Mooretality

Charlotte and the Tooth Fairy

2011-11-14T10:51:00.000-07:00

When Naomi was due for shots her 5-year old shots, I whispered in her ear that she never cried when she was a little baby, and she shouldn’t need to cry now she was a big girl. Of course, she didn’t cry. Charlotte is my timid one. I tried the same trick on her. She started crying and screaming before the nurse entered the room, truly afraid. I had to lay across her torso, while two nurses came to give her the shots extra quick.

Charlotte has now been going through the rite of passage where her teeth loosen and fall out. In keeping with her cowardly ways, she holds onto the tooth until it is barely hanging on by a thread. When over at mom’s house last week, Grandma offers her 1 dollar just to wiggle the tooth. You can see the gaping hole where it is completely unattached on the left side. The tooth had died, and had turned an unattractive brownish color. Mom was sure if she could just get one good wiggle, it would come out. She discovered that Charlotte gives you 3 seconds of barely touching her tooth before screaming in pain. Grandma had to cough up 1 dollar. The tooth was still in her mouth.

It was so unattractive, I offered Charlotte TWENTY dollars if she would just hold still and let me take it out then and there. “The offer is only good for right now, and I promise you $20 if you let me take it out.” Charlotte refused. Four days later, I grabbed her and pulled the tooth out – it was so unattached, there wasn’t even any bleeding.

The next night, the tooth fairy left Charlotte a dollar bill. The OTHER tooth fairy also left a dollar for Charlotte, deciding since the primary tooth fairy forgot to do so the night before, she would forget again. Charlie woke up, delighted with her two dollars, until she remembered the promise of $20. “Mom, how come the tooth fairy didn’t leave me $20?” “Well,” I reply “it was Mommy that offered $20 if you let me pull out your tooth at Grandma’s last week. You said no. The tooth fairy only pays $2. If you want to earn some money, you can work on cleaning your room today and helping with the dishes this week for two dollars.” “Okay Mom! I’d like a one dollar and a twenty dollar please!” I had to explain that two dollars does not mean two pieces of paper with the number of your choice on it.

We moved into the kitchen to prepare breakfast when Charlotte got her next money making idea. Holding her tooth fairy dollars and a pencil, she happily announces she knows what to do. “I’ll just change this 1 to a 20, and I will have $20!”

She’s pretty single-minded. It makes me laugh.

Technology - Seriously, can it slow down and let me catch up already?

2010-10-20T13:08:00.001-06:00

Yes, it's been a while since my last posting. I figure I'm good if I can make it twice a year - Can't blog more often than I go to the temple, right?

We recently hired a new CEO over at the non-profit company. He's only a few years older than myself, and unlike me, been keeping up with the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos. He's convinced Gordon that Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube are a "must have" for our office. So, in addition to my other duties, I have been assigned the task of getting us set up. Believe me, I'm really getting discouraged with the whopping 36 people who like our company. It's been stuck there for a month. I may have to start making up people and have them liking us online - or begging non-dental friends to like us (facebook.com/GordonJ.Christensen) ;)

The problem is our core group of clients are older, and don't mess around with some of these newer social media formats.

In the meantime, just so I don't screw things up and put something into cyberspace wrong, never to be deleted again, I loaded up videos of Naomi's theatrical endeavors on YouTube while I was learning how to do our work videos.

Utah Pioneer Program
Rich, Rich, Rich - Pirate Treasure Island
Sailing Away - Pirate Treasure Island

This has been an interesting endeavor. I find that it takes me quite a few hours to run through the various steps and before I know it the day is done - but I still have more work to do. I told my coworker that I'm probably going to end up being one of those old people who don't know how to do anything modern - just think of all the changes that have happened in the last 15 years - internet and mobile phones are commonplace, internet on mobile phones is becoming so, digital books, digital music, digitial video, video conferencing, webinars, email, TV on demand, DVRs. Good gracious, what do you predict is coming next? Naomi says HOVER CARS. She's probably right.

Teaching Fiscal Responsibility

2010-02-12T13:19:00.000-07:00

I hate paying allowance. Whatever Naomi needs, I buy for her. I even periodically buy things she doesn't need - along with Sean and other loving aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Naomi, however, is POOR! She never gets anything, and never has money to buy what she needs. We have tried various allowance methods - a per chore price (25 cents to empty dishwasher, 50 cents to clean the bathroom). A toy she has chosen and has to earn. A weekly sum of $2-3. None have lasted long or worked well. I can understand wanting some financial freedom. However, money burns a hole in Naomi's pocket. It must be SPENT! Even if it means buying mechanical pencils from the vending machine at school, Naomi is determined to do her part to improve our economy.

