tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666607228231142102024-03-12T20:21:59.421-06:00The Reynolds TribeExploring Life's Ever-changing LandscapeRyanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11835435603605069227noreply@blogger.comBlogger199125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-27724204996672594632016-04-20T23:10:00.001-06:002016-04-20T23:11:26.178-06:00199th PostI have not written here on our family blog in a long time. Since my last post, I have posted almost weekly on the writing blog that I contribute to, <a href="http://operationawesome6.blogspot.com/">Operation Awesome</a>. I have also written another novel. Lots of writing going on, just not here.<br />
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I used to feel guilty about not blogging about our family, but the truth is that I'm busy with my family, constantly. When I get free time for myself, there are other things I want to do with it, instead of rehashing over what I just spent all day doing! So I'm done with feeling guilty about not blogging, and embracing the fact that I get to spend my free time reading, writing, and writing about writing.<br />
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And playing Candy Crush, if I'm being honest.<br />
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So in celebration of The Reynolds Tribe's almost-200th post, I am giving myself permission not to post when I don't feel like posting. Which might be every day until we have some kind of momentous news to share. You can still see photos of our kids on Facebook, and if you are seriously interested in reading my thoughts, you can find them on Operation Awesome on a regular basis. I'm on <a href="http://twitter.com/reynoldstribe">Twitter</a>, too, for that matter.<br />
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So, in case I don't see you--<br />
Good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.<br />
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<br />Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-86192732414932054322015-10-09T22:49:00.000-06:002015-10-10T13:25:55.795-06:00Family Photos 2015Our ward does a service auction in the spring to raise money for the annual girls' and boys' camps. This year, our friend CheyAnne Nielson donated a family photo shoot to the auction, and we won it! We took our photos at the Happy Jack recreation area, and there's a whole funny story about how we locked our keys in the car, but... it's not as cool as these awesome photos!<br />
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I can't even tell you how excited I am to finally have photos of the 5 of us!</div>
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Dawwww</div>
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My handsome little guy is not so little anymore!</div>
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His attitude about family photos has greatly improved.</div>
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Our Meema!</div>
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I love this guy.</div>
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The most accurate representation of our family ever.</div>
Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-27468627607445467202015-08-16T23:36:00.000-06:002015-08-16T23:36:19.018-06:00The Doughnut SceneA few weeks ago I put out a call on Facebook for help brainstorming an idea for a name for a doughnut shop. So many good ideas came in! My friends are so clever. As so many of you seemed interested, I thought I'd put the scene up on the blog so you could read it. The thing I'm working on now is called <u>A Problem Like Maria</u>. Here's a quick synopsis:<br />
Caitlyn Mills loses everything: her wallet, her car keys, and one-half of all her socks. But when she loses her grandmother to a stroke, she realizes that her absent-minded lackluster lifestyle has been hurting her family relationships. <br />She tries to make amends by befriending Mildred, who lives at the same nursing home that Caitlyn's grandmother died in. Mildred is looking for her missing granddaughter, and Caitlyn is happy to help... until she realizes that the absent Maria might end up taking her new place.<div>
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The doughnut scene comes about halfway through the novel, after Caitlyn and Mildred make one last-ditch effort to find Maria. This is a first draft of the scene. I hope you enjoy it!</div>
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Someone knocked on Mildred’s door. I answered it for her. It was Jake, messy as usual. A big smile broke out on my face at the sight of his faded jeans with a hole in the knee.</div>
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“Did I miss the picture?” he asked. I handed him my phone so he could see it. “Nice job. I hope it works, Mildred.” He tapped on my screen a few times before handing it back to me. “I made you add me as a friend so I could share the picture, too. I mean, assuming I accept your friend request.” He chuckled softly. Mildred and Ernie shared a glance.</div>
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“I think this calls for a celebration,” Ernie declared. He cleared his throat a few times and adjusted the prongs of his nasal cannula. “Let’s go to the breakfast club.”</div>
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Jake rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Grandpa? That’s your idea of a celebration?” </div>
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But from the way Mildred was suddenly patting her hair and adjusting her ring necklace, it seemed like she at least considered it to be a big deal. </div>
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“Am I dressed up enough?” she asked, twisting one of the rings around. </div>
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“You look lovely,” I told her. </div>
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“Old ladies are always told they look lovely,” she said.</div>
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“You’ll knock ‘em dead! Literally!” Ernie cackled. Then he whistled. Well, he tried. Jake did it for him. Mildred beamed.</div>
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“What’s the breakfast club?” I asked. </div>
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Ernie waggled a finger at me. “You’ll see, young lady.” Jake reached over to grab the handles of the wheelchair, but Ernie swatted him away and offered his arm to Mildred. They led the way out of the apartment; Jake and I fell slowly into step behind them.</div>
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“Can you drive? We won’t all fit in my truck,” he asked.</div>
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I nodded. “As long as Ernie gives me directions and stops being so mysterious.”</div>
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Ernie consented to tell me where to go once we were all safely buckled into my Neon. Jake was able to fold up Ernie’s wheelchair small enough to fit in my trunk. I wished I’d cleaned out the old gas receipts and crumbs in my center console. No one said anything, which was nice. TJ and Mark would have complained. </div>
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Ernie gave directions the whole way, squished in the backseat with Mildred, oxygen tank safely stored at his feet.</div>
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“Turn right,” he ordered. “Then get in the left lane.”</div>
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No one said anything else until Ernie directed me into the parking lot of a small brick building. The faded sign over the entrance said “Hole Foods.”</div>
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“I don’t get it,” I said. “Did the ‘W’ get erased?”</div>
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Ernie just cackled again.</div>
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Hole Foods, it turned out, was a doughnut shop. I felt a little silly for not getting the joke right away. We had to wait in line to order; there were six people ahead of us. I sniffed a few times, breathing in the heavenly scent of sweet doughnuts and dark roast coffee. The loud buzz of a dozen conversations dominated my ears, but it wasn’t an obnoxious noise. It was nice. A baby screamed at the table closest to the door, only stopping when his mother broke a doughnut hole in half and gave it to him. Two men in dirty overalls and brimmed hats leaned over a table towards each other, talking angrily in between sips of coffee. It was too loud to tell if they were angry at each other or a third party, and I forced myself to look away before they caught me staring.</div>
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When it was our turn, the cashier, whose nametag read “DEE,” smiled at Ernie. “Hi, y’all,” she said. “You’re late, Ern.”</div>
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“Had a thing,” he grunted. “Gimme the usual.”</div>
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Dee pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, revealing little bumblebee earrings that looked homemade. I wondered if she had kids. She tapped on the register with her free hand. “What about your friends?”</div>
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Ernie turned to us. “What do you want?”</div>
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Jake ordered a cruller. Mildred wanted an apple fritter. I told Dee I just wanted something with sprinkles. She had a bag filled with our order in less time than it took Jake to pull out his credit card.</div>
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“I think I have a dollar somewhere in here,” I said, rummaging around in my purse. “Hang on.”</div>
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“Don’t worry about it,” Jake said. “I got it.”</div>
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“You sure?”</div>
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“Yeah. You can get it next time.” He smiled at me, and I couldn’t help from grinning back at the assumption that there would be a next time. </div>
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Ernie led us away from the tables in the main room to a little side room. The buzz of voices got louder, and I realized that this was where ninety percent of the noise was coming from. The room was filled with old men, who all snapped to attention as we walked in. </div>
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“Clean it up, gents, there’s ladies present,” one said gruffly. A few of the men tipped their hats to me and Mildred; I was actually flattered.</div>
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“Room back here, Ern!” someone called from the back, and everyone scooted their chairs out of the way so Ernie could wheel himself to the table. The squeak of chairs on linoleum hurt my ears, but no one else seemed to notice. An advantage to hearing loss.</div>
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Conversation resumed as we sat down, and the men at our table introduced themselves as Wade and Wilson. They shook hands with me and Mildred.</div>
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“Nice to see some female folk every now and again,” Wade said. “Especially a looker!” I was all set to blush, until he winked at Mildred. Across the table, I saw Jake shaking and biting his lip.</div>
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“I believe you both know my grandson, Jake,” Ernie said. Both men bobbed their heads.</div>
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“Been a while, Jake,” Wilson said. “Looks like you’ve been laying off the doughnuts!” He slapped Jake’s upper arm.</div>
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“That’s right,” Jake said. “We can’t all stay thin like you.”</div>
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Wilson, whose belly was practically resting on the table, laughed so hard that little flecks of doughnut spotted the table. One almost landed on my chocolate covered sprinkle doughnut. I picked it up and took a big bite.</div>
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“What you been up to, Jakey?” Wade asked. “Married yet?”</div>
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Jake shook his head. “Not yet.” He turned to look out the grimy window. I doubted he could actually see anything out of it.</div>
