAAAANs/1jL_F3brSnc/s1600/9.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fkCO_tJy1J0/TVWMx0aAvSI/AAAAAAAAANs/1jL_F3brSnc/s320/9.bmp" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Even our Buffalo got into the Christmas spirit</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Santa and his longhorns came all the way to Vegas for us. He gave me a Texas cook book and the 3rd season of "How I Met Your Mother." He gave Mark my social security card (which read Kristin Romney BISHOP) and a bunch of fruit snacks. Sadly after Christmas we again had to return to Provo, but not after a an interesting stop in Beaver, UT. Stay tuned for that story. </div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-35828144729915687602011-02-11T11:02:00.000-08:002011-02-11T11:02:08.251-08:00Gobble Gobble"Family, isn't it about . . . Time." Well most of the time it is, but once a year around November family becomes about something much better . . . food. Thanksgiving might possibly be the greatest holiday ever invented. It's the only day when it's socially acceptable to eat twice your weight in mashed potatoes and drink a gallon of gravy. Thanksgiving of 2010 Mark and I went down to Texas to be with our family. We had so much fun. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GEdCnQDK_TY/TVWDNL7RfeI/AAAAAAAAAMk/UM6b4fXGzt8/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GEdCnQDK_TY/TVWDNL7RfeI/AAAAAAAAAMk/UM6b4fXGzt8/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We went swiming in the warm Texas weather</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4YEpt7IgbA0/TVWDNqUFJJI/AAAAAAAAAMo/iVuwFKd3dUw/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4YEpt7IgbA0/TVWDNqUFJJI/AAAAAAAAAMo/iVuwFKd3dUw/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hung out with our nephews</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C13OODrMNbM/TVWDOXQX6yI/AAAAAAAAAMs/26vhp75ILpE/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C13OODrMNbM/TVWDOXQX6yI/AAAAAAAAAMs/26vhp75ILpE/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And saw the sights</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then we headed down to Frisco for a feast. Mark's brother, Todd, and his wife, Rachael, invited us for the big day. Delicious does not begin to describe the joy my tastebuds and tummy were feeling. I mean just look at the bir below. It is beautiful. Rachael did such a good job on it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0z3vylqV2Ec/TVWFJeYHQNI/AAAAAAAAAMw/EPBuCiDHw84/s1600/1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0z3vylqV2Ec/TVWFJeYHQNI/AAAAAAAAAMw/EPBuCiDHw84/s320/1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I don't think there is anything morebetter than a plate full of homemade food. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VGfG22cqaaM/TVWFZbb3i6I/AAAAAAAAAM0/qE3bw5k5pkE/s1600/7.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VGfG22cqaaM/TVWFZbb3i6I/AAAAAAAAAM0/qE3bw5k5pkE/s320/7.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Except maybe dessert. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wkHZxU6ycuc/TVWFqX2Sj_I/AAAAAAAAAM4/mAwr6ptQtSo/s1600/8.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wkHZxU6ycuc/TVWFqX2Sj_I/AAAAAAAAAM4/mAwr6ptQtSo/s320/8.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mark and I made an iPie</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kMBpjgkj8Ts/TVWF7VkMoUI/AAAAAAAAAM8/XiOOtuXXnTM/s1600/1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kMBpjgkj8Ts/TVWF7VkMoUI/AAAAAAAAAM8/XiOOtuXXnTM/s320/1.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The best apple product on the market!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">After Thanksgiving dinner the universal American tradition is to take a nap but for some reason tryptopan doesn't seem to affect the children as much. They stayed up to play video games:</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sfUCgjnK5EY/TVWGlPEl9hI/AAAAAAAAANE/dDVnuNGA_Ag/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sfUCgjnK5EY/TVWGlPEl9hI/AAAAAAAAANE/dDVnuNGA_Ag/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">For those of you who don't know, my husband is the one whose feet touch the ground.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Overall Thanksgiving was a booming success! We had great food, good company and delicious desserts. We were so sad to leave the warm weather and family of Texas but alas Provo beckoned.