Last month, while paying my credit card online, I stumbled upon USAA's recommendations for teaching children how to save. The site recommended that paying a weekly allowance equal to the child's age was appropriate. Nine dollars?!? That's a lot of mechanical pencils.

I thought about it and came up with the following plan that has been working well - so far. Naomi was told she would get a $9 allowance every week. She would be expected to put some aside for savings and to pay her tithing. The rest would be hers to decide what to do with - I would keep my mouth shut, no matter what she used the money for. However, if she was not completing her chores, she would receive a deduction of her expected allowance. Being told to go to bed too many times? Lose a dollar. Didn't do the dishes after I asked 5 times? Lose a dollar. Teasing Charlotte and making her squeal/cry? Lose a dollar. She CAN NOT get the money back.

As yet, she hasn't earned her full allowance. Her behavior has improved. We're still working on the savings and tithing part of it. Last week was her school book fair. Naomi was counting up her money and making plans on what she would be purchasing. She had already spent $2.50 on a plastic dog-shaped pencil sharpener. It has movable ears, white googly eyes, and tail to which is connnected the drawer where all the pencil shavings go. Basically, it poops pencil shavings, much to Naomi's delight. (mechanical pencils and a pencil sharpener, talk about a combination made for one another) While Naomi browsed the Scholastic book ad, planning what she was going to buy next, I reminded her she needed to pay tithing on her allowance last week.

"I'm going to pay it at the end of the year, mom!"

I tried to share with Naomi that saving tithing to pay until the end of the year is not the best plan. While many people choose to pay their tithing that way, she may find it hard to part with such a large sum in the future. What was 50 cents now would be $25 at the end of the year. Not only would it be hard to part with the princly sum of $25, I pointed out that if she wasn't putting the money aside now for the Lord, how would she pay when the end of the year came? Naomi gave me a disgusted sigh and eye roll and firmly told me, "I can pay at the end of the year mom! It will be OKAY!"

After a few minutes more searching her book catalog, Naomi looks up to me and says, "Mom, tomorrow is Friday and that means you need to pay me my allowance!"

"Naomi" I replied, "I've decided to wait to pay you all your allowance at the end of the year."

Needless to say, 9-year-olds don't have any sense of humor.

What would you take with you?

2010-01-15T08:11:00.003-07:00

This query was posed to Naomi a few weeks ago in primary. "If your family was in Nauvoo and needed to move west to Salt Lake with the rest of the saints, what items would you choose to take with you?"

Naomi showed me her written reply (used her spelling/punctuation to give you the full experience):

my moms cellphone, money, blankets, food, first aid kit, clothes, empty bags and boxes, my ipod, journal, bible, drinks, fridge, my moms laptop, notebook, a pot to go pee in, pencils, pillows, duck tape, trash can, sunglasses.

The list made me laugh. Now you can see why I do the packing.

Super underwear light guy

2009-11-30T20:42:00.003-07:00

Yep, Charlie likes to sing. She sings all the time when she's happy. Whatever nonsense comes to her mind. She spent the entire ride at the San Diego Animal Park singing about the animals she could see, about the twins sitting behind her that liked the hippopotamus (rhinos), about how much she loves her mommy and daddy.

Today, I've been working on laundry. After doing all the clothes from the trip, I want clean bedding. Charlie has been entertaining herself by singing again. Something about saving the world - very Saturday morning, league of super-heroes type song. I look at her and had to start laughing. She was singing about super underwear light guy. (guy, not girl) She has a pair of her undies on her head and she was dancing with a light-up necklace that grandma bought her in DisneyLand. Had to share the image.

Dangerous Type

2009-09-04T13:11:00.001-06:00

For those of you who don’t know what I do for a living, I work for a dentist who is an idol for many dentists around the nation. He lectures, teaches, publishes, films instructional DVDs, and occasionally sees patients. The primary focus of my job is selling the DVDs and courses we offer. I travel, usually once a month, to sell during meetings to doctors. I put together print ads and still frequently act as primary on the phones. I am constantly wearing different hats in the office. Lately, he’s had me working the front desk on patient days, because he wants someone who is friendly to interact with patients. Over the past 12 years, my job has run the gamut of picking up dry cleaning to designing our company website. It rarely gets dull.