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Ernie cleared his throat and asked Wade about his grandchildren. Mildred glanced at Jake and took a small bite of her fritter. The air around us felt stiff, and I wondered why, but contented myself with finishing my doughnut, resolving to ask Mildred about it later. Like when Jake wasn’t around.</div>
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Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-56794117708990168682015-08-14T15:34:00.001-06:002015-08-14T15:34:40.809-06:00Catching UpIt's been a busy summer for the Reynolds Tribe. For Sam's 6th birthday we went camping in Yellowstone with the other Reynolds and the Despains.<br />
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When we got back from Yellowstone we closed on our house.</div>
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We immediately started tearing the walls down and renovating the crap out of it. Our lease on our apartment went until August 14th, so we had the freedom to do some major construction before officially moving in. Our photos and stories from the renovation (which will be ongoing FOREVER) can be found here: <a href="http://reynovation.blogspot.com/">http://reynovation.blogspot.com</a></div>
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Then we had to move into the house and clean out the apartment.</div>
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Amelia was not a fan of moving. Neither was I.</div>
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Ryan also finished up his last course of his master's program. Now it's on to the thesis!</div>
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With school and the move done, and only a week of summer vacation left, the Reynolds are off on a mini vacation.</div>
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<br />Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-76580245888686864412015-06-09T15:42:00.001-06:002015-06-09T15:42:06.328-06:00The US Airmail Beacon SystemMy parents came for a visit last month. Ninety-five percent of the reason for their visit was to see us, but the other five percent was to check out a little piece of history near Laramie.<br />
The US Airmail System used concrete arrows to direct its pilots in the days before electronic navigation. While most of the arrows were destroyed or rendered obsolete by improved on-board navigational systems, some still exist in various states of repair. My dad, a pilot, learned that there were several arrows in our part of Wyoming, and decided to visit them on the trip. He and my mom took Sammy out to visit one near Cheyenne, and the whole family got to visit the one in Medicine Bow.<br />
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The beacon is still standing at the arrow in Medicine Bow, a rarity.</div>
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Dad actually climbed the beacon tower to take this photo. He said it was "terrifying."</div>
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Close-up from atop the beacon. We left Amelia in the car because it was raining.</div>
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Dad and the boys</div>
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To learn more about the concrete arrows, you can visit <a href="http://sometimes-interesting.com/2013/12/04/concrete-arrows-and-the-u-s-airmail-beacon-system/">Sometimes-Interesting.com</a></div>
Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-16496916810318442632015-05-01T14:58:00.001-06:002015-05-01T14:58:20.132-06:00Parenting is a CrapshootJust when you think you've got parenting figured out...<br />
Sam and Ben are incredibly different from each other. Each has their own strengths and weaknesses, and somehow they are opposites. Sam had trouble sleeping as a baby, Ben was perfect. It took Ben two tries to be potty trained, Sam took three days. Ben just wants to snuggle, Sam wants to wrestle... and the list goes on and on.<br />
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So because my two little boys are so different, I figured I wouldn't have any trouble with Amelia. I don't know if it's because she's a girl, or the third child, or just naturally easy, but Amelia has been a breeze.<br />
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UNTIL NOW.<br />
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We have finally uncovered Amelia's Achilles' heel: solid food.<br />
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I loved making baby food for the boys, and they loved eating it. We tried Amelia out on rice cereal at four months old, but she wouldn't eat it. We reasoned that no one would want to eat that mushy crap, so we didn't force it. Now, however, she is six months old, and it's time to introduce fruits and vegetables. I tried Gerber carrots for the first three days. Nothing doing. Today I smashed a banana for her, added a little water and rice cereal for consistency, then gently warmed it in the microwave. She gagged and cried. Benjy tried to eat her banana mush because he is addicted to fruit.<br />
I will keep trying, however. There's got to be something she likes as much as "boopie milk".<br />
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This is the face of someone who will be nursing for the rest of her life.</div>
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<br />Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-78176608762368705192015-03-10T13:23:00.000-06:002015-05-01T14:00:06.532-06:00SurprisesMy sister is a 3rd year vet student at Tufts. She finished her coursework in February and participated in her school's white coat ceremony, symbolizing that she and her fellow students would be let loose upon the world. My parents bought tickets to fly out to the East Coast. Which meant they would of course be visiting their respective families in Maryland and Pennsylvania, even though both families were going up to Massachusetts to see Cassi.<div>
And because my grandpa Lauver turned 80 in February, it meant they were going to have a surprise party.</div>
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My mother's family cannot resist a surprise party of any kind. My mom turned 40 the first year after we moved to Alaska, and my dad and her parents arranged for them to visit for her birthday. They've had surprises of random family members showing up at birthday parties, anniversary parties, graduations--pretty much any time they can surprise somebody, they will.</div>
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So when my grandmother decided to throw a surprise party for my grandpa to coincide with my parents being in town for Cassi's white coat ceremony, my mom asked me if I would like to get in on the surprise. </div>
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Absolutely I would.</div>
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It meant I had to fly from Denver to Baltimore with all 3 kids by myself, but it was totally worth it. We lied to my grandpa and said that the kids and I were also coming to the white coat ceremony. We told a lot of lies that weekend. WORTH IT.</div>
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Grandma Huelin made the cakes--even my dad's family was in on the surprise!</div>
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Having me and my parents at the party wasn't surprising enough, so my sister flew in from Boston for the weekend and my cousin Steven and his wife came up from Florida.</div>
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Do they look happy or what?</div>
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My grandparents and their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Minus Ryan, who had to work :0(</div>
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Also, Cassi looks taller than me in this photo, but I assure you SHE IS NOT.</div>
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We hung out at the restaurant for about 4 hours, then moved the party to Aunt Dori and Uncle Kevin's house for another 4. It was fantastic to hang out with my extended family. Everyone had a blast, and the kids were even on their best-ish behavior.</div>
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Poor Benjy needed a nap after all the partying.</div>
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Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-51966980350620113412015-02-06T11:46:00.000-07:002015-02-06T11:46:13.158-07:00Coconut Chicken CurryI like when Ryan makes dinner requests because a)I like trying new recipes and b) I don't have to decide what to make for dinner. He requested coconut chicken curry around the time Amelia was born, and luckily my mom (who happened to be visiting) had a friend's recipe that she liked. We did modify it a little, and were very pleased with the results. So without any further ado, here is our recipe for coconut chicken curry!<br />
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You will need:<br />
Onions<br />
Ginger<br />
Garlic<br />
Red curry paste<br />
Chicken bouillon<br />
Coconut milk<br />
Shredded chicken<br />
Rice<br />
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How much of each, you ask? Well, this is one of those recipes that you adjust according to your tastes. I do use one can of coconut milk to about 4 ounces of curry paste, mixed with one chicken breast shredded. If that helps.<br />
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Chop the onions<br />
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I don't like a lot of onions. If a recipe says to chop one medium onion, I'm more likely to use a quarter of the onion. So you may want more than what I've pictured here.<br />
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Next is fresh ginger. This freezes really well, just cut up a large piece of ginger root into smaller pieces, then wrap in tin foil.<br />
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I use about 2 "fingers" of ginger. By the way, if you need proof that English is a confusing language, say "I need a finger of ginger" out loud.</div>
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I don't like chomping into large pieces of ginger, so I grate it. You could also chop it up. Or, if you are pressed for time...</div>
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You can buy a squeezy bottle of ginger paste!</div>
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Next, sauté the onions and ginger. I use olive oil, but it really doesn't matter. This will smell awesome, by the way. After the onions and ginger have a few minutes head start, add the garlic. You can chop it yourself, or use the minced garlic you refrigerate that lasts forever. Guess which one I use? Either way, you need the equivalent of about 4 cloves of garlic. Unless you don't like garlic. Then use less. See what I mean?</div>
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After those have sautéed for a few minutes, add the curry paste. I like World Foods brand, which I have only found at Albertson's here in Laramie. You might have to try different brands to find your favorite. Like I said, for this amount of onions etc, I use about 4 ounces of curry paste.</div>
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Then I add several tablespoons of chicken bouillon (the paste kind, not the cubes).<br />
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Stir, and heat for several minutes. According to the jar of curry paste, this allows the full flavor to be released. Fine by me.</div>
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Next, add the coconut milk. Save a little bit in the can to taste, because yum.</div>
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It should look like this once the coconut milk has completely liquified and mixed with the curry paste etc.</div>
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Then add the shredded chicken.<br />
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I like to buy a big pack of chicken breasts and cook them in my Crock Pot in advance. Put the chicken in, add water and a couple cubes of chicken bouillon (not the fancy paste, the cubes this time!) I also add garlic. Cook on low for 6-8 hours, then pull it out and shred. I put each shredded breast in its own container, then freeze them. It saves a lot of time when I want to make curry! You can use any kind of chicken, turkey, etc that you like. Our family just happens to abhor dark meat.</div>
