tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31808484992925102262024-03-12T16:33:26.429-07:00The Coppee FamilyExtreme Wedding, Extreme Dreams, Extreme LifeKristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.comBlogger189125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-5118217474465220542012-09-05T21:27:00.001-07:002012-09-05T21:29:19.289-07:00I CAN RAP! Okay, not really. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odfYvszRILY&feature=youtu.be<br />
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I did a little side project with a 17-year-old rapper. Here's the end result.<br />
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<br />Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-10009934436980809932012-08-06T09:45:00.000-07:002012-08-06T09:45:53.738-07:00LEAVE ALREADY!Have I ever told you about my ghost? Well, not MY ghost, but the ghost man who lives in my house? Well, we've got one. Right from the start, I felt his presence. I don't claim to be a psychic or a medium and I've only actually seen one full-bodied apparition in my entire life, which was one of my grandmothers and it was from a distance for a very brief moment, so it wasn't scary at all to me. <br /><br />But the thought of seeing a full-bodied apparition ever again? No, thank you! I don't care WHO it is! I don't wanna' see it! <br /><br />So, that being said, I don't know exactly what one would call my ability, but I do sense and feel things, and I see a lot of things in my mind's eye, which is hard to explain. For example, I've never actually laid eyes on the ghost man who lives in our house, but I know he's a man. An older gentleman. He died sometime in the 20th century, he was inhabiting this house before WE came along, and he does NOT appreciate the noise our family creates. <br /><br />I also know what our ghost man looks like. I see him in my mind as though I'm experiencing a memory of someone I've seen before, though I can honestly say I don't ever recall seeing this man before in my life. And there's one more thing - his name's not George. We discovered that one chilling evening when I headed to bed because, quite frankly, this ghost man's attempts to get my attention while working late one night were completely unnerving me and I had had enough. As I made my way down the narrow corridor to the master bedroom, I felt a very strong energy coming up behind me. I felt pressure on my back and a tingling sensation as though I knew someone was about to touch me, but they hadn't quite reached me yet. I got the sense this man wanted to communicate with me and was extremely frustrated with my unwillingness and the fact that I was now abandoning him for the safety of my bedroom - a room he cannot enter for some reason. He can only stand in the doorway and watch us. But when I shut the door, he's shut out. <br /><br />As I flew into the bedroom, a rush of air whooshed past me in the hall and continued straight through the linen closet. I clutched my chest and gasped. My husband shot straight up in bed and asked what was going on. <br /><br />"The ghost man," I panted. "He came after me in the hall. He's mad at me 'cause I won't talk to him."<br />
<br />Bert immediately leaped out of the bed and charged for the hallway where he stood and called out to the ghost. "Hey George," he said. "Are you bothering my wife?"<br />
<br />Just then, I felt completely agitated and, through gritted teeth, with a glare in my eye, I said, "His name's not George."<br />
<br />"Whoa!" Bert replied, throwing his hands up in defense. "What's going on with you?"<br />
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I gasped and shook my head. "Oh my gosh. I don't know. It's like something took over my body." In a panic, I pleaded with him to please shut the door. The moment the door latched shut, I grabbed his arm and said, "Please don't call him George. Don't even joke about it. It makes him mad, okay?"<br />
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He furrowed his brow. "How do you know?"<br />
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I thought for a moment and said, "I don't know. I just know his name's not George and he doesn't like it. I don't wanna' make him angry. Just please don't say it anymore, okay?" <br />
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Months later, as I relayed this story to a friend on the phone, she said, "That's creepy. Have you tried researching the property or asking around? Maybe somebody knows who this ghost guy is."<br /><br />"I've done a little asking around, but this property used to be farmland and since this house has been built, it's been owned by the same man who is still alive and claims nobody has died here," I replied. As I spoke with my friend, I felt a very strong feeling like the ghost man was standing right there in the tiled hallway, staring at me. I nervously shifted my chair away, picked up a pen and began mindlessly doodling on a piece of paper, trying to keep my wits about me. <br /><br />"So, what's the ghost man's name? Have you ever figured it out?" my friend asked.<br />
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"No," I lamented. "I have no idea." Just then I glanced down at the paper I had been doodling on. Without realizing it, I had written the name ALBERT on the paper. The rest was just scribbles. My heart leaped in my chest and the hair on my arms stood on end. "Oh my gosh," I muttered into the phone.<br />
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"What," my friend anxiously inquired. <br /><br />"Oh my gosh," I muttered again. "I think his name is Albert." My breathing became shallow, my heart pounding wildly with fright as I explained that I had been staring out the window while my right hand mindlessly doodled on a piece of paper, and when I looked down, I saw the name on the paper. <br />
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<br />Another fact about our resident ghost is the fact that he's confined to certain areas of the house, his favorite being our hallway where he is often heard shuffling up and down the tiled corridor. His second favorite area is the kitchen where he can often be heard milling about, opening and closing doors and cupboards, and setting his mug down hard on the counter. <br /><br />To us, it's just the typical noises our fellow otherworldly inhabitant makes. To others, it's terribly frightening. <br />
<br />Now that I've set the stage, let me tell you what happened this past Saturday morning. As Bertrand and I packed and loaded our equipment in preparation for our show up north, we came to the realization that the case Bertrand had purchased to protect my keyboard was too small. "I have time to run to Guitar Center," he said. "It's open and Ryan (our guitarist) won't be here for another hour. Is it okay if I run and exchange this quick?" <br /><br />"Sure," I said. Our kids were across the street at the neighbors' house and I still had packing and preparing to do so I welcomed the brief solitude I was being offered. Bertrand took off and I sat down at the piano, rehearsing a couple more songs. Fifteen minutes later, I retreated to the master bathroom. As I sat there, I heard a loud crashing sound. I perked up and muttered, "Oh no. I hope that wasn't my keyboard falling." I remembered Bert had propped it against the wall in the entryway where a tiled floor lay beneath. All I could think was, <i>our show is doomed if that keyboard just fell and broke</i>. Just then the bathroom door in the hall shut loudly. I gasped and craned my neck, listening intently again. I could hear shuffling and banging about in the other bathroom so I called out, "Bert? Is that you?" No answer.<br />
<br />"Bert?" I called louder. Still, there was no answer. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach fluttered with anxiety. "Who's here?" I shouted. Still, no answer. I sat as still as stone, straining to hear for any other noises. Just then the toilet in the hall bathroom flushed. I leaped up at that point and exited the bathroom. As I ran out into the hall, I called out again. An eerie chill ran up my spine as I encountered nothing but a silent, empty hallway. There stood my keyboard, still propped against the wall and seemingly unharmed. <br /><br />Blowing out a sigh, I entered the office and sat at my husband's computer where I groaned and rubbed my temples for a moment in an attempt to calm my nerves before typing out our set list. Just then the phone rang. The caller ID showed Bert's cell phone. I picked up and asked, "Did you just stop by home and use the bathroom?" <br /><br />"No," he impatiently replied. "Anyway, I think I found the right case for your keyboard."<br />
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"You're in Scottsdale already?" I cried out. <br /><br />"Of course I'm in Scottsdale. I told you I was going to Guitar Center. What's going on?"<br />
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I gulped as a feeling of dread came over me. "Um ... I'm hearing things. Somebody just used our hall bathroom while I was in the master bathroom. I thought it was you." <br /><br />"Maybe it was one of the kids," he said.<br />
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"No. They're across the street and the door is locked. They couldn't have come back home without me letting them in. I'm home alone ... kind of." As I spoke, I entered the kitchen and double checked the door. Sure enough, it was locked. <br /><br />"Huh," he replied in a bored tone. "Well, I'm heading home in a bit. Have you heard from any of the other guys?" <br /><br />Just then a rush of air whooshed past me from behind. I gasped and spun around. "What?" I said into the phone. <br /><br />"Has Ryan called?" Bert asked. <br /><br />"Uh ..." A strange noise seemed to be coming from the office just then. "No, I ... uh ..." I walked toward the office and glanced about the room. There was nothing. <br /><br />"K. Well I'll be home soon. Hey, are you packing the suitcase yet?" <br /><br />"Not yet," I replied, then gasped and jumped again as a very loud shuffling noise echoed down the hall toward me. I whirled around, but nobody was there. "K. I've gotta' go. Weird things are happening right now." <br /><br />"What do you mean?" <br /><br />"Oh. Our ghost is having a little fun with me, it seems," I anxiously replied. <br /><br />As I hit the end button on the phone, the sound of dishes moving in the sink caused me to jump and whirl around. "What the ..." A blast of air whooshed behind me and I squealed and spun around again, gasping for air. "What do you want?" I cried out. Shuffling footsteps sounded again in the hall so I dashed toward the sound, but again saw nothing. "Okay, I'm busy right now so leave me alone!" I called out. <br /><br />And that was it. Everything stopped and I was left in peace until Bert arrived home. Later, as I relayed this story to my band mates, I came to the conclusion that perhaps Albert was upset with us because we've been holding a lot of loud band practices in our home lately and he wanted us to just leave town already and give him some peace. We were originally planning on leaving about two hours earlier than we did, so I suspect he was growing impatient with our major delay. <br /><br />Anyway, it was a very creepy start to our weekend away. <br />
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<br />Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-24703195422014014912011-12-26T11:41:00.002-07:002011-12-26T12:01:48.668-07:00Carrot StewI started a tradition last year at Christmas. I decided I was going to take carrot stew and rolls around to all of my neighbors. This was all inspired when last December I woke up one morning, looked at the house next door and thought, "Oh my gosh! I've lived next door to the same people for 3 1/2 years and I've never met them."<br /><br />So I made a huge pot of carrot stew, purchased tupper ware from the dollar store, bought a bag of Rhodes frozen rolls because I don't do homemade bread so that's the best people are gonna' get from me, and I made up some homemade Christmas gifts.<br /><br />It's healthy, it's cheap, and, gosh darn it, people like it!<br /><br />My family was introduced to this stuff when we lived in Scotland years ago. A lady invited us all over for some carrot stew. I was 12 years old at the time and I remember crinkling up my nose and thinking, "Carrot stew? That sounds weird." But it was amazing and luckily my mother had the good sense to ask the woman for the recipe, which she gladly shared.<br /><br />Just on a side note, I also remember that the woman lived in a house that was like a maze. It was the strangest floor plan I'd ever seen - but a lot of fun for kids to run around in and play hide and seek. Also, they had a large dog and rabbit that were best friends. Random, I know, but an interesting little tidbit that's connected with the memory of my first carrot stew experience.<br /><br />Now, I don't know if I make it exactly the same way as the woman or my mother, but here's how I make it so here's what you're gonna' get:<br /><br />CARROT STEW<br /><br />6 carrots<br />3 potatoes<br />4 celery stalks<br />1 small onion<br />1 tsp garlic<br />Dill<br />Parsley<br />Salt<br />Pepper<br />Butter<br />4 Chicken bouillon cubes<br /><br />Peel carrots and potatoes and put them in a pot to boil.<br /><br />Finely chop onion and celery and saute in butter with garlic (I use about 2 tablespoons of butter). Add dill, parsley, salt and pepper - as much or as little as you want. I go easy on the salt and pepper, but I add about 1 to 2 tsp each of dill and parsley.<br /><br />When everything is soft, spoon in carrots and potatoes, then celery and onion mixture, then carrots and potatoes and celery and onion mixture, back and forth until the blender is filled. Puree everything and dump into a bigger pot. (I always spoon in some of the water from the carrot and potato water to the blender so the vegetables will blend up nice and creamy) Then spoon in more carrots and potatoes and celery and onion mixture and puree. Do this until everything has been pureed.<br /><br />Once everything is in the pot, add a little water until creamy soup is the desired thickness (or thinness - I prefer mine a little thicker and creamier). Add 4 chicken bouillon cubes while soup is simmering. Salt and pepper to taste.<br /><br />So, there you go.<br /><br />I quadruple this recipe and it makes enough to give to 10 families.