Today, my boss comes to the doorways of my and my coworkers’ offices. He wanted to talk about his plans for our upcoming video filming, a DVD on preventing embezzlement in the dental office. DVDs are interesting to produce. They can get pretty boring if it’s just my boss being a talking head. To flesh out a concept, I’ve been dragged in before to act as a front desk person on camera, talking to a patient. I’ve sat in the dental chair with a stupid paper bib on and pantomimed asking questions to a dental assistant. I’ve demonstrated how to properly brush your teeth; and I’ve faked passing out for our medical emergency video. After watching these segments, I figure it was a pretty good thing I didn’t decide to be an actress. I can hardly keep a straight face.

Back to my boss – he wanted to know who would play the embezzler for the video. Toni will have to be the experienced office manager, so SHE can’t be the embezzler. Resounding silence in the office, then I open my big mouth and state I would do it if I got to wear a mask, like Hamburglar (back-in-the-day McD’s pop culture reference), or he would have to put up a message that says “not an actual embezzler”, because I may actually want a job in dentistry after this one, and my reputation doesn’t need knocking. Boss-man started laughing and said “Okay! Alycia will be our hot-looking embezzler.”

When will I ever learn?

On the plus side, boss-man said I should wear something really attractive and costly, as if I’m living outside the means of what my pay would be (a potential sign-post of an embezzler). I told I would be happy to get a new outfit and maybe a diamond tennis bracelet with matching earrings. He can expect me to submit the receipt next week. I told him that while we were at it, we should also get some footage of me driving his Porsche, so that it’s really apparent I’m living outside my means.

Calling Poison Control - Again

2009-09-02T10:15:00.006-06:00

Pathetic? I prefer to call it being thorough.

Naomi has been suffering from allergies the last month. She had the same problem this time last year. We've tried various over-the-counter allergy medications with no success - Benedryl, Claritin, Zyrtec. I called the doctor, and he gave me a Rx for Singular, a 24-hour allergy pill. It has been more effective than the previously tried drugs; however, Naomi starts to sniffle within a couple hours of her next dose. I give it to her in the evening, thinking that she's at least inside when it starts to wear off.

Last night, I heard the familiar snuffling from Naomi as she finished up her dinner. I went to the cupboard, pulled out her bottle of pills and selected one pill. I placed the pill in front of her and told her to take her medicine and walked back to the cupboard to put away the pill bottle. An hour later, as the girls and I started our family home evening, I heard Naomi was still snuffling. "Did you take that pill like I told you?" I asked.

"What pill? You didn't give me a pill." replied Naomi. "Go to the table and take the pill I put by your plate" I told her.

Naomi goes to the table, and exclaims that there is no pill on it. I know I got her pill. We check the countertops, the floor, underneath a coloring book. I look at Charlotte - "Did you take Naomi's medicine?"

Nodding enthusiastically, Charlotte replies, "Yes, I ate the medicine. See I'm all better!" and she fake coughs. Sensing she might be in trouble, she added "I very sorry, mama."

Sean came home early, but had departed to go downstairs when we started our family home evening. Thinking he may be on the computer, I yelled at him to get me the number to poison control. Of course, he wants to know why. I explain about the pulling out a pill and putting it in front of Naomi, and Charlotte eating it. Sean yells, "how many were in the bottle?"

"What? Why do you want to know that?" I yell back (still upstairs, fishing my cell phone out). "Because they'll want to know how many pills were in the bottle! Poison control is going to ask you that!" Sean yells. "No, they won't!" I reply. "I've called poison control before, and they won't ask me that! Besides, I just told you, I know she only ate one pill."

By then, Sean is disgusted with me, because I have previously contacted poison control or because Charlotte didn't ingest an entire bottle of pills, I'm not sure. He tells me not to call poison control, that one over-the-counter dosage won't kill Charlotte. I told him it was a prescription, and it probably wouldn't hurt her, but I'd like to be sure. (The label on the bottle stated, "may cause drowsiness", and I had visions of a comatose Charlotte) I dialed the number and spoke to the operator. I gave him the dosage strength and told him my 3-year old swiped my 9-year old's allergy pill. He reassured me that Charlie would be fine. His notes stated that she could have taken up to 100 mg without any adverse effects. The pill she took was 5 mg.