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Okay, that little note aside... after you add the chicken to the curry you just need to heat it until everything is nice and hot. Then you are ready to serve! We like to eat it over sticky rice, but I imagine it would also be good over egg noodles.</div>
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Om nom nom.</div>
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My kids won't touch it, so this recipe makes enough for me and Ryan to each have dinner, then some leftovers the next day. What do my kids eat on curry night, you ask? </div>
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Chicken nuggets.</div>
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Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-34090747207557499252015-01-08T14:57:00.001-07:002015-01-08T14:57:20.101-07:00The Rubik's CubeMy second favorite holiday is New Year's Eve. I love making gyoza (Japanese pot-stickers), drinking Martinellis, and staying up late flipping between Ryan Seacrest and Carson Daly (with a few minutes spent with Anderson Cooper, natch). My genius sister bought on-sale Christmas crackers (the kind you pull, not the kind you eat) to cap off our celebrations. Eight crackers=eight lame jokes, eight silly plastic toys, and eight PAPER HATS.<br />
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He was excited to wear a hat, though he later traded for a red one.</div>
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Special OJ for a special night.</div>
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Mmm. Gyoza and Martinellis.</div>
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We were all amazed that Dad wore the hat without complaint.</div>
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Genius sister is a genius.</div>
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She might not look it, but I bet Amelia was secretly thrilled to have her own paper hat.</div>
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Earlier that week, Sam discovered a Rubik's cube in a closet. I showed him how to play with it, and he wanted to solve it right then and there. I had to tell him that I had no idea how to get all the sides the right colors. He was disappointed, and started to lose interest. But because it was six thirty in the morning and I didn't want him to go wake anyone else up, I told him we could try to find out how on the computer. </div>
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So we did. We used the official solving guide and we solved the crap out of that Rubik's cube. Which has been a lifelong dream of mine. Thanks to my son, I finally sat down and did it.</div>
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I made a New Year's resolution this year. Two, actually. I'm going to query another novel in the hopes of finding an agent, and I'm going to learn how to solve a Rubik's cube FROM MEMORY.</div>
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Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-74948538562386173882014-12-23T11:13:00.001-07:002015-05-01T14:00:17.591-06:00Plot twist!The Reynolds Tribe is on another adventure, though not the one we originally planned.<br />
We left Laramie after church on Sunday and drove to Ryan's brother's house in Denver to have Reynolds Christmas with Ryan's family. Ryan's mom cooked a feast for everyone, we opened presents, and most importantly--the girls' team won the annual game of SceneIt.<br />
On Monday we left Denver, aiming for Las Vegas (the New Mexico one), which is about halfway between Denver and my parents' house in Las Cruces. We were going to stay in a hotel, swim in the pool, and eat at Pizza Hut--basically Sammy's trifecta of joy.<br />
It was snowing in the mountains along the Colorado-New Mexico border, and we saw at least five cars off the road in various states of being towed. Ryan drove slowly, but surely, on to Las Vegas. But about 15 miles outside of Raton, NM (the last "big" town before Las Vegas), something went wrong with the car.<br />
Let me just say that it was a good thing that Ryan was driving and not me, because I doubt I would have noticed anything was wrong. But Ryan heard a weird sound and noticed that the engine noise had changed <i>before</i> all the warning lights on the dash lit up. We pulled off the highway on an exit-to-nowhere, where Ryan determined that the car was undriveable. We called our insurance's roadside assist and arranged for a tow truck. Neither of us had ever been towed before, so it was a good thing the nice lady helping us told Ryan that he would need to arrange for us to be transported back to Raton. Most tow trucks don't have room for five extra people, three of whom are in car seats, obvs. But Raton didn't have any rental car companies that we could find on Google, so... we had a dilemma.<br />
1) Get a rental car from Las Vegas, eighty-ish miles away and get towed there instead of Raton. But then we would have to pay for the tow.<br />
2) Get a rental car from Las Vegas, leave our car in Raton, and use the rental car for the 10 days left of our vacation.<br />
3) Think fast.<br />
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We chose number 3.<br />
Every time we drive past Raton, we have made note of the nice, new LDS chapel right off the highway. We knew the church was here in Raton, so we got on LDS.org to find the phone number of the bishop or branch president. It only took a few minutes, and we got lucky--President Terhune answered the phone. Ryan explained our situation to him, and President Terhune and his wife jumped in their cars to pick up our family. They arrived less than five minutes after the tow truck, with room for all of us and our luggage.<br />
The craziest part was that once upon a time, the Terhunes had lived in Wyoming. President Terhune was one of the first Seminary teachers that Ryan supervised when we moved to Laramie.<br />
They drove us to the Holiday Inn, where my mom had made a reservation for us. Ryan walked through the snow, trying to find a fast food place close by so we could eat dinner (at 9:30pm), but no luck. So I hit up the vending machines. After the machine ate three of my dollars, and my chips were all stuck, I stood in front of it, feeling like crying. A nice girl who was much stronger than me came by and shook the machine until it released my food. Ben and Amelia were fast asleep, so Ryan, Sam, and I had a picnic on the bed while watching SportsCenter.<br />
And that's where we are now, still waiting for an update on our car.<br />
There's a popular saying among writers: When something goes wrong in your life, yell "Plot twist!" and move on. We've had quite a plot twist: By now we should only be a couple hours from my parents' house, listening to Christmas music and bopping around in the car. Instead we're facing the possibility of staying in the Terhunes' home for Christmas (while they visit family in Utah). We won't have any idea of when we'll be out of Raton until we hear back from the mechanics that have our car.<br />
It's a crappy situation, but we feel like it was as good as it could possibly have been. We broke down in an area that had cell phone reception (not a guarantee in this part of New Mexico), we were able to get towed to a place close enough to be covered by our insurance, and best of all we were rescued by a couple of true Saints.Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-70881945065910486492014-12-05T22:23:00.001-07:002014-12-05T22:23:08.554-07:00O Christmas Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This year my ambitious husband decided that instead of buying a Christmas tree, we would go into the mountains and cut down our tree ourselves. We bought a permit from the Forest Service for $10, a fraction of the cost of what we usually pay for a tree each year. Last Saturday we loaded up the kids and some lunch and went out in search of a tree. Ryan carried the axe and lead the way. I wore Amelia in the Baby Bjorn and kept an eye on Sammy and Benjy. Amelia did great on her first hike--she slept the whole time! </div>
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Posing with the tree after cutting</div>
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Amelia is not actually that big--but we don't have a newborn-size snowsuit!</div>
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The tree was well-proportioned all around, but the branches were thinner than the trees we usually buy. It actually displays our Christmas ornaments better! The boys "helped" decorate--Sam put ornaments on the tree Sunday afternoon, and Ben has spent all week moving them around. He was banned from touching the tree after breaking his second ornament.<br />
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There she is, in all her glory!</div>
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I wanted to buy a Weeping Angel tree topper, but by the time I got around to ordering it ThinkGeek was sold out! We made do with our usual star instead.</div>
For our next Family Home Evening we will talk about the symbolism of the Christmas tree, the star, and the ornaments. We would love to hear about your Christmas tree traditions in the comments!<br />
Speaking of Christmas tree traditions, I am going to dominate my sister this year in finding the Christmas pickle. *cracks knuckles* Cassi, you've been warned!<br />
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<br />Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-5008844580254543012014-11-25T14:43:00.001-07:002014-11-25T14:43:09.718-07:00The Middle ChildWhile I was pregnant with Amelia I realized that when she was born Benjy would become a middle child. Stereotypically speaking, this is not a good thing. Both of my parents are middle children, as is my husband, but I'm the oldest and so I think it's a pretty good place to be. So I was feeling sorry for Benjy that day. I wanted to write about him, but I was pretty miserable while pregnant. Blogging was so far down on my to-do list that it never happened.<br />
Benjy was a champion the last couple of months of my pregnancy. Every morning after we got Sam and Ryan out the door he would crawl into bed with me and snuggle while he watched Netflix on the iPad. He never complained about being bored, he just kept me company until I felt well enough to get up.<br />
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This is the "cave" where he likes to watch iPad.</div>
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As I posted a while back, Ben did not like potty training. We haven't made a concerted effort again to get him back on the toilet. He's very stubborn. In fact, one of his talents is his ability to ignore people. He's amazing at it. If he is being tickled and doesn't want to laugh, he just doesn't. I can't even do that as an adult (not that I get tickled very often). It might sound like I'm being ironic in my praise of his stubbornness, but I really do admire his self-control. I think it will serve him well as he gets older.</div>
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I got into the shower late today. When I got out, Ben met me in the hallway brandishing the kitchen broom. I told him to go put it away, which he promptly did. I checked on Amelia, and picked out my clothes for the day. Then I heard "Yook! Yoooook!" from upstairs.</div>
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For those of you who don't have your Ben-to-English dictionary handy, that means "Look! Loooook!"</div>
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I wrapped my bathrobe back around me and hurried up to see what he wanted. This time he he proudly held up a baseboard, which until this morning was cracked but still attached to the wall. He swung it around a few times until I snatched it away. I was able to get it almost back in to place. By then he had moved to the kitchen and was demanding "Cheewos an melk*!"</div>
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*Cheerios and milk, as opposed to eating dry cereal like a peasant.</div>
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I felt bad that I hadn't gotten him a snack earlier, so I promptly gave him a bowl of Cheerios and milk and went back downstairs to get dressed. While in my underwear I heard him yelling "Moh cheewos!" I dashed upstairs, not caring that the blinds were open, because I knew if I didn't do it, Ben would get the Cheerios himself and possibly destroy the whole world in the process. I went back downstairs. By the time I was completely dressed he was demanding his third bowl of cereal, which he got. After he finished and cleaned up his hands, he ran to the couch to get his blanket. I knew the iPad was under his blanket, so I followed him to confiscate it. Not only did I find the iPad, I found a photo from our wall of family photos and a destroyed picture frame. Why he hid it under his blanket, I have no idea.</div>