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-14051422097890142612011-06-19T16:48:00.002-07:002011-06-19T19:10:23.415-07:00Who Knew Willcox, AZ Was So Exciting?My husband plays drums for another band besides The Mending Seed - The Jarred Truschke Band. I'm not sure if that's what it's actually called. Maybe it's just Jarred Truschke. Doesn't really matter. What matters is the music is good. Okay, that's a gross understatement. It's Jack Johnson meets...I don't know. Someone. Someone with cool beats. You'll just have to hear it to believe it. They're working on recording an album within the next two weeks so there will be something to show soon.<br /><br />ANYWAY....so Jarred is from Willcox, Arizona and Jarred's father put together an event down in Willcox where people from Willcox could share their music with the community. There were other things going on, as well. Sounded cool. Something different. We had been warned that there really wasn't much to do in Willcox, but then we had to weigh in our other hand the fact that we were being provided a free hotel room and the opportunity for Bert to play live on his drums, so we decided to just go and enjoy the event and the time away from our kids.<br /><br />The plan (okay MY plan) was for us to arrive in town, check in to the hotel, me take a shower and apply make up and put on something decent to wear. About thirty minutes from our destination I was informed that plans had changed. We were to go to Jarred's brother's house. I took note of the time and the fact that the guys were supposed to be on stage in approximately three hours and thought, "Hm. This little plan of mine is looking grim." Therefore, I applied makeup in a bumpy, diesel truck with the sun beating on me, washing out my face. You could say I looked like a $2 hooker. Sorry. That's what happens when the mirror tells you your face has no color so you proceed to apply five layers of blush only to discover at a later hour in a bathroom mirror with better lighting that...you look like a $2 hooker.<br /><br />I then did a quick look over of my hairdo. It wasn't too bad. I figured a bit of pomade and some flat ironing action in Jarred's brother's bathroom would be good enough under the circumstances.<br /><br />And then we arrived in Willcox. We headed straight to Jarred's brother, Jonathan's house and they welcomed us into their beautiful remodeled home and filled us up with delicious homemade shredded pork tacos. I took a trip to their beach-themed bathroom and emerged stating, "Wow. That is a nice bathroom. That's nicer than any room in my house." We enjoyed visiting with them and hearing about their life in Willcox. Turns out it's much more exciting down there than I thought.<br /><br />Not only is a good portion of the town haunted, but Jonathan, a high school English teacher, has some interesting stories. He told us a story of one of his students showing up one day with a knife. He confiscated the knife and turned it into the front office only to be informed the kid was a convicted felon.<br /><br />Good to know.<br /><br />The kid was expelled and sentenced for bringing a knife to school. The end.<br /><br />Or not.<br /><br />He showed up some time later, burst into Jonathan's classroom and threatened his life. Fortunately he was caught before laying hands on Jonathan, but the good news is he's just recently moved in RIGHT across the street. And they lived happily ever after.<br /><br />And by happily ever after I mean Jonathan had to file an injunction so that the kid couldn't harrass him (actually the kid is an adult now) and so the guy doesn't dare say a word to Jonathan. He just stands out front with his pit bull and stares Jonathan down while he mows his lawn...and also spits on any guest's vehicles, as we discovered a short time later. Nice.<br /><br />"Sorry about my neighbors", Jonathan apologized. "I promise my street is nice, except for the people across the street, which includes a lady who's under house arrest right now and wears an ankle bracelet."<br /><br />"That guy who threatened your life lives with some lady with an ankle bracelet? Wow. What is she? His girlfriend or something?" I asked, completely appalled.<br /><br />"No", he replied. "It's his mom."<br /><br />THAT EXPLAINS IT ALL!<br /><br />After giving our condolences, we checked the time and realized we needed to get down to the park. It was almost time to play.<br /><br />Upon arriving at the event, our ears were assaulted by some character in a sparkly blue sequined shirt moaning some Neil Diamond tunes. As the time ticked on and 7:30 fast approached...and came and went...and the guys were still waiting in the wings for Neil Diamond's yawn-worthy twin to come out of his self-induced hypnotic state and get off the stage, we got a little nervous. There was no place for Bert's electronic drum set. We asked the sound guy if we could pull some of the acoustic set off and he said, "Nope. Can't move it." So we went for plan B and set Bert's drums up in front of the stage.<br /><br />That scared 'em off!<br /><br />The people were scrambling with their lawn chairs and belongings, trying to get as far back as possible. I thought, "Um...those are electronic, i.e. they plug into an amp and have a volume control, but...okay." I sat proudly in front - by myself.<br /><br />Then the trouble started. Bert's electronic drums weren't coming through the amp properly. They tried to fix the problem alone, then looked around for the sound guy. He was nowhere to be found. We were on our own. With no knowledge of how and where the system was dialed in, we were left to fend for ourselves and failed miserably. Fifteen minutes passed before I whispered to Bert, "Babe! You've wasted 15 minutes. Hop up on those acoustic drums or get off the stage and leave Jarred to do his thing. QUICK!" He opted for the acoustic drum set on stage. And so, finally, their set began. There was feedback, Bert couldn't hear Jarred AT ALL, and Jarred's microphone was way too soft, which, despite cranking full volume on it, never got any louder.<br /><br />"Where the heck is the dang sound guy?" was all we could think.<br /><br />After two songs, the sound guy magically reappeared! And shouted "4 minutes!" That was it. He let the Neil Diamond wannabe go five minutes over, he disappeared on us, and then he gave the guys the chance to play only 3 songs. We drove 3 1/2 hours for them to play THREE SONGS! The moment they finished their third song, the sound guy leaped up on the stage, grabbed a different mic, which was cranked up, and shouted, "This next band is something you haven't heard in a while, folks. I'm proud to introduce the..." I have no idea what he said after that. I was flabbergasted. It doesn't get any more unprofessional and rude than that.<br /><br />In a surprising news flash - the next band up was THE SOUND GUY'S BAND! SURPRISE!<br /><br />We certainly weren't.<br /><br />Oh, not only was it his band, it was one of THREE bands he had booked for that night, giving all three of his bands one-hour sets and everyone else 30 minutes.<br /><br />Not cool.<br /><br />And also his bands were lame...unless you enjoy watching 50 to 60-year-old's drawl old country western tunes.<br /><br />To say we were angry was a gross understatement. We were piss and vinegar mad. As we took our equipment back to the truck, Bert relayed the fact that some old lady behind the stage was yelling at him to play the drums softer....like the old dudes before him who gently tapped out a simple beat.<br /><br />When he told me later that he couldn't hear Jarred at all and had some old lady yelling at him while he played, I was shocked. You never would have known. He was right on with Jarred, which is a testament to both musician's skills - Bert can play from memory on songs he doesn't know well and Jarred can keep up.<br /><br />The good news: A photographer from the local paper took photos of the guys playing and later asked Jarred's wife (not knowing she was his wife), "Who is this band? They're really good." We also heard the next morning that other people approached Jarred's father and wanted to know what type of music he was playing and lamented that they wished they could have heard more.<br /><br />In karma news: The rude dude who was more interested in promoting himself blew out his amp and had to end his set early. And also the old lady who yelled at Bert was the rude dude's wife. This dude ended up throwing stuff and yelling at his own wife in the end.<br /><br />That darn karma. Gotta' watch out for that.<br /><br />And so the night ended. Well...our night at the event. And we took off back to Jonathan's house.<br /><br />I thought perhaps we'd visit a while, then head to our hotel room, watch a little TV and fall asleep.<br /><br />"You guys wanna' go ghost hunting?" Jarred asked.<br /><br />We perked right up.<br /><br />Jarred and Jonathan have a grandmother who has lived with a ghost for years. Her house is actually registered as a haunted house in Willcox. She no longer lives in it, but the bank hasn't changed the locks, so we had full access.<br /><br />"The house is creepy", we were informed. "Just wait 'til you see the outside of it. It's got kind of a Hitler 'stache goin' on." Sure enough, the little old house had two bushes on each side, pretty much resembling a Hitler 'stache. In the creepy looks department, it didn't disappoint. Knowing it was a registered haunted house might have enhanced it a bit.<br /><br />We did a quick glance about the street to make sure nobody was watching us enter a well known vacant property - we didn't want any cops surprising us - and then stepped into the front room. The floor felt unstable beneath our feet, the air heavy. It smelled old and musty. My heart immediately broke into an even gallop. I tried to steady my breathing to slow it down, but to no avail.<br /><br />"Hi Julia", Jarred half-whispered. "We're back, but we promise we're not going to hurt you."<br /><br />My eyes widened. "Oh my gosh. This is really happening." I thought to myself. I parted my lips in the eerily street-lit front room to let more air into my tightened lungs. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, my heart leaped at the casting of shadows about the bare walls.<br /><br />"She's here", Jarred informed us. "I can feel her."<br /><br />"Oh my gosh", I thought again as I gulped and rolled my eyes backward, bracing myself against the wall. Though I've had many paranormal encounters, it's not something I generally seek out. I think it's safe to say I was terrified. I believe in ghosts. I had heard the stories associated with this house. And I believed she was there too. I just didn't want any personal confirmation of that. And I wasn't fully prepared for anyone to actually try to communicate with her right from the get go.<br /><br />We went through a brief tour of the house, walking room to room as Jarred and Jonathan explained what room we were in each time. As we passed through the hallway into what looked like a dining room, I pointed to a door to my left. "What's in here?" I asked.<br /><br />"That's where it gets creepy", Jarred replied.<br /><br />I shuddered. "So, this is the dining room. Nice." I quickly changed the subject and tried to keep the mood light for my own sake. We toured the kitchen next.<br /><br />"Be careful of the floor. It's really soft", Jarred warned. "A lot of activity happens in here."<br /><br />I drew in a deep breath and blew it out, then tried to talk myself out of bolting.<br /><br />Upon leaving the kitchen through the second entrance, Jarred asked, "Shall we go to <span style="font-style: italic;">the room</span>?" <br /><br />"The scary room?" I confirmed. "Where scary stuff happens?"<br /><br />Jarred laughed then turned to his brother. "Do you wanna' lock the front door?"<br /><br />"No", was Jonathan's prompt reply. "That's the last thing I wanna' do."<br /><br />I chuckled...and silently agreed.<br /><br />We were then led down a narrow hallway where the door to <span style="font-style: italic;">the room</span> sat positioned at the very end, the door itself only slightly ajar. As we entered the room, we were informed that this was where a lady named Julia died. And also that several years, when the room underwent major renovations, which sparked all of the paranormal activity, some letters were found hidden in a wall - letters that Julia had written to herself. Letters that portrayed the madness that loomed inside her mind.<br /><br />"What did the letters say?" Bertrand asked.<br /><br />Just then a noise in the house startled us. "Did you hear that?" The guys all asked in unison. We all then confirmed that we had.<br /><br />Just then I noticed something on the wall. Something written. I squinted in the dark and asked, "What's this on the wall?" Immediately thereafter I wasn't so sure I wanted to know.<br /><br />"Oh, that's just something my mom painted on the wall when she was a teenager", Jarred replied casually.<br /><br />I breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Oh. Okay."<br /><br />Next we explored the master bedroom. At this point of the tour I vocalized my observation that every single cupboard in the house was open. Every single one. For some reason that just creeped me out. It just enhanced the creepiness. I mean, seriously - why is every single cupboard hanging wide open? It's scary. You had to be there.<br /><br />Okay, moving on.<br /><br />We walked single file down the narrow hallway back to the front room and at this point decided to do an EVP session - electronic voice phenomenon. It captures voices that you can't hear with your own ears. We stood at one end of the hallway and looked down into <span style="font-style: italic;">the room</span> where the most activity happens. We had left the door completely wide open when we left so we could see right into the room from our end.<br /><br />With Ghost Radars in hand, Bertrand and Jarred began speaking in soothing tones to Julia, inviting her to come closer with the promise that they wouldn't do her any harm. I gulped hard and remained completely still, looking over Bertrand's shoulder down the hall. I was impressed at how casually and easily the two men could speak with this unknown presence. I certainly wasn't going to say a word and seemingly neither was Jonathan. I looked away briefly and stared out a side window, trying to calm myself.