</div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-31099415497287975952011-02-09T19:16:00.000-08:002011-02-11T10:29:42.621-08:00MarkrisGetting married in Provo is like trading all your friends for one that eats all your food and accidentally punches you in the middle of the night. Once you're married your get shunned by the <i>Single People's Coalition</i>. No one invites you to parties or movie nights anymore, you suddenly become far too boring for all that. Luckily for Mark and I, one of my very favorite cousins got married right after us, and together we formed the <i>Don't Hate, Amalgamate Club</i>. For those of you who don't know Sara and Tyler, here's a little poem I wrote for their wedding:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC5HRH0-YI/AAAAAAAAAMI/Onq3p7e0G1Q/s1600/fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC5HRH0-YI/AAAAAAAAAMI/Onq3p7e0G1Q/s400/fish.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well ever since Sara and Tyler (or Syler) got married we haven't been so bored. Some of our favorite activities include making pie on a stick, hot tubing and watching Leonardo Dicaprio movies. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC578fPR9I/AAAAAAAAAMM/ndMshnk5WK0/s1600/friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC578fPR9I/AAAAAAAAAMM/ndMshnk5WK0/s320/friends.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Yay for friends! After its foundation it seemed like everyone wanted to join the <i>Don't Hate, Amalgamate Club. </i>So bunch of people got married and suddenly we had friends again. So here is a tribute to everyone in the <i>Don't Hate, Amalgamate Club:</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC8nCdSwjI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/rHDQ-UoY66c/s1600/friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC8nCdSwjI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/rHDQ-UoY66c/s320/friends.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Standrew</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Stacey and Andrew)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC8zOfueVI/AAAAAAAAAMU/RQZTAG_SDAY/s1600/friends1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC8zOfueVI/AAAAAAAAAMU/RQZTAG_SDAY/s320/friends1.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dandrew</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Dani and Andrew)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC895wZ0wI/AAAAAAAAAMY/tBxpRtCTZWs/s1600/friends2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC895wZ0wI/AAAAAAAAAMY/tBxpRtCTZWs/s320/friends2.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Suzoyd</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Susanna and Boyd)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">. . . Now if only we could get Brielle and Kase to join</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC-lKeRFGI/AAAAAAAAAMc/mW0USZ7rjtA/s1600/friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVC-lKeRFGI/AAAAAAAAAMc/mW0USZ7rjtA/s320/friends.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-28783806834737525582011-02-08T18:55:00.000-08:002011-02-08T18:55:00.332-08:00Mad Pumpkin SkillsHalloween! A time when even Mormon girls slip into short skirts and guys put on their Micheal Phelps costumes (a speedo and 9 gold medals). A time when everyone pretends to be someone else. Mark and I decided to stay home for Halloween . . . no one likes inviting newly weds to parties :(. But we still had a blast carving pumpkins and ignoring kids that knocked on our door.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVCyV3s45jI/AAAAAAAAAMA/6QTlq7icE24/s1600/pumkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVCyV3s45jI/AAAAAAAAAMA/6QTlq7icE24/s320/pumkin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mark carved a cougar and I carved my idol...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVCytJDOnqI/AAAAAAAAAME/XF3GM5ckgXk/s1600/pumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVCytJDOnqI/AAAAAAAAAME/XF3GM5ckgXk/s320/pumpkin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Vanilla Ice, Ice Baby ...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Will it ever stop? Yo, I don't know, turn off the lights, and I glow!" </div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-15923290030443532952011-02-07T18:54:00.000-08:002011-02-07T20:09:06.336-08:00That's Not My NameSpending time with family is like swimming with sharks. They'll take a few bites at you, just to taste. If you fight back they'll let you be, but if not... your lunch.<br />