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By this point I was tired of the destruction and frustrated that I would have to replace the picture frame, so Ben got scolded pretty sternly. He interrupted me as I was telling him off.</div>
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"Mommy, you happy?"</div>
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I was not happy, and I told him so. He began to cry, and I sent him to his room while I took care of the picture frame mess. Then I went downstairs to talk to him about how it is not okay to break things and hide them. I didn't get very far in my lecture before he told me he was sorry and crawled onto my lap for a hug.</div>
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I love this little guy. Even though he is a tiny tornado.</div>
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Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-69235800791485442542014-10-30T22:04:00.000-06:002014-10-30T22:04:33.274-06:00How it all beganWhen Ryan and I found out that we were having a boy (Sam), my great-grandmother made him a blue afghan blanket. She did the same when we had Ben, who is so attached to his blankie that he's earned himself the nickname Linus. Last summer when we went back East to visit my family we were so happy that we could show Nonna how much the boys loved their blankets. <br />
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She asked me if we were planning on having any more babies.<br />
"I think so. We'd like to have at least one more," I told her. "I'd really like to have a little girl."<br />
"I'll make her a blanket," Nonna promised.<br />
My grandmother called me later to inform me that Nonna had finished the blanket. "And you'd better have a little girl next, because it is PINK!"<br />
Fast forward to almost a year later, when we found out that we actually <i>were</i> having the little girl we dreamed would join our family. We all said that it must have been the influence of "the blanket". Whatever it was, we couldn't wait to meet our baby girl. Grandma mailed the pink blanket to us.<br />
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It IS pink.</div>
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Fast forward again: We were getting closer and closer to baby girl's due date, and I was getting more and more miserable. I don't know what it was, but I was much more uncomfortable with baby #3 than I was with either of the boys. I couldn't sleep at night, I was in constant pain; it was not fun to say the least. At one point I forced myself into "nesting mode" by buying baby clothes and having Ryan get all the baby gear out of the garage. I wanted her to come early. I didn't think I could make it to November 6th, her due date. Both of my boys were late, and as far as I could tell their sister would be, too.</div>
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On the 27th I went in to my OB for my routine appointment. I was 38.5 weeks pregnant. Dr. Klingler examined me to see how far along I had progressed. I wasn't too hopeful, as I hadn't had a single "real" contraction.</div>
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"Holy cow," he said at one point.</div>
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Not what you want to hear during a cervical exam, know what I mean?</div>
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"You haven't had any contractions?"</div>
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I repeated that I hadn't.</div>
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It turned out that even without contractions, my cervix had dilated 8cm (out of the 10 you need to deliver a baby). Dr. Klingler removed his gloves.</div>
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"You need to go to the hospital. I've never seen anyone progress this far who wasn't in active labor. If you don't go to the hospital you are in real danger of delivering at home."</div>
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Now, some people might not mind that, and that's great for them, but I fall firmly on the side of having babies in hospitals. So I called my friend Hannah, who is also my visiting teacher and one of my counselors in the Primary presidency, and told her what was happening. She agreed to head right over to my house to stay with Benjy while I got my stuff in order and got my about-to-have-a-baby butt to the hospital. Because she is my hero.</div>
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Ryan and I got ready, packing our bags and eating lunch. We even stopped by Sam's school to let him know what was happening and that Hannah would be home when he got off the bus. When we finally strolled into the hospital, a nurse hurried down to Admitting with a wheelchair.</div>
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"We thought you really were having the baby at home!" she gasped.</div>
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"No, just getting our stuff ready."</div>
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She looked me over. "You're not in labor."</div>
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"Nope."</div>
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"We thought you were! They told us you were eight centimeters!"</div>
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"Well, I am, but I'm not in labor."</div>
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She set the wheelchair aside. "I guess we don't need this, then."</div>
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All dressed up and... nothing to do.</div>
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We waited for the on call OB to check on me. Ryan finished a paper for his UW class. I got on Twitter. At one point I demanded that Ryan get a bag of potato chips for me, which I ate in secret while the nurse was out of the room. We watched Monday Night Football.</div>
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At 6:15 Dr. Bragg examined me and broke my water. That's all it took for the contractions to start. I tried to go "zen" and breathe through them. It mostly worked until I hit 10cm and needed to push. Then I got a little crazy with regret that I had not opted for the epidural. Some "words" may have been said.</div>
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Both boys had large heads at birth (who am I kidding, Ben still has a giant noggin), which required two hours of pushing. But this little girl came into the world after about 15 minutes. Total labor time: 2 hours exactly from breaking my water to birth. It was worth not getting the epidural.</div>
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Amelia Rose Reynolds, born on Nonna's 92nd birthday. </div>
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Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-38236988744731152312014-10-14T22:05:00.000-06:002015-05-01T13:59:49.620-06:00Family Photos 2014This year for our family photos we drove down to Fort Collins and met our friend <a href="http://katiejanephotos.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Katie Esquivel</a> on the Oval at CSU. That's where Ryan and I did our engagement photos 6+ years ago, so it was neat to go back with our boys and do it again. I was prepared this year with an entire bag of gummi bears with which to bribe Benjy, which mostly worked. He's nowhere near the ham that his big brother is, but at least he wasn't screaming and crying!<br />
Here are some of our favorites.<br />
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Yay cute boys!</div>
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I don't remember what Ryan did to make him laugh like this, but it looks great!</div>
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Sam kept begging Katie to take pictures of him doing different things. I think at one point Katie bribed him to stay out of photos of me and Ryan by telling him she'd take more pictures of him!</div>
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Ben loves his daddy.</div>
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One of our engagement photos</div>
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Still in love :0)</div>
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<br />Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-58757151219033251132014-07-12T20:47:00.001-06:002014-07-12T20:48:26.276-06:00Potty TrainingWe decided to potty train Benjy this weekend. Sam was easy to train--we used the <a href="http://www.3daypottytraining.com/" target="_blank">3 day method</a>, and it worked exactly as it was supposed to. He loved sitting on the potty, and it didn't take him long to recognize when he needed to pee and deal with it accordingly.<br />
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Ben did not love sitting on the potty. Ben's attitude towards the potty was best expressed thusly:<br />
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<i>We hates it!</i></div>
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It didn't matter what we did. We gave him chocolate while sitting on the potty, a new toy train, snuggles... I learned the words to all his favorite Thomas the Tank Engine songs and sang them while he sat... nothing. Three days later he still hates sitting on the potty. How were we supposed to teach him to go potty when the potty was his worst enemy?</div>
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So today Ben and I went to WalMart and bought more diapers. And if I were a drinker, we would have had a box of wine in the cart, too. But as I'm not, I ate all his potty treats instead.</div>
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Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-21514164415287405102014-06-07T20:08:00.001-06:002014-06-07T20:08:24.887-06:00Baby Robins!There is a robin's nest in our backyard, safely <i>nest</i>led on a drainpipe off of our garage.<br />
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Curious as to whether or not there were any eggs in the nest, I waited until the robin flew away, and sneakily lifted up my phone to take a photo.<br />
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Result! How gorgeous is that color? I always thought robin eggs were a lighter blue; I'm digging the turquoise.</div>
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I told Sam and Ben that there would soon be baby robins in our nest, and every day when their shrieking scared the robin away I would use my phone to take a photo of the nest so I could see if the eggs had hatched.</div>
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One day, my photo looked like this:</div>
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Baby robins! Incredibly nasty looking baby robins, but still cool! </div>
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We pulled the ladder out of the garage and let Sam climb up to take a look. He concurred that they looked disgusting, but he still wanted to look at them over and over again. Ben was too short to see the robins, even on the ladder, but he looked at the photos on my phone and got excited. Now when he comes out to the backyard he runs right to the garage yelling "baby wobins! baby wobins!"</div>
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The babies have feathers now, so they are much nicer to look at. They are very vocal when their parents come to feed them, which I love. I feel a special kinship with the mother robin, because I too know what it's like when your offspring won't shut up during dinnertime.</div>
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According to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_robin" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a>, the baby robins will leave the nest two weeks after hatching, which doesn't leave us much more time with them. The Wiki also says that the mother robin will build a new nest for her next brood, so I'll be keeping an eye out for it. We'll miss our baby robins!</div>