I had a mommy-talk with Charlotte about taking medicine that was not for her. I don't think it sunk in.

What were the other times calling poison control? Naomi was still crawling and got into her diaper bag and drank half the bottle of a travel-size Purell hand sanitizer. Another time, was right after Heather had Luke. She was visiting me and Naomi got into Heather's diaper bag and opened a baggie of Tucks medicated pads. I'm not sure if she did put them in her mouth, but I thought her breath smelled like Tucks, so I called.

Just so you know, at the end of the call, the poison control operator asks for the child's first and last name, your last name, and your zip code. With the Purell incident, I asked if that meant they were sending the police after me for child abuse. The operator said it was just for their records. So far, the cops haven't come.

There Will Be Cake

2009-06-22T11:32:00.002-06:00

This morning I see an email from my mother. The subject line reads, "Re: Naomi".

Her note says, "Wow, what a nice mom! I will try to remember to come"

Confused, I read further down to the original message. It read as follows:

From: Alycia Moore
Sent: Sunday, June 21, 2009 3:04 PM
To: Mom
Subject: naomi

Naomi has been a really good daughter so I was thinking if I SHOULD HAVE A PARTY AT MY HOUSE
AT TUESDAY, JUNE 23 THERE WILL BE CAKE

LOVE,ALYCIA

I wrote back to mom that I had no idea what she was talking about. Mom asked if that message wasn't from me, as it came from my email. (Mom, didn't you see it was sent at 3pm on Sunday? Hello! We were sitting by each other in the airport waiting to board the plane at that time.) I have since determined that my stinker, Naomi, got onto my laptop and emailed the message to mom. GRRRR. I'm thinking we should have cake, but Naomi will have to sit and watch us eat it without her.

If anybody else was including in this bogus invitation, please disregard.

Give me a head with hair

2009-06-17T22:05:00.004-06:00

Okay, so Sean complains everytime I get Naomi's hair cut. He's even gone so far as to say to Naomi that boys won't like her if she keeps her hair short. It's not like she's got a buzz cut - it's a cute bob. Since Sean is the morning parent, and he refuses to learn how to do hair for girls, I'm okay with the short hair. Naomi got her first cut after I got tired of seeing her climb off the school bus with her hair obviously uncombed from sleeping in it the night before. Now that she's older, she can style her own hair. We started to grow it out, but when it reached her shoulders, she bugged me to have it cut until I gave in.

Last week, I started vacumning the house. It was one of those days where I couldn't stand to avoid the little areas, so I was moving furniture and going under beds, and into the walk-in closet. It was there that I met the vacumn nemesis - loose shoe string. It clogged up the muy, muy expensive Dyson that Sean bought last year. After spending an hour trying to cut the shoe string out of the brush motor with tiny manicure scissors, I had to call it quits and put the girls to bed. I later got it out and asked Sean to help me figure out how to get the stupid shoe lace out. The torque was apparently so much, that the string melted onto the spin brush thing (stop me if this gets too technical). While Sean and I are taking apart the Dyson, Sean begins exclaiming how gross all the hair wrapped around the brush is (and considering I already weed wacked out a ton of it out during my previous efforts to remove the shoestring, I don't see what he was whining about). I pointed out that hair in the vacumn brush was the consequence of girls having long hair, and wasn't he the guy always telling Naomi and Charlotte to keep their hair long?

I kid you not. He looks up at me and says, "yeah, but I'm pretty sure this is all yours."

Can't win.

I AM NOT A CROOK

2009-03-10T13:59:00.008-06:00

Many of you already know, I travel roughly once a month for work. I go, look pretty, smile hard, and try to charm doctors into buying more than they originally thought they wanted. It's something I've helped my job grow into, and has turned out to be financially rewarding for my boss and personally rewarding for me.

For each trip, I usually end up buying me something new to wear. That's my "bonus" to myself for the 15 to 20-hour work days. On my last trip, I whipped out a pair of pants I bought a few weeks before. When I arrived at the hotel with my traveling companion and co-worker, Amy, I started hanging up my clothes. Imagine my dismay when I felt a lump at the base of my new black pants. The dang things still had the light tan electronic do-dad pinned to the ankle of one leg! I don't know how on Earth I (ad the sales clerk) missed it.