<br /><br />Suddenly Jarred gasped. "Did you see that?"<br /><br />"Yeah!" Bertrand responded with excitement.<br /><br />"What?" I asked, my anxiety increasing. "What did you just see?"<br /><br />They both explained that a shadowy figure had passed by the doorway of <span style="font-style: italic;">the room</span>.<br /><br />I shuddered, but remained silent.<br /><br />"Julia. Come closer to me", Bertrand invited. "Let me know that you're here."<br /><br />I grit my teeth, my breathing becoming more shallow.<br /><br />Just then the Ghost Radar showed movement of a figure moving down the hall toward Bertrand. A few seconds later he exclaimed, "I just felt a breath on my face, like someone was softly blowing." Then he showed us his arms. He had goosebumps. "I can feel her. She's right next to me."<br /><br />I didn't doubt that. But I also didn't want to acknowledge or feel it, so I remained silent, as did Jonathan.<br /><br />"Should we sit down in a circle?" Jarred asked.<br /><br />"No", came Jonathan's prompt response.<br /><br />I chuckled nervously. "I agree. I'm not sitting down."<br /><br />A short while later we saw lights from the street as though a car had approached. Fearing someone had seen our car out front of the house and called the cops we decided to leave quick. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I relaxed the moment I walked down the front steps and into the open air.<br /><br />We hopped into the car quick and sped off.<br /><br />Our next stop - the old Pioneer Cemetery on the edge of town. Bertrand and I were informed that this was where Warren Earp was buried.<br /><br />"Who?" We both asked.<br /><br />"Warren", Jonathan and Jarred replied. "The youngest brother of Wyatt Earp."<br /><br />We had never heard of him.<br /><br />Apparently he wasn't involved in the OK Corral incident in Tombstone, though he did live there and serve as a deputy for a time under his older brother, Virgil. There's a whole history with Warren, though he's not as famous as his older brothers. Apparently Warren had a hot temper and people close to him often predicted he would die a violent death one day as a result. Sure enough in 1900, he was shot inside the Brown Saloon in Willcox, AZ after verbally abusing a man in a fight over (supposedly) a prostitute they were both interested in.<br /><br />And now we were being driven down a dark, winding, dirt road in the middle of the night to his grave site.<br /><br />"No flashlights this time", Jarred said to Jonathan.<br /><br />Bertrand and I glanced at each other with concern in the back seat.<br /><br />The brothers proceeded with a tale of caretakers who live a short distance from the old cemetery. They don't like people prowling late at night and so if they see anything suspicious, they'll come after you.<br /><br />"And you don't go running after strangers in a cemetery in the middle of the night without some kind of protection", Jarred chuckled.<br /><br />"What do you mean", I asked, apprehensively.<br /><br />"Oh, they'll probably be carrying guns."<br /><br />I shot a look of horror at Bertrand.<br /><br />"Um...maybe we shouldn't do this", I said, trying to back out.<br /><br />"Oh, we'll be fine", Jarred assured me. "We just have to be quiet."<br /><br />Upon our arrival to the cemetery, we exited the car and stared in the direction of the caretaker's house, squinting in the dark for signs of any movement.<br /><br />"Okay. I don't see anything right now. I think we're okay", Jonathan informed us.<br /><br />And so we made our way to the cemetery entrance.<br /><br />"There's a gate?!" Jarred exclaimed.<br /><br />"It's locked", Jonathan replied.<br /><br />"Oh well. I guess we can't go this time." I said.<br /><br />"Nah", said Jarred. "We can just climb over."<br /><br />My eyes widened in horror as the three men proceeded to enter the cemetery.<br /><br />The gate was only mid thigh high for me, but still...we were blatantly trespassing in the middle of the night with the prospect of being hunted down by armed men if we were discovered.<br /><br />Once inside, we squinted in the dimly moonlit cemetery with its man-made horseshoe path before us. The grave sites were intermingled with gnarly desert shrubbery, somewhat camouflaging the ominous feel of such a place.<br /><br />My fear instantly shifted as fresh wild javelina tracks were pointed out on the walkway. I felt my heart pounding wildly in my chest, my breathing turning to pants as I attempted to clarify, "So, basically there's a better chance we'll be attacked by a wild animal or shot out here than actually seeing a ghost?"<br /><br />"Right", Jarred confirmed with a chuckle.<br /><br />"Great", I replied weakly.<br /><br />My attention was then directed to the very back of the cemetery where the light of the moon danced off something metallic.<br /><br />"See that metallic light shining back there?" Jonathan said, pointing it out with his finger.<br /><br />"Uh huh", I replied.<br /><br />"That's Warren's grave."<br /><br />He walked ahead as I stood frozen, trying to identify what I feared most at this moment.<br /><br />Eventually my legs responded to my brain and I was able to make my way to the back of the cemetery where we came upon the monument to Warren Earp. We walked about a few minutes more, my fear of wild animals and gun-toting caretakers still overshadowing any fear one might typically associate with midnight cemetery strolls. <br /><br />Suddenly Jonathan gasped. "Did you hear that?" He whispered.<br /><br />We all froze and squinted in the direction of the caretaker's house.<br /><br />"I think someone's coming", he stated.<br /><br />"Oh my gosh. Let's get out of here right now!" I whispered harshly.<br /><br />We began to make our way back as quickly, yet quietly as we could, the occasional sticker jumping out and stabbing into my bare flip-flop clad feet. I stopped occasionally and bent down to remove the sticker.<br /><br />"You all right?" The guys asked.<br /><br />"Yeah", I whispered. "I just keep getting stickers in my feet and they hurt, but I wanna' get out of here quick, so keep going. I'm coming."<br /><br />Suddenly Jonathan froze again. "Oh yeah. I see something moving out there."<br /><br />We all froze. "What?" I asked in a shaky voice. "What is it?"<br /><br />"I think it's some kind of animal. It's lower to the ground", he replied.<br /><br />I gulped loudly and said a silent prayer. "Please, God. Please don't let any wildebeests eat me. I promise I won't do anything naughty like this ever again. I've got little children back home that need a mommy. I know I often say I wish you'd take them away, but I was just kidding. Please don't let me die. Not now. Not like this."<br /><br />I held my breath and pushed forward, ignoring my possible hideous fate. I had one objective - get to the car ASAP - and I wasn't going to let any fear hold me back at this point.<br /><br />As you can obviously tell, we all survived the night. And what an exciting night it was! The town is FULL of haunted locations and I hope to return one day soon and do some more exploring.<br /><br />And also, thanks to the universe taking care of business for us, we just might return and play the event again next year - this time with our OWN sound system! That rude dude hasn't seen the last of us, although I've learned through history and my experiences that night that you don't wanna' mess with an old, infamous wild west town - not even in THIS day and age! Anyone who said the old west will never die wasn't lying.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-6506521163650689302010-12-16T10:43:00.003-07:002010-12-16T11:04:37.723-07:00Heavenly PeaceMy band, The Mending Seed, has just released an original Christmas song called "Heavenly Peace". This song was inspired in the wee hours of the morning. I tried to write a Christmas song about six weeks ago, but it wasn't coming together, so I gave up.<br /><br />Then one night a tune suddenly came to me. I was up until 1:30 in the morning laying it down before I forgot it. Still, the song was not complete. I couldn't figure out how to write the bridge. I almost gave up on it - especially since it was already December and I felt I had missed my window of opportunity to release a Christmas song. But, one morning, around 3:00 AM, I awoke out of a dead sleep and heard the music in my head, so I rushed out to my Korg Triton workstation and laid it down quick.<br /><br />Then came time for the lyrics. Again, I struggled to write anything on my own and so left it alone and decided again that I was too late anyway and would try again next year. That's when my good friend, Kendyall Guthrie, stepped in and said, "Let me help you. I love to write poetry and lyrics." She came over one morning with a large Dr. Pepper (my medication) and together we wrote two-thirds of the lyrics.<br /><br />There were many more obstacles that came with the finishing up and recording of this song. My bass player, Brian Stewart, records our music through his studio 510 Audio and on the last night of recording, his system completely crashed and it looked like we weren't going to be able to get it up and running and finish the song. So many times I wanted to just give up. I wasn't sure if it was worth it. Then I thought, "What am I even going to do with this song? I feel like this song isn't even mine. The entire thing was inspired in my sleep."<br /><br />That's when the answer came to me - "Donate half of the proceeds to a charity or organization. That's what you want to do with your band anyway - make a difference in the world. Here's your big chance to get moving in that direction."<br /><br />I decided upon the Anasazi Foundation first because it was a young man in their program who named us. The entire story can be found on our site<a href="www.themendingseed.com"> www.themendingseed.com</a> along with a 2-minute clip of the song and a link to the Anasazi Foundation.<br /><br />We have decided to donate 50% of the proceeds forever to Anasazi. I am so grateful to my Heavenly Father for choosing to inspire ME with this song. I know it came from Him and I know that He could have chosen anyone, but He chose me and my band and I am so humbled by this opportunity to record and share such a beautiful song and hopefully make a difference with it. I pray that I will be inspired every year with a new song to benefit a new organization.<br /><br />I'm grateful to the wonderful people I am surrounded by who will drop everything and use their talents to help make my music and its release to the public possible. I have a website designer and graphic artist and band mates and friends who will stay up 'til all hours doing whatever needs to be done. Here's the beautiful artwork designed by Jordan Gallup. He was up until 11:00 PM doing this for me. And Dave Riddle, owner of Microworks Systems, was up until midnight getting everything loaded onto our site. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Jrq2S_BIqN7y5tN0oaW69nnEKMXBac5VKL-ocuLGrs-V9zqWMFEVaf65Ca0-pajX1DjZbHjNzcww-bkxWJFATL8aXsxGgHMynCEMU3ZCmPtdhKZMHkW-XcdgYpORG_rr0oxZk2-V2bjh/s1600/CD-Cover-2-TMS.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 386px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Jrq2S_BIqN7y5tN0oaW69nnEKMXBac5VKL-ocuLGrs-V9zqWMFEVaf65Ca0-pajX1DjZbHjNzcww-bkxWJFATL8aXsxGgHMynCEMU3ZCmPtdhKZMHkW-XcdgYpORG_rr0oxZk2-V2bjh/s400/CD-Cover-2-TMS.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551340079436591618" border="0" /></a><br />I hope you'll take the time to go to our<a href="www.themendingseed.com"> site</a> and listen to the clip and share it with others and when it's released on CDBaby.com, that many will purchase it and help make a difference for a wonderful organization. More information and links can be found on our official site.<br /><br />Merry Christmas, everyone! May you feel the true spirit of Christmas this season, whether by giving or receiving, and experience the miracle of the Savior's birth.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-57620424175092734382010-12-02T09:04:00.003-07:002010-12-02T13:53:06.140-07:00Unbelievable!My husband is French. I'm American. We live in America. (Just setting the stage)<br /><br />After four years of marriage, he finally obtained his green card, so I could quit hiding him in the attic and we could live life in peace. We were also finally able to leave the country. So, recently we did. We took all four of the kids and we left the country for a little vacation getaway.<br /><br />We had a wonderful, uneventful time. Just relaxing. Not doing much of anything. That's not what this story is about.<br /><br />This story is about the part where we tried to come home. TRIED being the keyword here.<br /><br />As we approached the border, the situation became chaotic. We noticed ahead of us that agents were running in between the vehicles, throwing doors open and pulling people out. They were dressed like a SWAT team, shotguns in hand. I squinted my eyes, trying to get a closer view and figure out WHAT in the WORLD was going on.<br /><br />Just then a car came squealing toward us and immediately our attention was diverted. A woman in a trench coat jumped out and ran toward our minivan, motioning with her arm for us to come with her. She kept shouting "Get out! Get out! Get out now!" Without thinking, I sprung into action. My heart pounding wildly, I began unlatching kids' car seat belts and grabbing bags. My teenage son, John, who was in the very back seat with my youngest daughter, unlatched her and helped her out of the minivan while I grabbed the other two kids. With my diaper bag and purse slung over my shoulder and my toddler son on my hip, I grabbed my 5-year-old daughter's hand and began running toward the woman and her car, screaming for the rest of my family to follow me quick.<br /><br />The woman held her arms out as if to take my son from me, so I handed him over quick and shoved my daughter into the car then whipped around and saw my teenage son running toward us with my youngest daughter. "Hurry, John!" I shouted.<br /><br />Then I realized he was missing - my husband. As John approached me, I grabbed his shoulders and said, "Where's dad?"<br /><br />"I don't know!" He shouted back.<br /><br />I whirled around and faced the woman. "Where's my husband? Did you see him? He was with us in the minivan. Where did he go?"<br /><br />She quietly bowed her head and heaved a sigh.