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As fall came in 2010 Mark and I started going to the football games, and in my family that means attending the after party at Aunt Pam's. The football fiesta at Aunt Pam's is a very exclusive party so the first time that I brought Mark along he got asked the same two questions over and over by every person that walked in the door. The dialog went like this:<br />
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Family Member: "Hey, what's your name"<br />
Mark "I'm Mark"<br />
Family Member: "Nice to meet you Mat, did you go on a mission?"<br />
Mark: "yes to Argentina"<br />
Family Member "Did you get sent home? Was it cause of morality problems? Just couldn't hack it could you? Well that's a shame Mitt, but nice to meet you"<br />
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They were all joking of course and Mark handled it very well. In fact that's one of the reasons I married him. I couldn't be bringing a wimp to the after party. By the end of the night Mark had been called everything from Moses and Mickey to Marcutio and had been sent home from his mission for smoking, kissing, and punching the Mission President in the face. The tradition still continues (although I think they're starting to run out of names) and any time there is a football game you can bet that Mark will answer to any name starting with an M <i>except</i> Mark.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVCvP2EgtnI/AAAAAAAAAL8/gRuFawB3WwY/s1600/football.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TVCvP2EgtnI/AAAAAAAAAL8/gRuFawB3WwY/s320/football.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7546498394245524285.post-30878236217605036502011-02-06T15:36:00.000-08:002011-02-06T15:36:59.594-08:0040 Pounds of ApricotsYou know all those shows about hoarders? I always watch them and wonder how in the world the collected so much stuff. AS far as I can tell there are two of kinds of hoarders. The ones that collect anything and everything, and the ones that specialize in one certain type of object, ex: rocks, cats or beanie babies.<br />
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As summer was coming to a close in the year 2010, Mark temporarily turned into an apricot hoarder. He found a house that no one had been living in for about a year. So no one came to pick the apricots from their tree, and the branches were sagging as low as a gangsters pants.One day he tells me we're going to go pick apricots and I'm thinking just a few . . . We picked 40 pounds of apricots that day!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8up1wnMfI/AAAAAAAAALc/aNAFe2nLsLM/s1600/apr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8up1wnMfI/AAAAAAAAALc/aNAFe2nLsLM/s320/apr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8uqlOyvXI/AAAAAAAAALk/VQi1F5ePBEA/s1600/apr2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8uqlOyvXI/AAAAAAAAALk/VQi1F5ePBEA/s320/apr2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8uqXMGd2I/AAAAAAAAALg/-3OwjbsYLTQ/s1600/apr1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8uqXMGd2I/AAAAAAAAALg/-3OwjbsYLTQ/s320/apr1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8uq9P3XHI/AAAAAAAAALo/h6IgIyZqVyk/s1600/apr3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8uq9P3XHI/AAAAAAAAALo/h6IgIyZqVyk/s320/apr3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8urNeweBI/AAAAAAAAALs/4GDJXanvKMc/s1600/apr4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8urNeweBI/AAAAAAAAALs/4GDJXanvKMc/s320/apr4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What does one do with 40 pounds of apricots? I thought we could give some of them away but Mark wanted to keep them all for himself. I convinced him we only need half of them and we gave the rest away but we still had 20 pound of apricots to deal with. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8wCr6mr6I/AAAAAAAAALw/ioliy0fh9O8/s1600/apr5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8wCr6mr6I/AAAAAAAAALw/ioliy0fh9O8/s320/apr5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8wDIE_rAI/AAAAAAAAAL0/4fZXgIsh49c/s1600/apr6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8wDIE_rAI/AAAAAAAAAL0/4fZXgIsh49c/s320/apr6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8wDmAlaoI/AAAAAAAAAL4/XbVp6bK4pFc/s1600/apr7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6QFA98UszlU/TU8wDmAlaoI/AAAAAAAAAL4/XbVp6bK4pFc/s320/apr7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Guess where they are now? In the freezer. Still just taking up space, being useless like all things hoarded. I don't even like apricots.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Kristin Bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17725199120442155386noreply@blogger.com0