I had no other options to wear. When we travel, it is encouraged that we do not check our luggage, everything has to fit in our carry-on bags. I had packed exactly enough for me to 1. wear a work dress that evening for a 3-hour student lecture and 2. the shirt/pant combo for the next day.

Amy got onto her phone web browser, and we called the help number for EXPRESS (ooops, did I name drop?). The cute customer service rep that answered listened to my dilemma, and when I asked if there was some secret to prying that watchacallit off, she seriously told me, "Ma'am, I don't recommend doing that, because there is a sharp pin that could hurt you." Ohhhh, a sharp pin! Save me! Who am I? Sleeping Beauty to be afraid of a pin? Seriously, even I know I shouldn't even consider trying to pry the tag off because it might rip the pants that I paid ***ahem, blush*** full price for.

I told her I was actually calling to see if she could direct me to a close-by store, where hopefully they could take the tag off. She gave me the names of three malls that were within 20 miles, and told me to call her so she could call the store managers and have them wait for me to come in. Unfortunately, I didn't have a car, and the hotel shuttle only had a 5-mile will-drive-you-for-free area. I could pay for a cab (there and back), or I could go to a nearby boutique mall (with store names like BCBG and Armani) and buy something else to where that probably wouldn't match the accessories I packed. ....sigh.

My ultimate decision? To wear the pants to the student reception, with some ingenious camouflage, and wear the dress the next day. In case you can't tell... yes, it's duct tape.

Let me check your tire pressure

2009-01-16T11:38:00.002-07:00

Last Christmas, I was browsing through Costco and found a digital tire pressure gauge. I had numerous “slow leaks” on my old Camry. My father long ago gave me a silver pen-shaped gauge that you would put to the tire, and watch the tiny ruler with the minuscule writing on it pop out when you firmly pushed to the tire. Problem was – I always wondered, did I push it on firmly enough? Did I just bump the ruler and make it slide further out than it was? What number exactly is that tiny line supposed to be on the gauge? Is my constant re-testing actually letting all the air out of my tires?

Anyhow, I’ve always hated the stupid thing. I never was confident that I had properly measured my tire pressure. I would beg my husband or my dad to do it, because I have no problem pretending to be the helpless female. Upon seeing the digital gauge, I snapped up that $20 tool, and decided to see if this would help me out. I opened the box and put the gauge in my glove compartment, untested.

Two months later, my new RAV4 had a light appear on the console. I diligently looked it up in my owner's manual and saw I had low tire pressure. I was pretty impressed – I didn’t even know my car could tell me that. On the Camry, I would look and think, “isn’t that tire looking a little low?” At that point, it usually was REALLY low, much to my father’s disgust.

Excited and a little nervous, I whip out my brand new tire pressure gauge, park by the free air dispenser, check the sticker located on the inside of my door, unscrew the tiny little lid, and press the gauge to the valve. It beeped and showed exactly what my tire pressure was in BIG, FAT, LIT-IN-NEON numbers. I repeated the procedure with all four tires, identified which tire was 2 lbs below the recommended psi, and filled that tire to the correct amount. I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR. I was so excited that I called my mom, told her all about it, and offered to check her tire pressure for her. Frankly, I think she must have thought I had lost my mind.

A few months ago, that special light appeared again on my console. I pulled over, confidently pulled my gauge out and went to check my pressure. All the tires were .5 lb of the recommended guideline. I shrugged and went to get air and fill them to EXACTLY the correct pressure and saw this air compressor required quarters. Since I didn’t have quarters, I decided I would wait until I could get to a free air dispenser. I figured it shouldn’t be a big deal, because they weren’t even a pound low. Three days later, I finally get to a free air pump and fill each tire to the exact amount. The tire light remained lit. I was upset. I know I did it right! Obviously, my crappy RAV4 was already broken. The electrical system must be shot, or some pricy sensor located in the tire had broken down.

Peeved, I took my car into the dealership and explained the problem to the service concierge (fancy title for mechanic). “I know I did it right”, I told the man, “I checked that all the tires are exactly the recommended pressure. I even have a nifty digital gauge that I KNOW I am measuring it correctly. Something must be wrong with the car!”

“Did you check the spare?” he asks.

