I don’t know what it is, but spelling is important to me, especially when you are publicly posting your writings and actively hoping that others will read it. I make typos, I understand this error. What I do not understand is just not caring enough to go fix it. I read a lot of blogs of all different kinds, most do not have this problem but some I read are continual offenders.

I really believe spelling and grammar lends credibility to what you write and when I put my words out there, I want people to see what I’m writing as something to think about. It makes me question when there are repeated errors that are easily fixed. Read and re-read. Have someone else read. I mean for goodness sakes that’s what the spell check and those little underlines are for…heed them.

So, here are a few I’ve found recently:

Crone’s ( an old woman) disease vs. Crohn’s.
“Were” should be “where”
“later” for “Latter”
“carousal” (Boisterous drunken merrymaking) for “carousel” (merry go round)
“collage” (an art project) “college” institution for higher learning
“coarse” (rough) “course” path or used as in “of course”

While I realize the English language is tricky, lots of weird spelling’s and usages, it makes you seem like you know what you are talking about when you make an effort to spell it right. I think people are more likely to believe your information is valid if it isn’t riddled with spelling and grammar errors.

What do you think? Important or not?

I made this:

While I LOOOOVE bacon, I’m not a huge fan of the banana. I thought maybe this might redeem the characteristic of the banana I don’t like…the texture. Notsomuch.

Mushy fruit becomes MORE mushy when cooked. Duh.

So, while tasty and bacon-y, texture-wise, it just didn’t do it for me, dawg.

Rupert stood on the porch of the house, he stretched his legs and snapped his suspenders two times, always two times. His daddy had done it and probably his granddaddy, too, if he had known him. The sun was just beginning to peek it’s fiery head over the horizon laying a glaze of light on the small field before him. This signaled he needed to get movin’ round to the station to make it by first whistle. He heard the squeak of the screen door open behind him and a small delicate arm wrapped around his waist from behind with a steaming cup of coffee coming in around the other side for him. She giggled and held him close for a minute and he turned to look at her.
*Rose was not pretty, but warm-hearted and quick to laugh. She had grown up at the Jackrabbit stage station, the daughter of the kettlebellied Sundown Mealor, who dreamed of plunging seeds but because of his bottle habit drove a freight wagon. The station was on a north-south trail that connected hardscrabble ranches with the blowout railroad town of Rawlins after the Union Pacific line went through. Rose’s mother was gray with some wasting disease that kept her to her bed, sinking slowly out of life. She wept over Rose’s early marriage at barely fourteen but gave her the family treasure, a large silver spoon that had come across the Atlantic.*
Rupert nuzzled her neck and breathed in her warm, soapy skin. She giggled again. “You better get movin’ or they’s going to dock your pay.” He pushed her back and looked her in the eyes. “If your mother would let her eye off that spoon for one dang minute, we could sell it and stop worryin’ about pay.” Rose sighed. Rupert was always worrying about her mother and that spoon. She wished he would just forget they ever had it and be happy the way they were. He turned to her quick and smashed his lips to hers, “See you after the third whistle. I ‘spect you’ll have dinner waitin’?” Rose giggled and said in her best southern maiden voice “Of course, fine sir. Promptly at 6.” He loved her. Rupert winked, and tipped his hat, “Yes, Ma’am” then grabbed his lunch pail and left for the day.
As Rose stood there watching him go and thinking of what she had to do for the day, her eyes settled on that spoon in the china hutch. “That damn spoon”, she thought. Then she had an idea. She crept to the back room as quietly as she could on the creaky wooden floor. Slowly opening the door to her mother’s room, Rose peeked in to make sure she was asleep. The woman was snoring softly, her mouth hung open with just the slightest bit of saliva at the corners. Rose closed the door and her mama didn’t move.
Rose spent the next hour making preparations for dinner and making sure the house was in order. She hung the laundry out on the line and pumped two buckets of water just to be ahead on her chores. Her mama called out once to her and she held her breath for what felt like a full minute to see if she was going to have to tend to her, but she went back to sleep. Rose exhaled and began to make the final preparations for her plan.
Rose walked over to the hutch and looked in at the spoon for a long time. Her heart was beating so hard and fast she thought it might come through her petticoats. She opened the hutch door and took the spoon out, gently placing it in the pocket of her apron. Her head was spinning and she felt faint but she couldn’t stop herself. She walked outside, “only 3 miles and my troubles will be through” she thought. She finally reached the edge of the murky brown, kidney shaped body of water. Bess, their milk cow was standing on the far edge with her hoofs just in the water and sunk down in the slimy sludge. She looked up at Rose and let out a welcoming “merrrrrr”. Rose hushed her as if she knew what was about to happen and might tell. She reached into her pocket and felt the spoon, cold and heartless; this piece of silver making her beautiful Rupert upset every day. “No more!” she determined. As this last thought raced through her brain, she couldn’t stop the reflex of her hand. She pulled the spoon from her pocket and hurled to the middle of the pond, and as quickly as it had splashed, it sunk.
Rose looked wide eyed for a minute then giggled and turned towards home humming a happy tune. “There. No more stupid spoon. Things will be better now.”