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The Latin name for the American robin is <i>Turdus migratorius</i>, which was too funny not to share. Here's hoping none of the robins leave any turdus migratoriuses on our heads while we're outside.</div>
<br />Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-422192164101138212014-05-03T14:56:00.002-06:002014-05-03T14:56:38.411-06:00Diary of a Sick Pregnant WomanMar. 1: I feel sick to my stomach. Weird. Maybe it was the HuHot I ate for lunch.<br />
Wait, I'm pretty sure my period's late.<br />
This is happening.<br />
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Mar. 2: First day as the ward Primary president, and I didn't puke on any kids. *self-high-five*<br />
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Mar. 3-10: I'm exhausted, but not puking. Maybe this pregnancy won't be so bad. I'll just spend it sleeping on the hide-a-bed.<br />
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Mar. 11: Hello, toilet. We meet at last.<br />
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Mar. 22: This whole "not keeping food or water down" is lame.<br />
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Mar. 23: Hmm. I haven't kept anything down in two days. I should probably do something about this.<br />
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Mar. 26: Driving down to New Mexico. There's a nice bucket at my feet in case I puke.<br />
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Mar. 27: I can't swallow my saliva.<br />
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Mar. 28: Where are my kids?<br />
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Apr. 8: Time to go back to Laramie.<br />
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Apr. 10: I am never having more kids. Why did I want to do this again?<br />
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Apr. 23: I can swallow my saliva!!!!!<br />
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Apr. 24-27: Solo trip to Utah. Not being in charge of the kids does wonders for my upset stomach.<br />
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May 3: I should probably tell people I'm pregnant.<br />
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So that's our news! Baby #3 is due in the beginning of November!Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-21367808608610139172014-02-10T21:07:00.000-07:002014-02-12T22:17:39.040-07:00Pitching is hard, let's do it together!A great contest hosted by <a href="http://www.brenda-drake.com/" target="_blank">Brenda Drake</a> is coming up in March--Pitch Madness! It's like March Madness, only way better and with less basketball. Just kidding. There's no basketball involved (I hope). To read more about the contest, <a href="http://www.brenda-drake.com/2014/01/announcing-pitch-madness-clue-edition/" target="_blank">click here</a>.<br />
To enter the contest, you'll need a 35-word pitch (as well as the first 250 words of your MS, but you already have that!) When I read that part of the guidelines, I was like, "Seriously? I have a query letter, synopsis, and a couple of Twitter-length pitches, and now I need THIS?" It can be hard to come up with so many different ways to "sell" people on your novel, but guess what? We didn't enter the writing game expecting it to be easy. A 35-word pitch (also known as an elevator pitch) is highly useful at writing conferences, so it's good to have on hand!<br />
I'll be working on my pitch here on the blog, and I hope that others who'd like help will stop by, too. If you post your pitch in the comments I will reply and offer my suggestions, and the idea is for other people to help out as well. What I've learned about the online writing community is that it is AWESOME, and everyone is totally supportive of everyone else. I've received tons of help over the past few months, and I'm excited to pay it forward in my own way.<br />
So what do you need for this pitch? How are you supposed to sum up your book in 35 words or less?<br />
We need to know the WHO: Who is your main character, and what makes him or her special?<br />
WHAT is the challenge they face?<br />
WHY is your book different from others? Or in other words, what makes it unique?<br />
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If you need help getting started, here are some resources:<br />
<a href="http://upstartcrowliterary.com/blog/?p=1419" target="_blank">Upstart Crow Literary</a><br />
<a href="http://www.naalley.com/2012/07/on-pitches.html" target="_blank">NA Alley</a><br />
<a href="http://blog.nathanbransford.com/2010/05/how-to-write-one-sentence-pitch.html" target="_blank">Nathan Bransford</a><br />
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So, here's my first attempt. Comments welcome!<br />
Anna's strong sense of familial loyalty keeps her home with her lonely widower father after high school. A Shakespeare Festival roadtrip satisfies her need to travel, and brings love and balance to her life.<br />
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I think I have the WHO and WHY down, but not enough of the conflict. I'll try to get that across in attempt number two!<br />
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Okay, it's been a couple days, here's my next try:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f4549; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"></span>Anna defers her dreams of independence so her widower father won't be lonely. An impromptu Shakespeare Festival roadtrip threatens to tear down her façade of contentment and leaves her aching to live her own life.<br />
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What do you think? Does it show more conflict?<br />
<br />Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-16413560532155355862014-01-23T14:17:00.001-07:002014-01-23T14:17:33.090-07:00Hello AgainI'm on hold with McCormick's Shareowner Services because I cannot figure out how to fill out a Stock Power Form. And yes, I am aware of how pathetic that sounds. I've been on hold for fifteen minutes, with no end in sight, so I figured I should update the blog. We'll see how far I get...<br />
Not long after my last blog post everyone in our house came down with a stomach bug.<br />
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This poor little guy insisted on sleeping on the floor in the bathroom</div>
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Then we went on vacation to spread our germs to Ryan's family and mine. Sorry, everyone. We had a nice early Christmas at the "other Reynolds'" home. Ryan's grandma has moved back to Colorado from Arkansas, so she was able to join us this year. (ooh, a human being answered!) (okay, that was fast)<br />
The biggest news, however, is that my reign of terror as Undefeated Pickle Champion is over. My sister found the Christmas Pickle this year. She was so excited to find it that she ripped it off the Christmas tree, leaving the hook behind. (obvs. not a professional, but she hasn't found the pickle in like, 6 years, so what do you expect?) The funniest part (in my opinion) was that the Pickle Present my mom chose was a gigantic Twix bar. Twix are my absolute favorite, it was like Mom was just expecting that I would win. And when I saw the size of that Twix bar, I wished I had. C'est la vie. Enjoy your crown, Cassi, because next year that pickle is MINE.<br />
If you click back to my November posts, you'll see some excerpts from the novel I worked on for National Novel Writing Month. Last night I finally finished the first draft! That's very exciting for me because I HATE drafting. I much prefer editing to drafting, so now I get to go back and revise and make it all nice and smooth and pretty. I'm going to let it sit for a while and work on some of my other projects in the meantime. I'm looking forward to that because I'm a bit burned out on Boldly Go at the moment.<br />
Ryan has started his second semester of grad school. So he's busy and stressy. (I made that word up.) He works so hard to balance work, school, his calling, and family time. Last semester he got an A in his class--we were thrilled! Hopefully his hard work will pay off again this semester.<br />
Sammy has started randomly quoting movies at us. We frequently hear him yelling "You. Are. A. TOY!" when he's playing in his room. He is obvs just like me, I talk to myself in movie quotes all the time.<br />
Benjy is in love with Lightning McQueen. I swear, the words he says most frequently are "McQueen!" and "Kachow!"He has a matchbox-car version of LMQ that he takes everywhere. It's his best friend. If I hear him screaming, it's usually because he's realized that LMQ is not in his hand.<br />
And that's the latest with the Reynolds Tribe. See you next month! (ha ha)Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-60045054704661225392013-12-02T15:35:00.004-07:002013-12-02T20:45:15.250-07:00A Snowy Vacation, or That Time Ben Fell into a Hot Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My parents seem to inexplicably have leftover timeshare points every year. Not inexplicably (because they are very generous people) they always let us use some to take our boys on little trips that we otherwise wouldn't be able to afford. Last year we went to Estes Park, and this year we got to go to Steamboat Springs!</div>
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We got into Steamboat just before dinnertime, dropping off our suitcases and whisking the boys off to have dinner. We chose a place called <a href="http://www.fiestajalisco.net/steamboat.htm" target="_blank">Fiesta Jalisco</a>, which I had been to on a visit to Steamboat years ago, and still remembered was good. Not at all surprisingly, my memory of anything having to do with food is impeccable, and Fiesta Jalisco did not disappoint. Great way to kick off our vacation.</div>
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We got up the next morning planning on getting in one of Steamboat's few natural hot springs that isn't stinky, but were foiled by the fact that it would cost forty dollars for all four of us to go. Forty dollars may not sound like much, but Ben and Sam have the attention spans of gnats, so it would have been forty dollars for less than thirty minutes of hot spring time. No thanks. We went to the resort's outdoor spa instead.</div>
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We still wanted to see some hot springs, however, so we pulled out our trusty GPS unit and went to do some geocaching/sight seeing. </div>
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Ryan at the Black Sulphur Spring</div>
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The cache was near the Lithia Spring, not far from downtown Steamboat. We all piled out of the car, and Ryan and Ben headed over to the spring while Sam and I consulted the GPS. The minerals in the Lithia Spring make the water a foamy white, completely the opposite of the Black Sulphur Spring. It's also surrounded by concrete, with an opening for the spring that is flush with the water level. I don't have a picture of it, and here's why:</div>
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Ryan and Ben headed over to the spring as soon as they got out of the car. Ben, not being two yet, doesn't have the er, depth perception or experience needed to walk around a white hot spring that's even with the level of the white concrete, if you get my drift. He walked right into the water. Ryan, standing less than two inches away from him, was able to pull him out quickly enough that he was completely okay, albeit stinky from falling in a natural hot spring. </div>
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We changed his clothes and gave him a snack and let him sit on Ryan's lap in the front seat of the car, so within minutes he was happy as a clam (smelled like one, too), so Sam and I were able to find the geocache. Success!</div>
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Triumphant selfie!</div>
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We went to a fun Italian restaurant that night called <a href="http://www.mazzolas.com/" target="_blank">Mazzola's</a>. They had the best strategy for keeping kids occupied at dinner that we've ever encountered! Each boy got a pizza pan and a small ball of pizza dough. The waiter told us that they could make whatever they wanted, and the cooks would bake it and bring it back to us. The boys, who take after me, weren't interested in sculpting--they just started eating the dough. But I saved some and managed to get this photo:</div>