<br /><br />I whipped around again and searched behind me. Our minivan sat there empty now, all of the doors hanging open.<br /><br />"WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?!" I screamed, then whipped back around to face the woman.<br /><br />"They have him." She said, a look of worry across her face now.<br /><br />"What do you mean they have him?" I cried.<br /><br />"Just come with me and I'll help you and your kids get across. We'll worry about your husband later." She put her arm around me and walked me around to the passenger side front seat of the car and helped me in.<br /><br />I sank into the seat in a complete daze and stared straight ahead, my mind racing through hundreds of possibilities as to my husband's whereabouts and condition.<br /><br />I felt the car sink lower to my left and the sound of the driver's side door slamming. The car lurched forward slightly and then veered off to the right. We drove in silence for a few seconds before I mumbled "What are they going to do with him?"<br /><br />I heard the woman sigh again. "I don't know. Is he American?"<br /><br />"No. He's French." I responded tonelessly.<br /><br />"Hm." The woman said with a greater sigh. "They'll probably torture him, then."<br /><br />I jumped in my seat and turned to face her. "WHAT?!" I shouted. "Why would they do that?! What's happening?!" I started sobbing. My children sat completely silent in the back seat.<br /><br />"We're here." The woman pointed to the building in front of us. "Just come inside with me and we'll get the paperwork done to get you and your kids over the border. Then we'll start working on your husband's paperwork, get an attorney, and get a court date."<br /><br />I felt every muscle in my body weaken. "Oh my gosh." I muttered, slumping back into my seat. "Why is this happening? I just wanna' go home."<br /><br />The next thing I remember is sitting in a small, sterile room alone. There was one table and one chair in there and I was sitting in it. My children were off somewhere else in the building. I didn't worry so much for my little ones. They were in John's care and I knew he was capable. I just worried for poor John. Those kids can be a handful and I hoped they wouldn't keep me separated from them too long.<br /><br />The woman entered the room and handed me a stack of about five papers stapled together and a #2 pencil.<br /><br />"Ok. I'm going to leave you alone to fill these out. Just come out into the hall when you're done." Then she turned abruptly and left, shutting the door behind her.<br /><br />The room was dead quiet with the exception of the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead. I stared blankly at the papers, my head swirling with worry. I tried to focus on the questions; tried to read and understand them, but I just couldn't. I slammed my fists down on the desk and growled, then stood so abruptly, I nearly knocked the desk over. I began pacing the room then, biting my fist and trying not to cry. I was like a restless wild animal, pacing back and forth in its cage. I wanted my kids, I wanted my husband, and I wanted OUT of this place!<br /><br />Realizing my only way out was to fill out the paperwork, I returned to the desk, drawing in a couple of deep breaths and blowing them out hard. "OK. I've just gotta' get this done and then I can leave." I tried to convince myself, but deep down I feared it would be a lot more complicated than that. And what of my husband? What if I couldn't get him back? What would they do with him? And what was I supposed to do? Did they expect me to just go home and get on with my life? Never see my husband again? Never know what's become of him?<br /><br />I couldn't help but entertain these racing thoughts, which continually prevented me from focusing on the task at hand.<br /><br />"Ahhh! I can't DO this! I don't understand these QUESTIONS! It's TOO HARD!" I yelled aloud. My adrenaline was going now. I grabbed the papers and pencil and threw the desk aside, then stormed out into the hall hell-bent on finding that woman and demanding she bring my children to me and give me answers about my husband NOW!<br /><br />The hall was empty, but I could hear the drone of several chattering voices coming from somewhere up ahead. I walked briskly down the hall toward the noise and found myself in a large recreation room with high ceilings, bright neon lights and large televisions with fitness commercials blaring. "What IS this place?" I thought. "This is so bizarre." My eyes darted about the room in hopes of spotting my children.<br /><br />As I turned around in circles, searching frantically for my kids or at least the woman who had brought me here, I bumped into someone. He was of average height with a muscular build, dressed in workout clothes. He kind of looked like a personal trainer, which was fitting considering the look of this room I was in. "Can I help you?" He asked in a cheery tone.<br /><br />"Um..." I hesitated, still searching the room. "I...I need help."<br /><br />"Great. Well, what can I help you with today?" He said, still bright and cheery.<br /><br />I looked down at the papers in my hand and began sobbing. "I can't do this. It's too hard. I don't understand the questions and I just want my kids and my husband." I began wailing like a lost child.<br /><br />"Ok. Ok. Calm down." He said gently, taking me by the hand and leading me to a small table with two chairs. "Here - have a seat and let's look this over."<br /><br />I sat down next to him and then grabbed his hand in desperation. He looked puzzled as he searched my eyes. "Just tell me the answers." I whispered loudly. "Don't make me do this. Just tell me the answers to the test."<br /><br />"I can't do that. I -"<br /><br />"I'm American." I interrupted, my tone becoming more desperate. "Listen to me. I'm American. My kids are American. My husband is...well, he's legal. I'm from America. I just want to go home. I don't know what's happening. Just tell me the answers quick. I already know them. I just can't think right now."<br /><br />The man took both of my hands and stared hard into my eyes. "No, you listen to me. You can DO this. You can do it. I will help you, but I can't do it for you. Just relax and take a deep breath and let's read this first question together. It's simple. You'll see."<br /><br />I stared into his eyes a few moments, panting. Then I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes before finally realizing there was no easy way out of this. "Ok," I said. "Ok. I'll try."<br /><br />I looked at the paper and found the first question. There was a picture of this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgafhyphenhyphenDmVj1QzBva9ZB8LOxiKtYGSKM3My1oPHAf7zwMnU1hLxoggbhNUUDmcmSCTCVPTBK6yNI-UMd1KkjFifQzruoGpmDtAgpl5_MX8GutOJszGK8klYVrmkm8hGFfXlqvAOcDjfG0Aol/s1600/5_hour_energy_berry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgafhyphenhyphenDmVj1QzBva9ZB8LOxiKtYGSKM3My1oPHAf7zwMnU1hLxoggbhNUUDmcmSCTCVPTBK6yNI-UMd1KkjFifQzruoGpmDtAgpl5_MX8GutOJszGK8klYVrmkm8hGFfXlqvAOcDjfG0Aol/s400/5_hour_energy_berry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546187855321653650" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I read the question aloud, "How many hours of energy will this drink give you?"<br /><br />I furrowed my brow and lurched my head back in disbelief. "Well, that's simple. It's a five-hour energy drink, so the answer is 5 hours."<br /><br />"Yes!" The man shouted in excitement. "See? What'd I tell ya'?"<br /><br />I sighed and released a laugh of relief.<br /><br />"OK" he said, sitting forward in his seat with excitement. "Look at this next one now."<br /><br />There was a picture of this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdAULc_ZgwgNWINvfpM7phnwTeIIQZQO9AlHzeKp_sH1xhPre4Kwnd0Yzfb-80T7JBDj_j4kRrlMwMxEUG1fc6FyUlr7bMcyL5JvVYW5VUzvD5ToJrv5u5cXosoGuxo6Zu9-QvgD5OjYpz/s1600/eyeglasses.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdAULc_ZgwgNWINvfpM7phnwTeIIQZQO9AlHzeKp_sH1xhPre4Kwnd0Yzfb-80T7JBDj_j4kRrlMwMxEUG1fc6FyUlr7bMcyL5JvVYW5VUzvD5ToJrv5u5cXosoGuxo6Zu9-QvgD5OjYpz/s400/eyeglasses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546187863532303026" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I read the next question aloud, "What do you do through these?"<br /><br />"Ok. Ok." He coaxed me on.<br /><br />"Well, they're glasses." I said in a disgusted tone.<br /><br />"Yeah!" He shouted and lifted his hand for a high-five.<br /><br />I shot him an irritated look and humored him with a weak high-five.<br /><br />"This is dumb."<br /><br />"Just answer it. You're doing great." He replied, still cheering me along.<br /><br />Now I was ticked. This was a waste of my time. THESE were the questions they wanted me to answer to cross the border? Was this some kind of JOKE?!<br /><br />"Come on. What's the answer?" The man coaxed.<br /><br />"This is really, really DUMB!" I said, my voice growing louder with each word and ending in a shout.<br /><br />The man sat back in his seat and sighed.<br /><br />"Ok. Sorry." I sighed, feeling bad about my rude behavior. The man was only trying to help. "You look through them, Ok?"<br /><br />"That's right." He smiled. "Just write the word look in between the lenses of the glasses."<br /><br />"Um....OK." I responded, completely annoyed at this point.<br /><br />I began to write the word "look" on the picture of the eyeglasses when a loud buzzing sound rang through the room. It startled me and I jumped, writing a very sloppy "L" across the picture. I sighed in frustration and began erasing, but the buzzing sound wouldn't stop. In fact, it was growing louder.<br /><br />I closed my eyes for a second, then looked up at the ceiling. I recognized the ceiling now. It was my bedroom ceiling. I was in my bedroom. My alarm clock was going off. I hit the snooze button and glanced over my shoulder. My husband was sleeping soundly right next to me. I heaved a sigh of relief and threw my head back on my pillow, a smile plastered across my face.<br /><br />MAN, my dreams are bizarre!Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-33230436823228943872010-10-02T00:35:00.003-07:002010-10-02T00:46:12.652-07:00It's Here! It's Really Here!Our CD's arrived about a week-and-a-half ahead of schedule and we're so excited! There's just something surreal about holding something you've dreamed about for years in your hands and realizing it's real; it's really happening.<br /><br />There are some big things in the works that we'll announce on our<a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#%21/pages/The-Mending-Seed/33090799981?ref=ts"> facebook fan page</a> as they are solidified.<br /><br />But for now, here it is:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrmXWcZzsPcB1IilyiVMnuZdm-JP8bWTyQkKDEu0fScn4ucFuqUQ4fcumfqwGK3mF9QI4x1dhTqag_92b1wQqwKolyMpMYS9U1qxz52JILZ-QP61ca_8e8CfnLMUblLwvooFdOmlT8ckU/s1600/Our+cd+cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrmXWcZzsPcB1IilyiVMnuZdm-JP8bWTyQkKDEu0fScn4ucFuqUQ4fcumfqwGK3mF9QI4x1dhTqag_92b1wQqwKolyMpMYS9U1qxz52JILZ-QP61ca_8e8CfnLMUblLwvooFdOmlT8ckU/s400/Our+cd+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523349736698651650" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Our album cover.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">If you like The Cranberries, you'll probably like us too. Check us out <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgqlX6z3No0">here</a> for a sample of our sound.<br /><br />And if you likee, go <a href="http://themendingseed.com/">here</a> to order your copy now. We're signing copies up until October 12th when we officially release our album on CDBaby, iTunes, Napster, Rhapsody, Emusic, etc.<br /><br />Stay tuned for more news!<br /></div></div>Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-29784886311842549712010-09-21T09:22:00.005-07:002010-09-21T09:47:36.953-07:00Sylvie's ArtworkMy daughter, Sylvie-Faye is our resident artist. She spends her afternoons drawing pictures with a story behind them. Her favorite subject is people and lately, a particular TYPE of person has become the main subject of her work.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnH3FLACi0wtfVy-KROkW4-kK91FTtVZVvbVgSxSOUJUNOXMrQYIFAvi6iXw3CyTiPLui2TXYU5y6rOgaeCJhdGw1X81309FgZCYP7YnEMoSlq_sEFJkywPgQw5XYcbeFMJXcMgDrh1r01/s1600/CHESTER1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnH3FLACi0wtfVy-KROkW4-kK91FTtVZVvbVgSxSOUJUNOXMrQYIFAvi6iXw3CyTiPLui2TXYU5y6rOgaeCJhdGw1X81309FgZCYP7YnEMoSlq_sEFJkywPgQw5XYcbeFMJXcMgDrh1r01/s400/CHESTER1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519403630120311170" border="0" /></a><br />Now, this is a Chester, see, and a Chester is basically any strange man walking along on his own. Now, he can be totally minding his own business, but if he is a man and he's alone....he's a Chester. And Chesters are not good for little children because basically they want to kidnap them and kill them.<br /><br />What?<br /><br />Where did she learn such things?<br /><br />Umm....I don't have time for questions right now. Just listen to the story.<br /><br />Now, other objects that represent a Chester include:<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLqVvJIl5Q_9koyIU-spFEuamzPRlIej_rNih2jODWNq1AWvSt3Szy3LkVotUEi41GD_TgwMx_DioWUCYXxP7m7Y28-9MASDuo3zEZRciOnJNZhCiPJZWzzwe8l3CY_IgqAS8cf2Slv_TE/s1600/CHESTER+TRUCK.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLqVvJIl5Q_9koyIU-spFEuamzPRlIej_rNih2jODWNq1AWvSt3Szy3LkVotUEi41GD_TgwMx_DioWUCYXxP7m7Y28-9MASDuo3zEZRciOnJNZhCiPJZWzzwe8l3CY_IgqAS8cf2Slv_TE/s400/CHESTER+TRUCK.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519406229837967522" border="0" /></a><br />Ice Cream Trucks.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgANMAVlY6_fx56g3XMehVFuxAzdvMGNqHWqPlDCSoMXF72a8A-JqLu37EtgytEtw1VNoSK2mq6WTjjz5pyLV4x4ovlOnvio_PPFmhZ8pCwOgGhFVyXvVDHxKvqm1zdu21QNm63psIAzfek/s1600/CHESTER+VAN.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgANMAVlY6_fx56g3XMehVFuxAzdvMGNqHWqPlDCSoMXF72a8A-JqLu37EtgytEtw1VNoSK2mq6WTjjz5pyLV4x4ovlOnvio_PPFmhZ8pCwOgGhFVyXvVDHxKvqm1zdu21QNm63psIAzfek/s400/CHESTER+VAN.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519406237377446002" border="0" /></a><br />And also white, windowless vans.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">So, basically what's happening in this picture right now is this guy is basically realizing that it's not a good thing to be a Chester because well....