Suck it Up!

By the way, we still don’t have a new mattress. I want the $2500 one and well, that’s just not that high on the list. Funny thing when you have kids, trips to DC and braces seem to wedge their way in above mama’s comfort. But really, I’m spoiled. I get to go here

in May and here.

Awesome!

I’ve really fought the whole LOST movement the entire time it has been on, and well, I…oh yeah…I’m gonna say it…I lost.

Jared has been an avid fan since day one and trying like crazy to get me to watch it. At one point I think there was even an offer of a new treadmill with a TV. Or maybe I was bartering for it. Really? He would have bought a $1500 treadmill just to make me watch a show? I don’t know, but I never got it, so maybe not.

So last week I gave in. I have already plowed through season 1 and am on my way through 2.

My thoughts so far:
People trip a lot in the jungle.
Hurley (Hugo) is by far the best character.
I don’t get why they don’t venture out more to explore.
Jack is cute but has huge ego.
Sawyer needs an attitude adjustment.
What exactly ARE they eating now that Jin is gone? (aside from the hatch food?)
Dominic Monahan is a weird choice for the character of Charlie.

I refuse to speculate about what’s going on, because I am so not good at it. It’s a crazy story and I look forward to seeing it all.

I’m pretty stoked to be back into the internship at my gym. I know that training is in my heart. It makes me happy and excited when I see people, especially those new to the whole thing, conquering fears and new movements they only once heard about but never imagined themselves doing.

I will be helping out at one class a week and hopefully jumping in as soon as the need arises. Our membership is growing so that might not be too long. My life is so full  right now and I had cut this part out, but missed it too much and did not want to miss the opportunity to be a part of it. After my biological family, my gym community is pretty much the biggest part of my world. I know that might sound weird, but these people are different, yes a little strange at times but so amazing and I truly cherish them. Honestly, if you told me a couple of years ago that I would be where I am now, I would have laughed a good hard laugh. But, it’s a great place to be.

I’m fighting a really pain in the butt cold. I’m singlehandedly(is that a real word?) keeping Kleenex in business. I always brag about not getting sick and then BAM! I go down. I need to keep my mouth shut. So I can  barely keep my eyes open to finish this post. Time for some more rest.

Later.

Having a daughter that is so extremely like you in so many ways can be exciting and a bit like looking in a mirror that shows you the innermost being. I sometimes see some things about myself I’m not so proud of. Having children is kind of like seeing all the crap you did or went through and having a second chance to fix it and make someone else come out better. “We can rebuild him. Better than he was before. Better. Faster. Stronger”

So, for all of the ways she is like me, she is a daddy’s girl. She loves him and defends him to the end. She told a lady in the office “My dad is never wrong.” Wow.

She loves her brothers and even though she might get annoyed with them, she couldn’t live without them.

Emma is brilliant and has a sense of humor that often surprises me. She witty beyond her years and has a deep sense of creativity and imagination. Her insight and sensitivity are mind boggling at times. She brought the addition of “Onions” to our family about 4 years ago and she is truly a part of the family. She goes on trips with us and she and the boys have a whole personality for her. They often have “Onions Sleepovers” when then all camp out in one room for the night, stay up to late and play video games or read comics and eat snacks together.
.

I think of times when she was little and kind of got lost in the crown being pretty much the only girls around. But she never let it get to her, TOO much.

And, As much as she complains when I drag her to the gym, I’m pretty sure she secretly loves it. She likes lifting heavy stuff. Hmmm, sounds familiar.

I get teary when I think of all the things she’ll do and experience and imagine her dad walking her down the aisle, but then I snap out of it and remember that she’s never leaving the house after she’s 16.

Wonder whose feet she got?

Anyway, I love her more everyday. Getting older isn’t SO bad.

Happy Birthday, Emma Faith.

I needed to post this picture, too. I just love how her look says “who are these people and why are they making me be in their picture?” Ah. My Em.

Agile Story

From Crossfit Girls Are Hot