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I made their names out of dough. Can't you tell?</div>
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It started snowing that night, and didn't really stop until we left, so we kept the boys entertained with movies. The resort had this neat child playroom, which we took Sam to while Ben was napping. Check him out!</div>
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He put together a puzzle! (with help, obvs.)</div>
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We took the long way back to Laramie so we could visit Ryan's grandmother and uncle in Denver. They live in Arkansas, but made the drive out to Colorado to visit family. It's been so long since Ryan's seen his grandmother that I've never even met her, so this was a real blessing.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xIkRUKWJRSM/Up0I8PsPz0I/AAAAAAAAA_Y/uVW9Gm4xkac/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xIkRUKWJRSM/Up0I8PsPz0I/AAAAAAAAA_Y/uVW9Gm4xkac/s320/photo-2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Grandma Marjorie was so sweet to our boys, even though Sam decided to play zombies and spent a significant amount of time pretending to eat her brain. What a nice lady. I'm so thankful that the boys and I got to meet her. She's living with Ryan's mom, now, so we'll have many more opportunities to see her again!</div>
Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-64777322110218688232013-11-24T14:40:00.000-07:002013-11-24T14:40:30.468-07:00Excerpt #4You may recall that last month I wrote about outlining a novel before writing the first draft, and how I was convinced it was going to change everything about my NaNoWriMo experience this year. I happily followed along with my outline until about a week ago, when I realized it might not even get me to 50,000 words, much less the 75-80,000 I was aiming for. I knew I would need to go back in and write more scenes, so I started adding the main character's time at the vet clinic she volunteers at, instead of glossing over those parts. I ended up with six new characters out of it, including a tired vet, a grumpy receptionist, and a brand new love interest for the main character (which completely undos the rest of the outline I had planned.) So this excerpt is from the next 10,000 words I wrote since the last excerpt, only this scene is actually from the second chapter of the novel. As always, please excuse the roughness of this draft.<br />
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After my classes on Tuesday I bike over to Paws n Claws, the vet clinic I’ve been volunteering at for the past year. The vet, Dr. Ransom, loves to have students help out, mostly because then he doesn’t have to pay anyone to clean up the kennels for the boarding animals. But he’s also a great mentor. I love working at the clinic, and can feel myself getting excited as I get closer.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I let myself in through the back door, and find myself face to face with Jeff, the young-William-Shatner look-alike. He’s tossing a ball for the two black Labs that are staying at the clinic while their owners are on vacation. He smiles at me as I walk in.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, gorgeous,” he says.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I raise my eyebrows. “Did you forget my name? Let me remind you. It’s Lis.” My no-nonsense tone does nothing to erase his cocky grin. He tosses the ball again, the Labs thundering after it, drool flying in the air.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Where’s Dr. Ransom?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jeff inclines his head toward the break room. “In there. He’s taking a nap. Had a surgery this morning, it wiped him out.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thanks.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Want to play?” He offers the ball to me. It’s covered in drool and teeth marks.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nope. You’re on your own.” He shrugs, and resumes throwing for the dogs. It looks like all three of them are having fun. I smile. It’s nice to work with fellow animal lovers.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Dr. Ransom has his head on the break room table. He’s awake, and tapping on his phone. Looking over his shoulder, I can see that he’s playing a game. Nice. He turns his head at the sound of my footsteps.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Lis! Have I got a job for you.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I perk up at this. “Great! What is it?” I get excited any time I have a chance to do something more than menial labor.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Bob Samhain is in the lobby. Go see what he’s brought in today, and get him to go home.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I groan, not even bothering to hide my displeasure. “Can’t Jeff do it?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Jeff is new. Bob would walk all over him. He’ll listen to you, though. Think about it! You can incorporate your interactions with him into your applications!”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I finished them yesterday.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh. Well, you still need to go talk to him. These angry birds aren’t going to kill any pigs by themselves.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Fine.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I shamble out into the lobby. Bob is the only person there, except for Annette, Dr. Ransom’s receptionist. Her lips are pursed tightly, and she is glaring at Bob, who is leaning over a cage and whispering to it.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How long this time?” I ask Annette.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thirty minutes.” I don’t know how she talks without moving her lips out of their disapproving expression. It’s impressive. I don’t think I could have made it through thirty minutes of that stare. But, Bob is persistent. Or obsessive. Take your pick.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi, Bob.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Elizabeth!”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Lis is short for Lisette, actually.” It’s not the first time he’s heard this.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Take a look at this little guy.” He holds the carrier up to my face. “I think he might have eaten a cigarette butt on campus.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It takes a lot of self-restraint to hold in a sigh. Bob comes in every couple of weeks with some wild animal who needs “saving.” It is frequently not legal to be in possession of these animals. Today, it’s a squirrel, one of the hundreds that roam the CSU campus. It may be legal to have a squirrel, but it is certainly not smart.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Bob hitches up his pants. He’s wearing his usual ensemble of a pair of overalls over a wifebeater tank top. His hair is thin, awkwardly combed over the top of his head. He looks down on his luck, and my heart hurts a little. It’s sweet how much Bob loves these animals, even if his love is a little… misguided. So today I decide to humor him.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hmm. He’s not being as active as I would expect for a squirrel of his… size,” I say, making it up as I go along. “Let me take him to Dr. Ransom.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, thank you, Elizabeth, thank you!” Bob is practically glowing. I take the cage from him gingerly and head to the back room. Annette’s look of disgust is now aimed at me. I’m okay with that.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Dr. Ransom sits up abruptly in his chair when I walk in with the cage. “Darn it, Lis. Really?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sorry. He was so upset.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Now I’m upset,” Dr. Ransom mumbles. “Do you have a plan?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sort of.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I take the cage out back, where Jeff is now brushing the black Labs. He looks up at me from where he’s sitting. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What is that?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“A squirrel.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay.” He resumes brushing. “Why?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Bob Samhain brought him in.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jeff nods. “Oh yeah. Annette told me about him. What are you going to do with the squirrel?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I look out into the alley behind the clinic. Not exactly prime squirrel territory. “I was thinking of letting him out and pretending he had so much vim and vigor that he escaped.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jeff brightens. “I have an even better idea.” He takes the cage from me. “Allow me, <i>mademoiselle</i>.” He leads me back into the clinic, and starts poking through his backpack. “<i>Voila</i>!” He holds up a pack of SweetTarts.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t get it.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Wait for it, <i>ma cherie</i>.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I roll my eyes. I never should have told him that my mother is French.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He also digs out a prescription pill bottle and dumps the pills into a pocket of his bag. “Those are souped up ibuprofen. I don’t have any weird diseases, if you were wondering.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I wasn’t.” </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jeff begins to peel the label with his name on it off, using his fingernail to unstick it from the bottle. When it finally comes off, he dumps the SweetTarts in the bottle.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What are you doing?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Improvising.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jeff grabs a Sharpie off of Dr. Ransom’s desk and writes <b>NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION</b> on the bottle. He picks up the squirrel and heads out toward the lobby. I follow him, not sure what’s going to happen or if I should stop it.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mr. Samhain?” he asks when he sees Bob. Bob springs to his feet more easily than I would have expected for a man of his size. Jeff holds his free hand out to shake with Bob, who looks dazed at Jeff’s enthusiasm. “My name is Scott Simpson, and I have just the thing for your squirrel.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes?” Bob leans forward eagerly. “Scott” hands him the pill bottle filled with candy.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Now, I can’t write you an official prescription, as this is a wild animal, but I can give you these. Feed one to the squirrel every thirty minutes, and when the bottle is empty, let the squirrel go. Sound good?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Bob nods. “Oh yes, Dr. Simpson, I can handle that. I’ll take good care of the little guy.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m sure you will. Bye bye now.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We stand in the lobby and watch as Bob practically runs out the door with the squirrel and his “medicine.” Once he’s safely gone, I turn to Jeff and hit him in the shoulder.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Ow!”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What is wrong with you?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jeff rubs his arm. “What is wrong with <i>you</i>? I just made Bob’s day.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“By telling him to feed a squirrel SweetTarts! That is so wrong!”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jeff shrugs. “So we’ll fire Dr. Simpson. The guy’s a dick, anyway.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I roll my eyes at him and head back to the break room. Jeff hurries after me. Thankfully, Dr. Ransom is back in his office.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Wait! Lis!”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I whirl around to face him, arms folded over my chest. “What?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What are you doing Saturday night?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My jaw drops open. “Are you asking me out?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, I’m taking a survey.” It’s Jeff’s turn to roll his eyes now. “Yes, I’m asking you out. What, do you have a boyfriend?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Girlfriend?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No!”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So?”</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cochin; font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cochin; font-size: 14px;">My cheeks are burning. “Actually, I have plans with my friends that night. Sorry.” A work meeting to see if I want to investigate cheating boyfriends is kind of the same thing.</span><br />