<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2NKG9vu1hDu7IrdosiUKMxd3K1Si9BYb7ygT3uDDvci9I40mhE9dGc9COtCr10Gg_1tsqsYnYevNHDwZlO7veU6BeeqhY82xkmLvdRwunh1ku03_ctwd46GAUYd3HG_0ofgS1pdTjZsE/s1600/CHESTER2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2NKG9vu1hDu7IrdosiUKMxd3K1Si9BYb7ygT3uDDvci9I40mhE9dGc9COtCr10Gg_1tsqsYnYevNHDwZlO7veU6BeeqhY82xkmLvdRwunh1ku03_ctwd46GAUYd3HG_0ofgS1pdTjZsE/s400/CHESTER2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519403639080456818" border="0" /></a><br />This little guy in the corner is jumping on his head and...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rOHKHCPtur522hHCo8VJWGOgY4YhIJ_F-ZlMPax8YO8wUAVoUZAqP147rN2-euTUTDm4eRj0NAmiMD-33_OKADJEXWSSBjYSCArn6Np6ICaC_mpTBJuFhESGuySzv_Q7SKdD2W4fHDEA/s1600/CHESTER3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rOHKHCPtur522hHCo8VJWGOgY4YhIJ_F-ZlMPax8YO8wUAVoUZAqP147rN2-euTUTDm4eRj0NAmiMD-33_OKADJEXWSSBjYSCArn6Np6ICaC_mpTBJuFhESGuySzv_Q7SKdD2W4fHDEA/s400/CHESTER3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519403645516829954" border="0" /></a>This person is throwing rocks at his head and then, as if that wasn't punishment enough...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0kxicFHMZVhLN9GOxnvucuoBL3NszXHaoFYwq01pIGvxBK-wz8VNnktStjvCwZIUBeSk5zOoK218FTEIVCJZBwCaRBw8qTX9OHCnUWERAkPdf5f_hQ_8EZplt9elyeMSArxtT_XJbJBa/s1600/CHESTER4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0kxicFHMZVhLN9GOxnvucuoBL3NszXHaoFYwq01pIGvxBK-wz8VNnktStjvCwZIUBeSk5zOoK218FTEIVCJZBwCaRBw8qTX9OHCnUWERAkPdf5f_hQ_8EZplt9elyeMSArxtT_XJbJBa/s400/CHESTER4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519403651686334050" border="0" /></a>THIS little lady is actually swinging ANOTHER Chester around and beating the first Chester with it. It's insane....but, according to Sylvie-Faye, very necessary.<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUG8eTqex2gnf4cCTkHrgyATOklfIBxep42mT4k9TDG2MyjTb-ucnH6BYlHXdYaRMzC34KDLSMXHlCJ5o6DaNqJA9hsyxOXZ5IwPRE6b7g35tp8dvpTjx4fNCFClD4_FWjBrVchRS47bB/s1600/CHESTER.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUG8eTqex2gnf4cCTkHrgyATOklfIBxep42mT4k9TDG2MyjTb-ucnH6BYlHXdYaRMzC34KDLSMXHlCJ5o6DaNqJA9hsyxOXZ5IwPRE6b7g35tp8dvpTjx4fNCFClD4_FWjBrVchRS47bB/s400/CHESTER.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519403661782942418" border="0" /></a>And the creepiest part of all is that, in spite of being jumped on, pummeled and actually beaten with another of his kind - the Chester is still smiling.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">"So, how did this all end up as Sylvie's obsession?" you ask. "And why does she think men driving white vans and ice cream trucks and walking along on their own, minding their own business are called Chester and want to kill her?"<br /><br />It's simple - I had to find a way to stop her from sneaking out of the house and trying to be "a big girl" - taking off on her own to explore the world. There are real dangers out there and perhaps I was a little dramatic. Perhaps singling out certain vehicles and all males, in general, was unfair, BUT, she never leaves my side. She no longer tries to leave the house.<br /><br />OK and also she can't sleep at night and we had to hang a dream catcher above her bed, which we told her scares Chesters away, and also she screams in horror when she sees ice cream trucks, white vans and men, but....it's better this way, right?<br /><br />I honestly didn't mean to petrify my poor little lady. I had no idea she was gonna' take the story so seriously. Geez!<br /></div></div>Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-74757811832162964662010-09-07T23:10:00.003-07:002010-09-07T23:15:16.490-07:00Exciting News!Our band website is up and running. Check us out: www.themendingseed.com<br /><br />Here's our promotional video we put together and added to our youtube channel:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgqlX6z3No0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgqlX6z3No0</a><br /><br />In this video we've included clips from 9 of the 12 tracks from our upcoming album, "Broken Souls" and information on how to pre-order, as well as our contest to win $200.<br /><br />We appreciate the support and encouragement from our family, friends and fans.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-63087992800866657602010-08-28T23:35:00.010-07:002010-08-29T00:33:54.677-07:00I GOT IT BACK!!!Ahhh....cable TV, how I've missed you - I mean the REAL you. Not the basic crap that comes with a few channels mostly geared towards children and the rest is regular television or educational stuff. I mean, education is good....for the children.<br /><br />But as for me, I prefer to be educated in all things celebrity. That is my hobby. These people entertain me with their drama and their priorities, or lack thereof.<br /><br />Now, several months ago we felt it necessary to reduce our bills around here and thus had our cable channels reduced to practically nothing. It was pointless really. There were cartoons available 24/7 for the kids, but the kids are not awake 24/7 and there's this amazing invention called the DVD player.<br /><br />Anyhoo, our receiver went on the fritz and upon ordering a new one by phone we felt it necessary to end our misery and boost our cable channels.<br /><br />Which brings me to the reason for this post - I got E! back! E! Glorious E! E is for entertainment, you know, and that's EXACTLY what this channel provides me - pure entertainment.<br /><br />Here's what I learned this week: (Squealing) Ooh, this is so exciting!<br /><br />1. Demi Lovato wore a dress to some "Camp Rock"/Disney event and when an interviewer on the red carpet asked her who the designer was, she didn't even know!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfHcGHKQwlnWiROuUgLJ3h1VLmZZ9EeYAyL-akJpxwwCsimDgaHduWEVo0MyyR5yHibmfLDzR3k74_9ubD8AC_ZxOkjrPESIran7XITubFI41gqZtukapNpN5pEaqo8Gl9IJ3Gpd2GgWBR/s1600/demi+lovato+dress.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfHcGHKQwlnWiROuUgLJ3h1VLmZZ9EeYAyL-akJpxwwCsimDgaHduWEVo0MyyR5yHibmfLDzR3k74_9ubD8AC_ZxOkjrPESIran7XITubFI41gqZtukapNpN5pEaqo8Gl9IJ3Gpd2GgWBR/s400/demi+lovato+dress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510719140555261506" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">What say you, Carson Kressley?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC2nV1klRjnd8iVzezQ3cGXVawABCfWZhJ9HQkIJsYkBHBt_ZbSyWamLGyz9Ls5etDMtv7lRedWCTc1FrDrLjQja6MahvoAUeeTlrupvpHaygbSG99-L8IC49E7tcdr_AwTbYrDeeMPex/s1600/Carson+Kressley+oopsie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC2nV1klRjnd8iVzezQ3cGXVawABCfWZhJ9HQkIJsYkBHBt_ZbSyWamLGyz9Ls5etDMtv7lRedWCTc1FrDrLjQja6MahvoAUeeTlrupvpHaygbSG99-L8IC49E7tcdr_AwTbYrDeeMPex/s400/Carson+Kressley+oopsie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510719150917393698" border="0" /></a>Thuper naughty!<br /><br />Mm hm.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">2. Julia Roberts had the NERVE to wear a modest dress to a Sony event in Japan.</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwqTttVcL3DTHC5lS8JlbOVLqhS-JHNJpyRch4pWMQQF9vsjRQT_0FP12rZJLosqshjwU3GN_RFWkaAjxa0XMa71T96QwtOI1kY1TU0Bg5XdUemj2bgrKXIgzhA8nCWkABNGWqKf0hWWOm/s1600/julia+roberts+gramma+dress.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwqTttVcL3DTHC5lS8JlbOVLqhS-JHNJpyRch4pWMQQF9vsjRQT_0FP12rZJLosqshjwU3GN_RFWkaAjxa0XMa71T96QwtOI1kY1TU0Bg5XdUemj2bgrKXIgzhA8nCWkABNGWqKf0hWWOm/s400/julia+roberts+gramma+dress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510720236890475122" border="0" /></a>Thus earning her the title "Grandma".<br /><br />The HORROR!<br /><br />Nobody wants to be GRANDMA!<br /><br />Especially not Joan.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_VyQ5K_kPwPjvXAbo-jtoRq9ILzvPh73LwQrJJTEU00l9hq3QHRPXAhfk135uNTX9a2H4riK8lQnT36_fsj6FhoktcdIJ-4hS-5fgtHF4IP2cnVWGqA78ZpbYyWNOqRPIUcEx28By6L5/s1600/joan_rivers_joker.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 281px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_VyQ5K_kPwPjvXAbo-jtoRq9ILzvPh73LwQrJJTEU00l9hq3QHRPXAhfk135uNTX9a2H4riK8lQnT36_fsj6FhoktcdIJ-4hS-5fgtHF4IP2cnVWGqA78ZpbYyWNOqRPIUcEx28By6L5/s400/joan_rivers_joker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510721947057772242" border="0" /></a>That woman is paying good money to resemble The Joker just to avoid being called "Grandma".<br /><br />Poor Julia.<br /><br />Oh, they did say her shoes were cute, though.<br /><br />Whew! There's hope.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">3. When it comes to college fashion, pants are NOT in.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj7SRyzvYhS4Ov_fBzwR6sfdh2LFMF3SfyI49VmlCGYOrSWBiR-o3upu5Eqjirb9mQTLfSWORVvhTxQuyDuDXEKLQI7vcNbTMb54SFGP2EX2wd-KrkPpEhGXJ-hfTL_ngVANdDjZPBfzZW/s1600/vanessa+blue+shirtdress.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj7SRyzvYhS4Ov_fBzwR6sfdh2LFMF3SfyI49VmlCGYOrSWBiR-o3upu5Eqjirb9mQTLfSWORVvhTxQuyDuDXEKLQI7vcNbTMb54SFGP2EX2wd-KrkPpEhGXJ-hfTL_ngVANdDjZPBfzZW/s400/vanessa+blue+shirtdress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510720242304643298" border="0" /></a>Vanessa Hudgens' fashion choices are apparently deciding this for the rest of the world and I'm thinking...<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGzPoGS3RYNR2oXvbQD9A4i652PHary7Z0hwJuMGnCQfiAg-a75cN1Rwk4VLSB1InIXlmzohEWYbjVZmHh5av8ntQ1ciewEKUDFkNGeMh9jZwA9TkFI89N9jsUbtVWSZg0_lzx2drU9Sv/s1600/vanessa+t-shirt+dress.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGzPoGS3RYNR2oXvbQD9A4i652PHary7Z0hwJuMGnCQfiAg-a75cN1Rwk4VLSB1InIXlmzohEWYbjVZmHh5av8ntQ1ciewEKUDFkNGeMh9jZwA9TkFI89N9jsUbtVWSZg0_lzx2drU9Sv/s400/vanessa+t-shirt+dress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510720253029404562" border="0" /></a>...a lot more guys are gonna' suddenly realize the importance of a college education in the next few months.<br /><br />4. Heidi and Spencer (big grin)...sorry, I just LOVE these two. I know people love to hate on them, but seriously, when we all need a good laugh, they come through EVERY TIME!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzWYavxrZhwzXc5zfmrTn7b4C5lyeAXZ528TUOtRiSKW-c34G04zrzlD61UdH35PimDNuLtb8wQ_sVM5Q-r1gUwQuBEa801_7Epud0LfFLOVgFMCZ2hNakFhmau8LKRLkjebUttpixwV6/s1600/heidi+and+spencer.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzWYavxrZhwzXc5zfmrTn7b4C5lyeAXZ528TUOtRiSKW-c34G04zrzlD61UdH35PimDNuLtb8wQ_sVM5Q-r1gUwQuBEa801_7Epud0LfFLOVgFMCZ2hNakFhmau8LKRLkjebUttpixwV6/s400/heidi+and+spencer.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510726641883052354" border="0" /></a><br />So, apparently these two are divorced now, which is a HUGE shocker!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhml3VQJ9OdXUV_p9j1S_w_GjeSxHPHQs-Ee6TqQTaGYnnS1H41rjoFArDJZtU_IWvzZCVA2smJ3jL8ErgL1BSLFqvF4z9-LInvIsyHg-ZXhX-4xHZsYQr4YSQMGQi-wly7yGhPDsIHIpZL/s1600/Heidi+Montag+and+Spencer+Pratt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhml3VQJ9OdXUV_p9j1S_w_GjeSxHPHQs-Ee6TqQTaGYnnS1H41rjoFArDJZtU_IWvzZCVA2smJ3jL8ErgL1BSLFqvF4z9-LInvIsyHg-ZXhX-4xHZsYQr4YSQMGQi-wly7yGhPDsIHIpZL/s400/Heidi+Montag+and+Spencer+Pratt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510727283607201090" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Whoa! Not THAT huge!<br /><br />Gee whiz!<br /><br />ANYWAY....where was I?<br /><br />Oh yeah, so OK apparently after the divorce Spencer decided he wasn't done being "famous", so he posted something on Twitter (Are people following him? Really? Ok. Wow.) about how he now had possession of Heidi in a sex tape that he was planning on releasing to the public, but that's not even the disturbing part.<br /><br />The disturbing part is his description. And I quote: "The sex tape will not feature any bisexuality. It will however feature trisexuality. Also - a triceratops.<br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVH5IRVlcQ5oijy5XKf1Swf8yvU2uE7s1RlT0kIuZLME7lLTNnSvz9BDssl6WgqCY0MlkGTsxY3qegePZvlAN5BuNMESiLSCjwDlRjHcbrcUDPWuiKbpBYiF6i4j_pS0zI_G_VTClOhDK/s1600/heidi+and+dinosaur.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVH5IRVlcQ5oijy5XKf1Swf8yvU2uE7s1RlT0kIuZLME7lLTNnSvz9BDssl6WgqCY0MlkGTsxY3qegePZvlAN5BuNMESiLSCjwDlRjHcbrcUDPWuiKbpBYiF6i4j_pS0zI_G_VTClOhDK/s400/heidi+and+dinosaur.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510726640804818994" border="0" /></a><br />Looks like that photo Lo Lo made for her in photoshop years ago gave Spencer some good ideas. For THAT full story, go to my<span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"><a href="http://coppeefamily.blogspot.com/2008/03/its-on-donkey-kong.html"> IT'S ON DONKEY KONG post from 2008</a></span><br /><br />Oh man! Good times. Good times.<br /><br />I learned more, but I'm gonna' just leave you with that because it's a lot to absorb all at once and I don't wanna' overload you with too much info all at once.<br /><br />So, study up and class will resume next week.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-18300202900064399182010-08-23T10:27:00.003-07:002010-08-23T11:19:29.268-07:00MEOW"Meow." That's what I say when I'm in a weird mood. I don't know why. It just comes out. Sometimes I drawl it out. Other times I just say it tonelessly.<br /><br />A few years ago I lived out in Queen Creek and met and quickly became friends with a woman named Amanda. We're like twin sisters in another life. We look a lot alike and we have similar personalities and...basically we're the same person in two different bodies.<br /><br />ANYWAY...so, we became so close that we kind of had our own special way of communicating. OK, it was just me. I'm a weirdo - that's the only difference between the two of us. I'm the weird twin.<br /><br />Anytime I saw PRIVATE NAME/PRIVATE NUMBER on my caller ID, I knew it was her and I'd pick up the phone and say, "Meeoooow." She'd laugh every time, which is the main reason I did it, and then sometimes she'd either say "Meow" back or we'd jump into conversation.<br /><br />During this period of time, we were working with an immigration attorney to obtain a Green Card for Bertrand so I wouldn't have to lock him in the attic to hide him from Sheriff Joe for being an illegal and we did all of our communication through e-mail and snail mail...unless I called his office to speak with him directly to ask a quick question.<br /><br />One day around noon I received a call from PRIVATE NAME/PRIVATE NUMBER. I was in a particularly weird mood just then and smiled at the opportunity to express my weirdness to the one person who would understand. I picked up the phone and drawled the longest "Meeeeeeooooooow" I'd ever done. It was a new record for me.