“Right” I reply, “and I need my muffler bearings replaced and my blinker fluid refilled. I may be blond, but seriously!”

The man started laughing. “You don’t believe me? I’m serious – there’s a sensor on the spare.”

He sends me inside to wait and 10 minutes later I’m called to collect my totally super-awesome RAV4 (repenting for calling it crappy). It was my spare tire, attached to the rear door, that was low. Red-cheeked and laughing, I left the dealership.

Testimony of an 8-year old

2008-12-08T09:32:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, Naomi decided she would bear her testimony. Excited, she looked at me and said, “I’m going to go up there next!” She climbs over her little sister and myself to get out to the aisle, and marched for the back of the cultural hall to the front of the chapel. Adjusting the mike, she announces, “I know the Church is true, and I love my neighbors ‘cause they are nice. Yesterday I was going to do the dishes like my mom told me to, but I was taking too long. I got spanked hard and it hurt a lot. My mom spanks really hard, I couldn't EVEN MOVE! And my mom said, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” so I left to my neighbors and cried there for like 20 MINUTES! Anyways, my neighbors are nice and I love them. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

Honestly, after the “my mom spanks really hard”, I probably missed some of her testimony. I was too busy crawling under my chair. I was so embarrassed and laughing so hard, I was crying. The lady I visit teach was sitting behind me. She patted me on my back. Naomi probably got the biggest laughs, now she’s got a taste of the attention, I’m afraid of what the future will bring. I had to resist the temptation to get up and share my testimony and say, “let me tell you what really happened”. Luckily, maturity prevailed.

After sacrament, a half-dozen ladies stopped to tell me they weren’t judging me – they’ve all been there. One of the brothers told me as I dropped Charlotte off at nursery that he isn’t allowing his children to share their testimonies until they are 18. My Sunday school teacher started the lesson by looking at me and laughing uncontrollably. My neighbor turned around and patted my hand. Naomi’s primary teacher stopped me as I was picking Charlotte up to let me know she told Naomi that testimony sharing was to talk about the gospel, not tell stories. I was asked to give the opening prayer for Sunday school, the closing prayer for Relief Society, and a member of my bishopric called me that evening to let me know they didn’t think I was a bad mother.

Anybody want an eight-year old?

2008-11-26T09:57:00.001-07:00

I made a statement to Sean six weeks ago that I would like to do a “no toy” Christmas. I’m tired of picking them up, or in some cases vacuuming them up. I don’t think they all get played with at all. I figured between grandparents and aunts and uncles, they’d get enough toys anyhow. Sean was all about it, and has since been reminding me that we are having a “no toy” Christmas, along with telling his parents and all his siblings – NO TOYS

I was at Toys R Us yesterday getting Naomi a pink (has to be pink) Razor Scooter and Charlotte a new tricycle for Christmas, which do not fall under the category of toy, but of transportation and exercise. While I have explained to Naomi that we aren’t getting any toys this year, I’m still feeling like I should get SOMETHING (I know I’m weak) for her stocking. She enjoys her “Littlest Pet Shop” toys, so I browsed that aisle for a potential stocking stuffer to join the traditional toothbrush, treats, and a piece of fruit. I saw this toy and started laughing. I don’t know if you can tell from my crappy (pardon the pun) cell phone picture, but it is a littlest pet shop dog that comes with it’s own little newspaper, a little pooper scooper, and a small pile of fake poo.

No, I didn’t get the potty-training pooch, but I left the store with the trike, the scooter, a Hannah Montana guitar-shaped hairbrush, and a smile.

Monkeys at the Park

2008-10-30T12:02:00.003-06:00

As long as no one falls and we don't hear the doctor say, "No more monkeys climbing up the trees" I guess I'll be okay with it.

Naomi's 8-year old picts

2008-10-30T11:54:00.004-06:00

Ain't it great to be eight!

Naomi has told me that when I die, she gets my shoes. So we took some photos with her and all my shoes...and my purse...and my sunglasses...and my cell phone. I don't know where she gets it from.
Such a sweet smile.

These are getting old, sitting around waiting for me to send them.

Witches 2008

2008-10-27T13:22:00.004-06:00

Charlotte, Naomi and a friend at Gardner Village.

Charlotte & Naomi making another new friend.

Charlotte's 2-year pics

2008-02-28T11:07:00.001-07:00