<br />Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-85869267481217299942013-11-18T09:00:00.000-07:002013-11-18T09:00:00.155-07:00Another excerpt!I passed the 30,000 mark while on mini-vacation in Steamboat Springs this past weekend. I'll post about that next, but in the meantime, here's a snippet from the most recent batch of 10,000 words!<br />
Lis and Will, our main characters, have discovered each other's deceptions. Lis is willing to overlook Will's mistake; he doesn't feel the same way. This is how Lis decides to cope.<br />
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I take Tiffani’s advice and spend the weekend getting over Will in the cheesiest way possible. I watch every romantic movie I can find on Netflix’s Watch Instantly list. I buy four different kinds of Ben&Jerry’s and eat about half of it. I can’t bring myself to eat all that ice cream, though, because come on. I’m not crossing the line into completely pathetic. I just want to have some fun with my sadness. At one point I try watching <i>Star Trek</i> because it’s my usual go-to whenever I feel sad, but when Captain Kirk shows up on my screen I burst into tears. I can’t watch <i>Next Generation</i>, either, because every time Riker sits down I think about how funny it is that Will copies him and I start doing this weird laugh-cry thing that always ends in choking on my own snot. So no <i>Trek</i>.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Adele calls me Sunday evening. She hasn’t called me since the whole Wyatt thing happened two months ago. I can barely believe my eyes when I see her name on the screen when my phone rings.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi, Lis.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi, Adele.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Pause.</div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Cochin; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How are your vet school applications going?”</div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Cochin; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I finished them a while ago. I’m just waiting to hear back.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Normally I would make more of an effort to talk to my sister, but right now I feel pretty self-absorbed.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Can you do me a favor?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sure.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“When you come up for Thanksgiving, can you bring some yarn for me? I can’t find the kind I want here in Laramie.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>That’s a common problem for the residents of “Laradise”, but the usual solution is to go to a craft store in Cheyenne.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you really want to wait that long? Why don’t you just go to Cheyenne?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I, um, I can’t.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Why not?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Long pause this time. “I got banned from the craft store.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What?” Adele finally has my full attention. “What did you do?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Adele’s voice wavers. “Mom drove me there last weekend, and I found everything I needed but, um, Wyatt was there.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“In a craft store?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He was there with his new girlfriend,” Adele whispers. “And I just got so mad, I started yelling at him and telling his girlfriend she should dump his ass, and then I may or may not have started throwing skeins of yarn at him. Spoiler alert: I did. I hit him in the head.” She pauses. “And the balls.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He deserves it.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, the manager didn’t agree, and now I’m not allowed back in. Neither is Mom, because she didn’t try to stop me.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m surprised she didn’t throw a few balls of yarn herself.”</div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Cochin; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“She was busy holding my purse so I could use both hands.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Wow, Adele.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah. So I need you to bring me some yarn.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, yeah, sure, but what do you need it for?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh. Um, I learned how to crochet. You know, while I was spending so much time in my room. So now I make blankets for the kids in the fostering program. I can teach you how when you come home.”</div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Cochin; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 18.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That sounds great, Delly. I’d love to help you with that.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She gives me the list of all the yarn she needs before hanging up. I stare at the list in shock for a few minutes. So this is how my sister is getting over Wyatt. Making blankets for kids. Wow.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’m proud of Adele. It may have taken her weeks of hiding out in her room, but the way she’s chosen to come back to normal life is admirable.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As much as I’ve enjoyed my weekend shotgunning ice cream and sappy movies, I can’t wallow forever. It’s not in my nature to sit around and do nothing. So… what should I do? Move on, find a new guy to fool around with? Resign myself to spinsterhood until I graduate from vet school?</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What I really want, though, is Will. And maybe this isn’t the best plan, because my brain has been warped by too many romantic comedies, but I am going to get him back.</div>
Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-41723122112448541892013-11-16T15:44:00.007-07:002013-11-16T15:49:30.962-07:00Guest Post- Don't Fall into a Plot Hole, by Connie B. DowellWelcome to the back half of NaNoWriMo! I hope everyone is on pace to finish, and if you are anything like me by now you've discovered at least one major flaw in your work! Today, Connie B. Dowell of <a href="http://bookechoes.com/">bookechoes.com</a> is here to talk to us about plot holes and what to do with them. If you like her post, check out her website and follow her on Twitter @ConnieBDowell<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Don’t Fall in a Plot Hole! Cover It with a Rug.</div>
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It’s the middle of NaNoWriMo, and, as those participating probably know by now, the middle of the month is often the most challenging. It’s when the shine of an idea wears off and the realities of its potentials and limitations set in. It’s when the pretty, smooth road on your story map turns into a reality rife with potential pot holes… I mean, plot holes.<br />
Don’t let those plot holes stop you, though. The best thing to do for a plot hole is to fill it… eventually. You’re sprinting to 50,000 words and may not have time immediately to go back and explain or foreshadow. For now, however, as you delve deep into your story world, there are some strategies to distract from these gaping holes, strategies used by successful stories that actually left those holes in.<br />
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Warning! Spoilers below for <u>Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire</u> and <i>Futurama</i>.<br />
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<u>Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire</u></div>
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In this book, Harry is chosen for the Triwizard Tournament, a deadly competition for the honor of his school, only to discover at the end that it was all a plot by Voldemort and his followers to get him off school grounds so they could use his blood to give Voldemort a new body… and kill him, of course. When he reaches the cup at the end of the final competition, it turns out to be a portkey that transports him away.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The Hole</div>
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Okay. I’m going to give a lot of leeway here. Sure, they could have used anything as a portkey at any time, but the Triwizard Cup is an especially good one for the following reasons:<br />
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• The tournament is known for deadly accidents, thus, providing a handy explanation for Harry’s death.<br />
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• The final competition takes place at the end of the year, and it took a long time to get Voldemort ready for a new body.<br />
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But those reasons still don’t quite cut it. Here’s a much safer route the Death Eaters could have taken:<br />
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• Leave Harry out of the tournament. No big spotlight means people don’t notice his whereabouts.<br />
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• Do wait for the final competition. It gives the Death Eaters the time they need, and the excitement and crowds of the competition provide much needed distraction and cover.<br />
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• Kids get injured—often seriously—at Hogwarts all the time. Come up with a plausible accident (and there are tons) and make it look convincing.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Why you might not notice it</div>
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There. Were. Dragons! And mermaids! And a sketchy reporter-beetle. And a creepy maze. Oh yeah, and the dual Bartemius Crouches and oh-my-gosh so much exciting and distracting stuff. Spectacle, pure and simple. Rowling needed Harry in the spotlight for this, even though it was a huge risk for the Death Eaters to take, so she made the competition so interesting that on the first read I didn’t notice the hole. And when I did, I didn’t care.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Futurama,</i> “Spanish Fry”</div>
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Fry’s nose is stolen by aliens to sell as an aphrodisiac. Fry, Leela, and Bender visit Lrrr, of Omicron Persei 8, who bought Fry’s nose, hoping to convince him to return it. Lrrr decides he wants a rather different body part from Fry.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The Hole</div>
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The Professor has a cloning machine. Fry could have a new nose by afternoon. The crew even brings this up, but Fry dismisses it, with the flimsy excuse that he’d have to teach a new one how to snort milk.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Why you might not notice it</div>
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Again, spectacle. There’s a sketchy bazaar where somebody’s roasting an automobile in the background. Then the crew goes to visit Lrrr to watch scary alien Lrrr and his wife bicker over their relationship problems in a hilariously mundane fashion. By the time Lrrr decides to chop off Fry’s you-know, I’d forgotten all about the cloning option.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
So, what does this tell us?</div>