<br /><br />There was no response.<br /><br />I furrowed my brow and pulled the phone back to double check the caller ID, then placed the receiver back to my ear and said, "Meow?"<br /><br />Suddenly I heard a man's throat clearing and a voice say, "Uhh...hello?"<br /><br />I gasped and my eyes bugged out of my head. Reflexively I hung up the phone. My jaw dropped and I just sat there frozen. "Oh, crap! That was NOT Amanda. That was our immigration attorney!" I thought to myself in horror.<br /><br />He was an old man on the verge of retirement and the word serious does not even do this man justice. I don't think a funny bone exists in that man's body. In fact, I believe him to be incapable of showing emotion PERIOD!<br /><br />He didn't call back.<br /><br />When I finally recovered from my shock, I dialed Amanda quick. She answered and I called out her name in desperation.<br /><br />"What? No meow?" She laughed.<br /><br />"Oh my gosh." The panic was evident in my voice.<br /><br />"Are you OK? What's going on?" She sounded concerned.<br /><br />"Uh...." I started in a shaky voice. "my lawyer just called and I thought it was you and I meowed into the phone and he didn't answer, so I meowed again and I heard him clearing his throat, so then I realized it was him and I hung up quick."<br /><br />She immediately burst into a giggling fit, so I sat there, biting my lip, waiting for her to finish.<br /><br />"Oh, THAT is hilarious!" She laughed again.<br /><br />"No, it's not. I feel so stupid right now."<br /><br />"Oh well", she attempted to console me. "He'll get over it."<br /><br />We chatted for a few more minutes and then ended the conversation. I made a mental note to never meow into the phone again when PRIVATE NAME/PRIVATE NUMBER called.<br /><br />The weeks passed and I continued receiving PRIVATE NAME/PRIVATE NUMBER calls from Amanda. I very quickly settled into my usual routine of meowing into the phone when she called. Old habits die hard.<br /><br />Mid morning one day, as I sat typing medical reports, my phone rang. It was PRIVATE NAME/PRIVATE NUMBER again. I was only too happy to take a break from work and visit with my good friend. I decided to answer with a slight variation and barely squeaked a newborn kitten-sized "meow" into the phone.<br /><br />There was no response.<br /><br />I thought perhaps Amanda didn't hear me because the meow was so faint.<br /><br />"meow" I squeaked again.<br /><br />No response.<br /><br />"meow.....meow......meow" I persisted.<br /><br />Nothing.<br /><br />I sat there in complete silence - just listening. There was no sound coming from the other end. I thought perhaps Amanda was teasing me, so I decided to say her name aloud, but right before I could get it out, I heard "H - hello?"<br /><br />My eyes bugged out of my head again. I slapped my hand over my mouth to hold back the horrific sound that wanted to escape my mouth. It was my attorney - AGAIN!<br /><br />I sucked in a quick breath, which immediately froze in the back of my throat. I sat there paralyzed, holding my breath, trying to think quick "Should I just say hello and explain that I meow into the phone when my friend calls and I thought it was my friend calling? Oh, no. I can't do that. He'll think I'm insane and he won't want to represent us anymore."<br /><br />I hit "END" on the phone and slammed it down on my desk, then buried my head in my hands and groaned. "Oh my gosh. I'm an IDIOT!" As I sat there reprimanding myself under my breath, the phone began to ring again.<br /><br />My head shot up and I hesitated before glancing over at the phone. PRIVATE NAME/PRIVATE NUMBER showed on the caller ID again.<br /><br />I heaved a sigh and muttered, "Oh my gosh. OK, stay calm. Stay calm." I took a couple of deep breaths and then proceeded to answer with a normal "Hello?"<br /><br />"Hey!" My friend Amanda answered in a cheery tone.<br /><br />"Oh my gosh!" I breathed into the phone.<br /><br />"Oh my gosh" she responded. "What's going on? Are you OK over there?"<br /><br />"I did it again!" I cried.<br /><br />"Did what?" She asked.<br /><br />"I meowed into the phone when my attorney called." I groaned.<br /><br />Dead silence.<br /><br />"Amanda?" I asked; my voice cracking.<br /><br />Dead silence.<br /><br />"AMANDA?!" I called out.<br /><br />Suddenly she made a noise like the dam just broke and the fits of laughter came flooding out.<br /><br />I heaved a frustrated sigh. "It's not FUNNY!"<br /><br />"Sorry. I'm trying so hard not to laugh because I can tell you're upset, but..." She burst yet another giggling fit.<br /><br />"I'm seriously an idiot and I should not be allowed to use the phone anymore", I moaned.<br /><br />"So, what are you gonna' do?" She asked, still laughing.<br /><br />"Nothing." I replied tonelessly.<br /><br />"Just call him back and tell him you didn't realize it was him." She advised, as though it was no big deal.<br /><br />"Are you CRAZY?!?! I am NOT admitting to meowing like a cat into the phone! Not to HIM, anyway!"<br /><br />After she got a few good laughs out and I groaned in agony a few more times, we ended our conversation and I attempted to return to my normal activity.<br /><br />A little later in the afternoon, I received another PRIVATE NAME/PRIVATE NUMBER call.<br /><br />As soon as I saw it on the caller ID I smiled with slight satisfaction. "Oh, I'm not falling for that again", I said aloud, then proceeded to answer.<br /><br />"Hello, is Kristin Coppee there?" It was the attorney.<br /><br />"Yes. This is she." I responded.<br /><br />"H-hello. I, uh....I've been trying to reach you. I don't know what happened." He sounded completely flustered and disturbed, as though perhaps he feared he was going senile. "I've called your number here several times and....well....I'm really not sure what's happening."<br /><br />"Oh?" I asked, as though I were completely clueless.<br /><br />"Yes, well....I....I tried to dial you and it....uh....it sounded like a....well, I think it was a cat of some sort on the other end. I - I'm not sure...." He continued, sounding very concerned.<br /><br />I curled my hand into a fist and shoved it in my mouth, biting down to suppress the giggling fit that was fighting to escape. The tears started to stream down my face, as the pressure built.<br /><br />"H - h - hello?" The attorney asked after several seconds of silence had passed.<br /><br />I removed my fist from my mouth, pulled the receiver away from my head and ground my teeth hard, shaking my head and fighting to think of something serious - ANYTHING - to not laugh. I COULD NOT LAUGH! I couldn't have him discovering my horrible secret - not NOW!<br /><br />"Hello?" He repeated in a louder, more agitated tone. "Ms. Coppee, are you there? "<br /><br />"Yes." I said in a very controlled tone, barely regaining my composure. "Sorry. I think my phone cut out."<br /><br />He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, anyway....I must have dialed the wrong number and thought I was calling you."<br /><br />"Oh," I responded, suddenly feeling a rush of relief. "Yes, that must have been what happened. How strange. I'm so sorry."<br /><br />He remained silent a few seconds. "Yes....well....I'll have to double check my dialing. It was....very...very strange to hear a cat on the other end. I....can't imagine what I must have dialed."<br /><br />I contorted my face and began tapping my fingers very aggressively into my forehead, trying to clear my mind and think of something serious, as the dam again threatened to burst and release a rush of laughter.<br /><br />"Anyway", he continued. "Did you receive the latest packet I sent you with the questionnaire?"<br /><br />"Yes!" I nearly shouted into the phone. "Yes, I got it and...." the words came rushing out in an effort to end this phone call as quickly as possible. The dam wasn't going to hold up much longer. ",..we will get that filled out and mailed back right away. In fact, we'll send it tomorrow."<br /><br />I held my breath and waited for his response, silently praying that this phone call would end NOW!<br /><br />"Very good. I will await the packet." He said in a very formal tone.<br /><br />"Great. Thanks." I spit out.<br /><br />"Ok, then. Have a nice day, Ms. Coppee."<br /><br />"Ok, thanks. Bye."<br /><br />I hung up the phone and the dam burst. I laughed so hard, I cried. After several minutes, the laughter calmed down and I began to regain my composure, only to recall the entire conversation and burst into a giggling fit again, this time falling to the floor, I was laughing so hard. Several minutes later I dialed Amanda as I gasped for air, trying to catch my breath back.<br /><br />Needless to say, she had yet another good laugh at my expense.<br /><br />I did finally learn my lesson, though. I have NEVER answered with a meow when the called ID says PRIVATE NAME/PRIVATE NUMBER since that day.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-76354156617873644672010-07-20T13:42:00.002-07:002010-07-20T13:59:51.005-07:00A Little SurpriseIt had been a long week. Bertrand had been working long hours at his pool job and had spent long evenings in the studio finishing up his drums. This left me alone with the kids ALL day and ALL night. In a word, we were exhausted!<br /><br />Bertrand crashed into bed and reached for the remote.<br /><br />"What are you gonna' watch, babe?" I asked and hopped onto the bed excitedly.<br /><br />"Uhhhh....I don't know..." He heaved a tired sigh. "I was thinking of watching that new movie that came in the mail today through Netflix. I don't think you're gonna' like it."<br /><br />I playfully frowned and slinked off the bed, grabbing the paper sleeve so I could read the info. "Ugh. You're right. I'm not interested." I decided to go slip into the tub and read a bit.<br /><br />A while later I heard the noise from the TV die. I really wanted to spend some time with my husband, but I also wanted to finish the chapter I was on, so I decided to finish my reading and then join him.<br /><br />By the time I emerged from the bathroom, I noticed the bedroom light was off. As I gently pushed the door open, I could hear him breathing methodically. I let out a disappointed sigh and readied myself for bed.<br /><br />As I slipped in between the covers, I felt something touching me and I noticed my husband was facing me, though his eyes were still closed. "Oh, how sweet", I thought. "He's reaching his hand out to me." I turned on my side to face him and got comfortable, then slowly pushed my hand through the sheets in search of his. I smiled as I curled my fingers around his.<br /><br />Then suddenly I froze; my eyes widening in horror. "Ok, THAT is not a hand," I thought. Holding my breath, I slowly lifted the blanket and squinted in the dark. The little bit of light from outside shone through the gap in the curtains. I reached my hand out and felt it again, then lifted it up.<br /><br />It was the TV remote.<br /><br />Heaving a relieved and comical sigh, I laid my head back against the pillow and leaned over to the nightstand to set it down. Then I turned back to my husband, hoping to try again.<br /><br />Just as I turned back to him, he turned over in bed and his heavy, methodical breathing commenced.<br /><br />"I'll let you off the hook tonight," I whispered. "But tomorrow night it's ME, not the TV!"Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-85631014856274329782010-06-30T09:09:00.004-07:002010-06-30T09:22:12.068-07:00Kaboom!For reason #6,547 why I should be stripped of my title of housewife, please refer to Exhibit A.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiteiYQyb09seEGFirkzW1INGLqD27IDEalDChIKn3qsdujna_pCjN9EkCTr2Rm9KRLrs10T5QRtD-9bl72C4ZJfU9yOXdn_NEi9_0EX0mx0_rznL8fyCHQuq6oUDl61k_PzVx21n9pRPjB/s1600/kaboom+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiteiYQyb09seEGFirkzW1INGLqD27IDEalDChIKn3qsdujna_pCjN9EkCTr2Rm9KRLrs10T5QRtD-9bl72C4ZJfU9yOXdn_NEi9_0EX0mx0_rznL8fyCHQuq6oUDl61k_PzVx21n9pRPjB/s400/kaboom+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488599776330547954" border="0" /></a><br />Exhibit A<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">See, it all started with me wanting to take a nice, hot bath so I could be inspired to finish up my songs for my upcoming album. As I ran my bathwater, I looked over and noticed the toilet was in need of a cleaning, so I decided to get that taken care of while my bath was filling.<br /><br />The toilet was looking rather nasty, as I don't care for cleaning toilets and so rarely perform the task. I remembered I had some old stuff called Kaboom.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinHBOVJ3YC1XiEIh5cUSZONPhuMlMCnpCPQTr_klQxHJ5fEka83NLaEwUSHqGbZ1BJdW3QRiskvYZzEqtlDUPLH7YHEo1i3yGRYhJhaaqCFTahNFmPSAlNkDfYlIj6yznW84vIgH3fU-j/s1600/kaboom3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinHBOVJ3YC1XiEIh5cUSZONPhuMlMCnpCPQTr_klQxHJ5fEka83NLaEwUSHqGbZ1BJdW3QRiskvYZzEqtlDUPLH7YHEo1i3yGRYhJhaaqCFTahNFmPSAlNkDfYlIj6yznW84vIgH3fU-j/s400/kaboom3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488600831052173890" border="0" /></a>See, what you do is fill the cap with some of the powder, dump it in the toilet and then it foams up and then you wait a few minutes and scrub and it helps take the disgusting ring right off your toilet with minimal effort.<br /><br />And so, being the incapable person that I am (incapable of reading instructions, that is), I tipped the container to the side and tried to lightly sprinkle some powder in.<br /><br />The problem is that this stuff is old and therefore kind of clumped inside. This annoyed me and so I began hitting the container against my other open hand, trying to loosen up the powder.<br /><br />Oh, I loosened it up all right. I loosened up HALF the container and it went<span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"> </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 153);font-size:180%;" >KABOOM! </span><br /><br />As the foam went wild and began rising at an incredible speed, I stood there frozen - mouth gaping open, trying to think fast.<br /><br />I reached over to the flusher and pushed it down hard.<br /><br />The foam began gurgling and rising faster. My eyes just about popped out of my head. It only exacerbated the problem, inducing a volcanic-like effect.