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If you have to have a plot hole, cover it with flash. Make the world of your story so darn interesting that everybody forgets all about that logical flaw. Now, the middle of a draft, is the best time for that. You should be deep into heart of your story, exploring new facets of the world, really pushing your concept to its potential. It’s no excuse not to try and fill your holes in December (even if you only fill them with an explanation about teaching a nose tricks), but know that popular stories like these prove that spectacle can trump logic.<br />
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Connie B. Dowell writes, edits, and tutors in Virginia. For fun, she counts plot holes in books and T.V. shows. One day, she will know how many plot holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall. You can find her at <a href="http://bookechoes.com/">http://bookechoes.com/</a>Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-63345801524102182772013-11-11T13:45:00.000-07:002013-11-11T13:45:19.187-07:00Excerpt the SecondI hit 20,000 words last night, so it's time for an excerpt from this set of 10,000 words! Here's the backstory you need: Lis, the main character, has been hired by Will's girlfriend to investigate whether or not he'll cheat on her while she spends a semester in Italy. Lis starts to fall for Will, which is a big no-no. So, she's torn--she wants him to be faithful to his girlfriend, like a good guy; on the other hand, she wants him to like her. As always, this is an unpolished first draft. Enjoy!<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The morning of the Biochem exam is the first time I don’t sit next to Will in two weeks. There’s just no way I can focus on the exam when there’s a constant electric tingle between the two of us. Even if I’m the only one feeling it. I walk into class at eight fifty-seven, and by then there are only a few seats left. I squeeze in between a girl with pink hair and a sweaty guy with glasses that keep falling to the end of his nose. Perfect. These two won’t distract me at all. Although pink hair girl does kind of look like she wants to punch someone.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Studying with Will really has helped me. I can tell that he’s really good at figuring out what material will show up on the exam, because we’ve studied everything that shows up on the test. I feel confident after completing the first page, and manage to find a zone that works for me. I don’t lift my pencil off the paper until nine forty-five—actually finishing early! I hand in my paper, giving the professor a big smile. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s nice to see that someone looks happy,” he comments. “Have a good weekend. Enjoy the game!”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thanks.” I beam at him. Tiffani gave me a Rams Volleyball shirt, and I decided to wear it all day to support her. The game tonight is against Utah, one of the other teams in our conference. It’ll be a good game. Mallory, Serena, and I are all going together to cheer for Tiff.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I walk out of the classroom and suck in a huge gulp of air when I see Will leaning against the wall opposite the door. He pushes off the wall and comes over to me.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How’d you do?” </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Pretty well. You?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I finished ten minutes ago,” he brags, reaching back to pat himself on the back. “We should study together for the rest of the semester.” My heart skips a beat, and all I can do is nod. The rest of our class has begun to file out the door of the classroom. Most people don’t look happy. I start to walk towards the student center, and for once Will falls into step next to me.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You didn’t sit next to me today,” he says. It’s not a question, but I answer it anyway.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, since we study together, I thought we should split up for the test so people didn’t think we were cheating.” It’s a small lie, but I still feel like dirt for saying it. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Will looks satisfied, though. “Okay, but on Monday, you should come back to your spot.” I feel warm all over when he says “your spot,” and I tighten my grip on my bag. Will reaches out and rubs the sleeve of my volleyball shirt between his thumb and forefinger. I have to concentrate hard on walking in a straight line.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Are you going to the game tonight?” he asks.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I nod. Then I realize that this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. “Do you want to come with me?” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He gives me a sideways glance, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Okay. I haven’t been to a game since freshman year, though. You might have to remind me of the rules.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My heart is simultaneously leaping and sinking, which feels horrible. “I can do that,” I manage to choke out.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He smiles at me. “Great. I’ll meet you on the north side of the arena right before the game.” I nod, and stretch my lips into something that might be considered a smile.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Where are you headed?” he asks me.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The student center. I haven’t had breakfast yet. I was going to get a muffin before my next class.” My stomach rumbles when I say “muffin,” and I hope Will can’t hear it.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He nods his head. “I’m done for the day, so I’m going to head home. See you tonight.” </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When he smiles at me, I think I might actually fall down because my knees have turned to Jell-O. Does he have any idea he looks just like Captain Kirk? </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I wonder if Emma like Star Trek, and if watching it is something that the two of them like to do together. A pang of jealousy stabs me in the chest, making it hard to breathe. I send Mallory a text to tell her about my plan for tonight. I hope I can get this case over with soon. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My phone buzzes. Mallory says that after the game she’ll report to Emma, and I can be done. I let out a huge sigh of relief. The knot in my stomach untangles a little, enough for me to feel hungry again.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The line at the cafe is pretty long, so I have plenty of time to stand around and think while I wait for my turn to order. I’m really excited for the game tonight, to spend time with Will doing something more fun than studying. But… if he goes to the game with me, does that make him a cheater? Can I still like him, then?</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cochin; font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cochin; font-size: 14px;">Now I’ve lost my appetite. </span>Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66660722823114210.post-8558939583243789262013-11-05T16:14:00.000-07:002013-11-05T16:15:41.555-07:00Excerpt the first!This year's NaNoWriMo work is a geeky New Adult contemporary romance, tentatively titled Boldly Go. I just passed the 10,000 word mark, so it's time for an excerpt! This is the first time the two main characters meet, and they get to show their nerd sides a little.<br />
A note: This is a first draft that has not been polished AT ALL, in the true spirit of NaNoWriMo. So don't judge me too harshly.<br />
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I still haven’t made a final decision on my outfit by eight AM on Monday, which is driving me crazy. I’m driving today so I won’t look all windblown like I usually do when I ride my bike. I pick out a short denim skirt and a bright red button-up blouse with cap sleeves. Cringing a little, I don’t wear a tank top under it like I usually do. The buttons spread apart a little bit because it’s a tiny bit too small, and if I sit on Will’s left, he’ll probably get a glimpse of the black bra I’m wearing underneath. Man. I haven’t dressed this calculatingly in a long time. Looking sexy does give me confidence, which I desperately need today.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It takes me forever to find a parking spot on campus, and I have to hurry to get to class, which hurts because I’m wearing little black ballet flats that don’t support my feet at all. I really need to make sure I get there early, though, so I can get a seat next to Will. I usually sit in the back, and if I remember correctly I usually see him sitting in the front. It’s a big lecture hall, though, with at least a hundred and fifty seats. I cross my fingers for luck.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There he is! I recognize those broad shoulders, probably because I stare at them a lot when lecture gets boring. I smooth down my hair and walk confidently down the aisle to the front row, shaking my hips unashamedly. Bingo! Will is the first one to sit down in the front row, and no one else is claiming the seats next to him. I slide into the seat on his left, just as I planned, and flash him a smile.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi. I’m Lis,” I say. His eyebrows are raised, and I catch his eyes drifting down towards my chest before they snap back to my face.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m Will. Nice to meet you.” He speaks slowly, and gives me a tentative grin. I guess he’s not used to random girls introducing themselves in big lecture classes. I’d be surprised, too. Usually I don’t bother making friends with people in a class this big. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I drop my messenger bag on the floor after pulling out my notebook, bending down to push it safely under my seat. His bag is on the floor already, and… is that seriously a Starfleet Academy logo pin on the front flap? </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Time for the Fairchild Star Trek True Fan Test, as developed by my father in 2009 when the JJ Abrams movie came out.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I like your pin,” I tell him, flashing another smile. “Did you like the new Star Trek movie?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He nods, giving me a look of approval. “I did, yeah. It was great, but I’ll always have a place in my heart for the original Khan.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My heart flutters. He just skipped the first part of the test and moved into the second phase. “You like the original movies? Which is your favorite?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and ankles and staring at me with a crooked grin. “I can never decide. I go back and forth between the original cast and the <i>Next Generation</i> all the time. This week, my favorite is <i>First Contact</i>.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My jaw drops open. He just passed the test, flying colors, true fan award. It’s all I can do not to crawl in his lap and start making out with him right here in class. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I like <i>Wrath of Khan</i> myself, but <i>First Contact</i> is a close second.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He nods tightly. “Not too many girls have seen the old movies. Most of them just want to talk about how hot Zachary Quinto is as Spock.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And then they get all disappointed when you tell them he’s gay,” I add. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He laughs. “Exactly!”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The professor turns on the projector and dims the lights so we can see his lecture on the screen. I wipe my palms on my skirt, trying not to let Will see. Oh my gosh, he’s hot and he likes Star Trek. This is unbelievable. It’s all I can do to follow along with the lecture notes. I keep peeking out of the corner of my eye at Will. He seems to take really good notes. One time, though, I see his head whip back to his paper when I look at him. My cheeks burn. I feel sick to my stomach in the best way possible.</div>
Kara Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07147342389371681730noreply@blogger.com0