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jo45YkQj0EecqE21_bUY3tBmobu8yihQ8DpxxsxoFBfI0GypWtCCyxuITf4ggsTOG0HI8C6XBdutnWrVPHwjIvjl3GCqy2e8ZOPPiFHpVBrg_VDhdC44UsNv9XPCNRMO1tueVkeCpxZR/s1600/kaboom.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jo45YkQj0EecqE21_bUY3tBmobu8yihQ8DpxxsxoFBfI0GypWtCCyxuITf4ggsTOG0HI8C6XBdutnWrVPHwjIvjl3GCqy2e8ZOPPiFHpVBrg_VDhdC44UsNv9XPCNRMO1tueVkeCpxZR/s400/kaboom.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488599786976073570" border="0" /></a>Oopsie.<br /><br />Perhaps I should stick to writing music. Darn. I will miss cleaning toilets.<br /></div>Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-18544152814146052992010-06-14T22:50:00.002-07:002010-06-14T22:56:32.194-07:00Album Photo ShootOur album is about to be released - hopefully July! Maybe August. I don't know. We're perfectionists, so it's getting stretched out longer than we had anticipated. Plus, our new lead guitarist had to go and write this amazingly beautiful song that I just HAVE to have on the album, so now that's holding things up. (I have to blame SOMEONE and it certainly won't be myself!)<br /><br />Anyway, a friend of mine took our pics and she did an amazing job. These are some of my favorites. Now, to pick the album cover....(sigh) This is gonna' be tougher than I thought.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3ApaUw-CcrWaAOW6ClFcu88y01rrhZrz1-urSIKRqGxprrMVCgFd1eyn7OJD4URfWEwqpCNV9MttqpuLWcoaVptqfugnFROw0_hVzW_iTFkX4ykft0Nhn4q3JZbmZiTOyeJGLzcwKJp1/s1600/mending+seed+4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3ApaUw-CcrWaAOW6ClFcu88y01rrhZrz1-urSIKRqGxprrMVCgFd1eyn7OJD4URfWEwqpCNV9MttqpuLWcoaVptqfugnFROw0_hVzW_iTFkX4ykft0Nhn4q3JZbmZiTOyeJGLzcwKJp1/s400/mending+seed+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482874721321700386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2KGQRxM2MOAbgwJR1BjYbF1ZuuPfQLXZWuDkMFozqZjuoTCA-_P8gKnxLcGUqNGWtZIKL-pCbF_3EyTuK4uzp_pdA9YrPpjSICksWFc-_VKtw9uyvMpByQ_2kDGWtru8EfBGtq0bFXpXw/s1600/mending+seed+3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2KGQRxM2MOAbgwJR1BjYbF1ZuuPfQLXZWuDkMFozqZjuoTCA-_P8gKnxLcGUqNGWtZIKL-pCbF_3EyTuK4uzp_pdA9YrPpjSICksWFc-_VKtw9uyvMpByQ_2kDGWtru8EfBGtq0bFXpXw/s400/mending+seed+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482874702479805906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzLX2kBOPTLQccDxSpIaM2y8nunKLTjOuus12YX5k8zgS8Hv0PrFS5svbBPY274_AuIw4mkM3qjQxP7cLUAeIVrAdEZ0XFtwiwotpICjv8vkLSFkuu3j0Kjhw_AqOwLA1cVtW0BLvG8Xbm/s1600/mending+seed+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzLX2kBOPTLQccDxSpIaM2y8nunKLTjOuus12YX5k8zgS8Hv0PrFS5svbBPY274_AuIw4mkM3qjQxP7cLUAeIVrAdEZ0XFtwiwotpICjv8vkLSFkuu3j0Kjhw_AqOwLA1cVtW0BLvG8Xbm/s400/mending+seed+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482874687727119170" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJX4O6pQQUhGZg1DazmSzTSVsHXvUYrgrmdM_xUl4KHmilTc18yJFis6PSfAIbUEjzomN9g268ueOHcdgV1ii6I-i56Q1m6eD1zRuQ1QmkozHICAHxheQ-nudB-cV_oN3XE2v3k0Ad5Ydf/s1600/mending+seed+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJX4O6pQQUhGZg1DazmSzTSVsHXvUYrgrmdM_xUl4KHmilTc18yJFis6PSfAIbUEjzomN9g268ueOHcdgV1ii6I-i56Q1m6eD1zRuQ1QmkozHICAHxheQ-nudB-cV_oN3XE2v3k0Ad5Ydf/s400/mending+seed+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482874673516162002" border="0" /></a><br />Of course, I had to get one of me cuddling up to my hot drummer/husband.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_W1Cassi2Psbx9z2cv4e5Rh1Novr-Kf8kmMSN_Z8mzsncAl99FPid1blp0tn0dBnM8SEckLnKdsGCqkQMpuCNiFzhyF_HoPLbQVHGOIxMz20C-qhFw4hfNoUtZA2p8tYrKQb5los147yS/s1600/kristin+and+bert.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_W1Cassi2Psbx9z2cv4e5Rh1Novr-Kf8kmMSN_Z8mzsncAl99FPid1blp0tn0dBnM8SEckLnKdsGCqkQMpuCNiFzhyF_HoPLbQVHGOIxMz20C-qhFw4hfNoUtZA2p8tYrKQb5los147yS/s400/kristin+and+bert.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482874739524607154" border="0" /></a>Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-87035981268775262082010-05-23T21:19:00.003-07:002010-05-23T21:50:43.171-07:00This One's For The Lazy PeopleA long time ago, back when I was desperate to lose weight, but not desperate enough to actually have to work at it, I purchased the Seven Shapely Secrets workout. The draw was that you could exercise without moving! Yeah! So, of course, being the lazy person that I am, I was all over that!<br /><br />Tonight at dinner somehow this topic came up in the conversation and I was explaining to Bertrand that there was a face exercise that helped lift the face.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPwEt8LSX0izfVqhWhgrSrHWxVT68RfHvyXbnGM5xhL1WsjNEcBqhzikAjJCQWGlg4y6F78h3WlzfLQwmsQvfpRl93pvne7CLuVo2TTXWY7KWHXtCPCz0t2lISNK3ONRr0EqchyphenhyphenYnjb7j/s1600/Funny+face.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPwEt8LSX0izfVqhWhgrSrHWxVT68RfHvyXbnGM5xhL1WsjNEcBqhzikAjJCQWGlg4y6F78h3WlzfLQwmsQvfpRl93pvne7CLuVo2TTXWY7KWHXtCPCz0t2lISNK3ONRr0EqchyphenhyphenYnjb7j/s400/Funny+face.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474686699483112866" border="0" /></a><br />I then proceeded to demonstrate and, throwing all vanity (one of my many character flaws) aside, I allowed this picture with zero make-up, greasy hair and face, zits and all, to be taken. This is me demonstrating the facial muscle exercise, which I have never revealed to my own husband until now.<br /><br />And I've known about this for like 3 1/2 years now.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzSVkPeotosvJ55gUAlXMJm6JboGN4blz-DoTrYezF9FXcCMc4-fam6Nmqy9mC7TnBa71v-zXoN6dAhB-dcMsR0WFs5m2qVo6Gfw6xxQqicdAxCaSAoSdgMKWnqlUplA5FSD_lVrxo5eMq/s1600/Funny+face+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzSVkPeotosvJ55gUAlXMJm6JboGN4blz-DoTrYezF9FXcCMc4-fam6Nmqy9mC7TnBa71v-zXoN6dAhB-dcMsR0WFs5m2qVo6Gfw6xxQqicdAxCaSAoSdgMKWnqlUplA5FSD_lVrxo5eMq/s400/Funny+face+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474686697775657506" border="0" /></a>And then he tried to mimic me and this was the result.<br /><br />Hey honey, does your face hurt? 'Cause it's hurting me.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSHOMxSFS-2DdNdhhLLIJyZwKArwkLXyv21e7N3totSO5RaJr_6piQsUNBIs9lSjZi-F4ohrGMCTYL51oidRR714sTS7w9n95O_NnV13ql78iN2HtAlWTFjs4-iJbQoecbF3BA8NdKbTmF/s1600/Funny+face+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSHOMxSFS-2DdNdhhLLIJyZwKArwkLXyv21e7N3totSO5RaJr_6piQsUNBIs9lSjZi-F4ohrGMCTYL51oidRR714sTS7w9n95O_NnV13ql78iN2HtAlWTFjs4-iJbQoecbF3BA8NdKbTmF/s400/Funny+face+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474686692082675426" border="0" /></a>And finally, we bribed John by telling him that if he let us snap a photo of him doing the face exercise and post it, we would let him continue to grow his hair long. He agreed, we snapped the picture and then he asked, "Ok, so I get to keep growing my hair long, right?" to which I responded, "Yes, for one more day." HAHA! SUCKA!<br /><br />So, if you're like me - looking for ways to get in shape without much effort, try this facial exercise for one minute three times a day. And also I dare you to post pictures of yourself doing it.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-67263354021466046482010-05-22T13:33:00.002-07:002010-05-22T13:56:49.346-07:00FormalitiesWe live in a 1500 sq. ft. 1970's red brick home with very little updating.<br /><br />I drive a 1999 dull brown minivan.<br /><br />I sleep on two mattresses on the floor.<br /><br />Our front entry table is an old weather-beaten brown desk covered in a satiny green tablecloth with a $5 knock-off Tiffany lamp and a 7-year-old, $7 silk flower bouquet.<br /><br />Dinner is served anywhere between 5:30 and 8:00 PM, depending on the day, and is usually some cheap, easy recipe or fast food.<br /><br />And yet, my 4 1/2-year-old conducts her business as though we lived in a palace.<br /><br />Just this afternoon as I fed a Beech-Nut 3rd stage fruit medley lunch to Zander in his old plastic high chair that's been through two other children and is missing all buckle straps and the detachable tray, Sylvie-Faye approached me with her hands clasped behind her back and cleared her throat to get my attention.<br /><br />I glanced at her and said, "Hi, Sylvie. What's up?"<br /><br />SYLVIE: (Sighing) Mother, I came to tell you something very important.<br /><br />ME: Okaaay.<br /><br />SYLVIE: I was in my room and I was cleaning it and Chloe did something and I was very mad and I said, "I'm going to go tell mommy on you right now" and so I walked out of my room and I came down the hall and I found you in the kitchen feeding Zander and I came to tell on Chloe to you.<br /><br />Just then Zander sneezed and a glob of food fell out of his mouth and onto his leg. He began poking it with his finger and playing with it. I wrinkled my nose and looked back at Sylvie.<br /><br />ME: Okaaay.<br /><br />SYLVIE: So now I'm coming to tell you that Chloe is doing something that is making me VERY mad.<br /><br />ME: Uh huh....<br /><br />SYLVIE: She is NOT cleaning her room. Just me. And so I told her that I was going to come and tell on her to you and so I got up and I came down the hall....wait...I - first I got up from the floor and then I walked (she performs a walking motion) down the hall and I was looking for you and I heard you in the kitchen talking to Zander and I came in here and I saw you feeding Zander and now I'm telling you about Chloe.<br /><br />My jaw fell open slightly and I just sat there, dumb-struck.<br /><br />I think that girl was meant to be royalty or something.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-36577245652282157952010-05-21T19:55:00.002-07:002010-05-21T20:05:57.462-07:00What We Have Here Is A Failure To Communicate.True story.<br /><br />This afternoon I jumped into my minivan for a quick run to the grocery store. I threw the gear into reverse, stepped on the gas and proceeded to screech out of the driveway when I suddenly caught sight of an older woman who exercises every night right after dinner by walking our street with hand weights. I stomped on the brake and the woman froze in her tracks, her eyes wide as saucers.<br /><br />I gasped and apologized through my window, motioning for her to go ahead.<br /><br />She motioned back for ME to go ahead.<br /><br />I motioned again and mouthed, "No YOU go ahead."<br /><br />Again, she motioned back and mouthed, "No YOU go ahead."<br /><br />So I shrugged and said, "OK" and proceeded to back out. However, the woman apparently gave the same response and proceeded to continue walking.<br /><br />Fortunately, I caught sight of her walking behind me and stomped on the brake pedal again.<br /><br />This time, shaking my head, I rolled my window down and called out, "Oh my gosh! I'm SO SORRY! Please, go ahead! I'll wait!"<br /><br />"No. No." She chuckled. "You go ahead. I'LL wait!"<br /><br />"No, really. I feel terrible. You go ahead." I called back.<br /><br />"It's ok, dear. You go on ahead." She insisted.<br /><br />"No, really..." I began, but she motioned again with her arms for me to proceed.<br /><br />And so I released my foot from the brake and proceeded to roll backwards again and caught sight of her AGAIN walking behind my minivan. I nearly hit her a THIRD TIME!!!<br /><br />"Oh my gosh!" I called out, completely exasperated.<br /><br />She froze again and stared back in horror. I just lost it right there. I dropped my head onto my steering wheel and laughed hysterically. Then I threw it into park and GOT OUT and stood next to my minivan and said, "Please. Go ahead. I have it in park now. I will NOT be running over you tonight!"<br /><br />Luckily, she has a sense of humor so we could both laugh about this and she proceeded on her way. Then I released a sigh and got back into my minivan, rolled up the window, waited until she was well out of ear shot and shouted, "OH MY GOSH! SERIOUSLY! WHAT WAS THAT!"Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-2323932782697236022010-05-19T23:39:00.003-07:002010-05-19T23:48:03.342-07:00The Truth Is...My girls refused to take a nap. They swore up and down that they were NOT tired. So I finally agreed to take them on an errand with me.<br /><br />Upon entering the grocery store parking lot, I immediately turned the minivan around and headed home without going in the store.<br /><br />But it's NOT because the girls were tired.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YxmBSy0QgFGgjGNiD_T7R29zAiEkgePZZDXPV7dyRiNlaymVKJ2v1qE9HGRFM3NweEZjBy94c6Y30w4VNP0fLmT9NLQtLmSkEAbFm2pV5urF02lgxBEnTw56P78Au7i2z-kGfRhSvBhF/s1600/not+sleepy+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YxmBSy0QgFGgjGNiD_T7R29zAiEkgePZZDXPV7dyRiNlaymVKJ2v1qE9HGRFM3NweEZjBy94c6Y30w4VNP0fLmT9NLQtLmSkEAbFm2pV5urF02lgxBEnTw56P78Au7i2z-kGfRhSvBhF/s400/not+sleepy+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473239806328691138" border="0" /></a><br />They did NOT fall asleep.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFPLlDhZuaapdkKIyUc4Ukyk9X8JcjpUUkFxGQHiG1ISbr_thQ0aOcD1IfzUYYeZ7umPpE1umzD9ZUwW1eqvBlvSCq7DDv_mTkSWhyrAVA1P8Szgj99MPqCksUb3ee6nXsBF2uHcNe7Pm/s1600/not+sleepy+3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFPLlDhZuaapdkKIyUc4Ukyk9X8JcjpUUkFxGQHiG1ISbr_thQ0aOcD1IfzUYYeZ7umPpE1umzD9ZUwW1eqvBlvSCq7DDv_mTkSWhyrAVA1P8Szgj99MPqCksUb3ee6nXsBF2uHcNe7Pm/s400/not+sleepy+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473239812434846402" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sylvie was just...lost in a deep thought or tanning her face or something.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUK4VMcg0ec9AO04RPycBZXxYsaD2SAsBbAwqZP44P4ApulcyjQrC5uWog8A5pmgzdIm0VOl7rf7TQlNlTTfnSQrGIh23SjnINgSiq2Pi6rT6TX7zVRpdvc36XjZpW7VLWOofcQh4oZqk/s1600/not+sleepy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzUK4VMcg0ec9AO04RPycBZXxYsaD2SAsBbAwqZP44P4ApulcyjQrC5uWog8A5pmgzdIm0VOl7rf7TQlNlTTfnSQrGIh23SjnINgSiq2Pi6rT6TX7zVRpdvc36XjZpW7VLWOofcQh4oZqk/s400/not+sleepy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473239824556353826" border="0" /></a><br />Something like that.<br /><br />Definitely not sleeping, though.<br /><br />At least that's what she stated upon realizing we had suddenly returned home empty-handed.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-69764393078758090742010-05-18T13:11:00.003-07:002010-05-18T13:20:07.226-07:00FINALLY!!!I am happy to announce that after<span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"> EIGHT LONG YEARS</span></span> my band, <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">T<span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">h</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">e</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">M</span>e<span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">n</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">d</span>i<span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">n</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">g</span> </span><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">S</span>e<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">e</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">d</span></span></span></span> is finally putting out an actual album called "Broken Souls". It won't be available until July/August 2010, so we have agreed to release four singles for your listening pleasure.<br /><br />That in itself seems to be taking forever, but finally one new single "Before You Came Along" was released on CDBaby.com this morning, so if you care to listen and support our efforts, click on the link below and for 99 cents, you too can behold our hard work and hopefully appreciate it.<br /><br />To describe our sound, it's like The Cranberries, Sarah McLachlan, Enya, Jewel, Alanis Morissette, and Natalie Merchant were all thrown into a blender, mixed at the highest speed for ten seconds and then some classic, progressive and alternative rock spice was sprinkled on top, with a little sprig of ethereal vocal layering as a garnish.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">DRINK UP! </span></span><br /><br />http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/MendingSeedKristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-54009090380536268332010-05-17T11:02:00.003-07:002010-05-17T11:27:50.946-07:00New Information!I know Superman has been around a long time and we all pretty much know everything there is to know about him. Well....maybe not everything....unless you're a total comic book geek. I'm not gonna' mention any names, but...you know who you are - Florida boy. ANYWAY...<br /><br />So, last night I was supervising my 4-year-old brushing her teeth for bed when I heard singing. And these were the lyrics:<br /><br />La La La La La La<br />I'm Superman the elf<br />La La La La<br />I'm Superman the elf<br /><br />Of course this piqued my curiosity because the information in the lyrics was very confusing to me. I mean, I've seen the Superman movies. I was totally in LOVE with Christopher Reeve when I was like 7 and I know that was a long time ago, but I think I would remember whether or not he was an elf.<br /><br />I do realize the man wore tights and elves also wear tights, but I do not recall pointy ears, pointy shoes, and also him being small enough to fit in my hand (although I won't deny that that does appeal to me on some levels). ANYWAY....<br /><br />When I rounded the corner, this is the scene I beheld:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJgTMWhLbEx1HM-qm7cLprIKiCOSTVOiUbunztolRn6kRkxidQ1EVVXbEeltmKyjqckcZBckk0QVPxX9Wji_zawsBctuEu65KOcBPA0X52BVfeUt60EkURKAOCcnsdLGhcHRba4jW6qmP/s1600/superman+the+elf.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJgTMWhLbEx1HM-qm7cLprIKiCOSTVOiUbunztolRn6kRkxidQ1EVVXbEeltmKyjqckcZBckk0QVPxX9Wji_zawsBctuEu65KOcBPA0X52BVfeUt60EkURKAOCcnsdLGhcHRba4jW6qmP/s400/superman+the+elf.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472303080793084898" border="0" /></a>This blond, caped creature standing over my baby boy, ordering him to move because she needed room to take off in flight.<br /><br />"What's going on in here?" I asked, my hands on my hips.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEieTkNi-7HqO7FDFEuARVmFLJhLgAAH1xAmlCMaNs__Igz01sHnSJTkKG3UT9rgSn2cktN_YUOCiA9ba1J-1UhtAG1asjyst96GC0oFOFOIETMphGQnTHaq1insoKzZ0nSGdKMq39mB-/s1600/superman+the+elf+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEieTkNi-7HqO7FDFEuARVmFLJhLgAAH1xAmlCMaNs__Igz01sHnSJTkKG3UT9rgSn2cktN_YUOCiA9ba1J-1UhtAG1asjyst96GC0oFOFOIETMphGQnTHaq1insoKzZ0nSGdKMq39mB-/s400/superman+the+elf+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472303089133336738" border="0" /></a>The creature whipped around and stated, "Wellw..I'm Supoman da elf and dat baby is in my way 'cause I need to fwy now."<br /><br />"Superman is an<span style="font-style: italic;"> elf</span>?" I asked in surprise.<br /><br />"Wellllw....." it began and then sheepishly smiled and hung it's head, rubbing it's foot against the carpet with a nervous giggle. "Yeeeaah."<br /><br />So, there you go. You've just learned something new today. Superman can also take the form of an elf. But don't worry - it apparently specifies when it's in elf form by calling itself Superman the elf, so as not to cause any confusion.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-69997564307119681372010-05-08T10:33:00.003-07:002010-05-08T11:03:15.327-07:00Slight MisinterpretationOn Monday nights we try (try being the key word) to sit down with our children and read scripture and have a little religious lesson. It's what we call "Family Home Evening". Because most of our children are so young, the lessons are very short and usually involve pictures or objects to keep their attention.<br /><br />Recently I found this great resource at our church bookstore - a small booklet with CD to print out lessons with pictures and activities. Of course, I snatched that right up (I'll take all the help I can get) and brought it home in a rush of excitement where I whipped it out of the bag, showed it my husband with a huge grin on my face and then put it on the shelf...where it sat for weeks.<br /><br />One Monday night I thought, "We haven't had a Family Home Evening in a few weeks. I should try to put something together for tonight." So I paced about, opening a couple of closets, looking on shelves, trying to get an idea. Then it dawned on me, "Oh yeah! I bought a book to help me with this."<br /><br />I found the book, chose a lesson that looked easy to put together at the last second, printed out the picture puzzle activity and let my anxious little helpers (my 3 and 4-year-old daughters) help me color them quick.<br /><br />Then I told my husband I had something ready, we gathered the family together at our kitchen table and I proceeded to give a quick little lesson and then laid out the puzzle pieces. "OK kids. I have puzzles here with two pieces. One piece is over here on THIS side of the table", I said, pointing to my left. "And these are the matching pieces over HERE." I pointed to my right.<br /><br />We proceeded to go around the table and let each person pick an action piece and then try to find the consequence piece that matched. My girls struggled a little bit with matching up the pieces since they can't read and, as we soon discovered, they struggled to interpret the meaning behind the pictures.<br /><br />Here's how it went:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RRJTuHYEzoO7gePNV-cNlaGFL__EtDfIEdbeH79SQwdm37kHEdRbuq7RXNW6DOHZyzw2_nnBrZwedfCcpF4CztQKwnIF-Hl7JLGjyMpt4tLY7Lk88ikJ5clubYjt-8dsZh0LWEIWegNF/s1600/FHE4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RRJTuHYEzoO7gePNV-cNlaGFL__EtDfIEdbeH79SQwdm37kHEdRbuq7RXNW6DOHZyzw2_nnBrZwedfCcpF4CztQKwnIF-Hl7JLGjyMpt4tLY7Lk88ikJ5clubYjt-8dsZh0LWEIWegNF/s400/FHE4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468955978319806306" border="0" /></a><br />ME: OK, Chloe. Yours says "Obey the Word of Wisdom."<br /><br />With some help I pushed the matching piece over and asked, "What happens when we don't smoke and drink and we don't do drugs and we eat good food and take care of our bodies?"<br /><br />CHLOE: Ummmm......uhhhhhhh.....well, we could put our fingos (fingers) in our eaws (ears) (she grinned a toothy grin of satisfaction).<br /><br />Immediately the table erupted into laughter and her look became confused.<br /><br />CHLOE: Well, dat boy is putting his fingos in his eaws, mommy.<br /><br />ME: I know it looks like that, honey. But look at those big muscles. He's flexing his muscles. See? He's strong and healthy.<br /><br />CHLOE: Yeah. Stong and Helfy. (She giggled in delight).<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0eNC0l6SIeykkNmJVba8HkIdC6v8r3ef4RxddCqTi6YvTbS6IQxfBhn4yCbKLMY7nU9Sg3627ZNh6MQyhBaun6g_m2Cc2o_C9wf4NZ8XnQyR9deNb5dXSaPu7BOi4fHi8272Fw7qT0P6/s1600/FHE1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0eNC0l6SIeykkNmJVba8HkIdC6v8r3ef4RxddCqTi6YvTbS6IQxfBhn4yCbKLMY7nU9Sg3627ZNh6MQyhBaun6g_m2Cc2o_C9wf4NZ8XnQyR9deNb5dXSaPu7BOi4fHi8272Fw7qT0P6/s400/FHE1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468955947007876242" border="0" /></a><br />ME: OK. Sylvie's turn. What happens when we say our prayers?<br /><br />SYLVIE: Ummm....it's gonna rain out of a cloud.<br /><br />Bertrand and I chuckled. John rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.<br /><br />ME: Well, honey, if we pray for rain maybe Heavenly Father will make it rain. But...<br /><br />SYLVIE: (Interrupting) Mommy, why did you make the rain look like a fire? Why did you do that, mommy?<br /><br />ME: Well, that's the sun poking through the clouds.<br /><br />SYLVIE: Well, that's supposed to be rain, mommy. You did it wrong.<br /><br />ME: OK. I'm sorry. But you know what it says? It says Heavenly Father will help us. If we say our prayers He listens to us and He can help us.<br /><br />SYLVIE: (Bored) OK, mommy. That's enough. That's enough talking now. I want it to be somebody else's turn.<br /><br />ME: (Heaving a sigh) OK. John. It's your turn.<br /><br />Finally we got to Chloe's turn again.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FSi2SghkUJHX1h8P0w5deIcW8lrdUBiFCgZbMD7nYVuJyGiYV_WFUqu9lw4GjPqfK0Pls428BE9sdJqUMu9lLuAaO_cQ_wfcZn8O0OB_1FAv8RqotyO-Vi-N_T7PjrTX4NGxNByp7ild/s1600/FHE2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FSi2SghkUJHX1h8P0w5deIcW8lrdUBiFCgZbMD7nYVuJyGiYV_WFUqu9lw4GjPqfK0Pls428BE9sdJqUMu9lLuAaO_cQ_wfcZn8O0OB_1FAv8RqotyO-Vi-N_T7PjrTX4NGxNByp7ild/s400/FHE2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468955960482775186" border="0" /></a>ME: Chloe, what happens when we're happy at home? If we smile and give each other hugs and treat each other nice - what do you think happens?<br /><br />CHLOE: Well....pokey fings (things) come out of a boy's head.<br /><br />The table erupts into laughter again.<br /><br />JOHN: Well, it's true. These pictures are gay, mom. How are they supposed to know what's happening?<br /><br />ME: John, don't say that, please. That's not nice. Let's just help them try to understand, OK?<br /><br />John rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath again.<br /><br />SYLVIE: But mom, what ARE those things? Those things coming out of that boy's head - what are those? Is he shooting bullets from his head?<br /><br />ME: (Giggling) No. Oh my gosh. OK. This isn't working.<br /><br />I look at Bertrand helplessly. He shrugs in response. I return a slight glare. Bertrand leans forward and proceeds to explain the picture.<br /><br />Then it was Sylvie's turn again.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0xnQTDWa4nJA_FXNs9DUl0ucPO6BEoexam3I2NGRxH_qK3fKrMwy_5T7zmtorHm-c8BWRDpVWWbaJAqBCPZyoac2XbAUBspUrYvyf7ueZYtfbpaYGsWxderw5hV02SFzk9oiainMBJk1/s1600/FHE3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0xnQTDWa4nJA_FXNs9DUl0ucPO6BEoexam3I2NGRxH_qK3fKrMwy_5T7zmtorHm-c8BWRDpVWWbaJAqBCPZyoac2XbAUBspUrYvyf7ueZYtfbpaYGsWxderw5hV02SFzk9oiainMBJk1/s400/FHE3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468955969336065618" border="0" /></a><br />ME: Oh, this is a good one too. When we're reverent in church, do you know what happens? Look at those kids.<br /><br />SYLVIE: (Scratching her head and contorting her face) Mom, why are they touching their boobies?<br /><br />Chloe and Sylvie burst into a giggling fit.<br /><br />I immediately dropped my head into my hands and tugged at my hair as I tried to stifle my laughter.<br /><br />JOHN: (Extremely annoyed) Oh my GOSH!<br /><br />He heaves a huge sigh and lays his head on the table.<br /><br />I finally looked at Bertrand and said, "Honey, I give up. Can you step in here and help me out?"<br /><br />He held his hands up and said, "What do you want me to say?"<br /><br />"I don't know", I half laughed, half whined.<br /><br />Luckily, Bertrand took over and saved the day and Family Home Evening ended within a few minutes and we were onto root beer floats.<br /><br />(SIGH) I'm gonna' have to look at these lessons a little more closely before I give one next time.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-38791289604825941582010-05-04T12:50:00.002-07:002010-05-04T14:08:50.215-07:00It's What's Meant To BeThey say everything happens for a reason. It's what I've had to tell myself for a while now through everything I've been through. It's part of what gets me through (besides making light of everything and having a good laugh in lieu of driving off the nearest cliff).<br /><br />And so, I have a very powerful story of faith and prayer to share with you.<br /><br />Some amazing changes have just come about within the last hour and they are UN-believable!<br /><br />As many of you know, I have a passion for music and together with my husband and my good friend, Brian, who are both amazing talents, I have been writing and recording music and trying to get an album released for a long time now.<br /><br />But there have been many obstacles:<br />1. Four children (three ages 4 and under).<br />2. Full time job transcribing medical reports.<br />3. Lack of inspiration, probably most likely due to fatigue.<br />4. Lack of funds due to financial strain.<br /><br />Since the day I turned 19 and married for the first time, I have been required to work full time. My income has been needed. And I have worked long and hard improving upon my skills, studying in my spare time to keep abreast of the latest information needed to do my job properly and make myself into the ultimate transcribing robot - an irreplaceable one.<br /><br />In the eleven years that I have worked in this field, I have never been without work. I may have switched up which company I worked for or whether or not I even worked for a company, but I have NEVER had a lapse in work EVER.<br /><br />A lot of difficult things have happened for myself and my little family. In spite of our many efforts to budget our money, pay our tithing (I'm Mormon - we pay 10% back to the church. I know those of you who are not of my faith may find this ludicrous, especially in my situation, but my husband and I view it as a privilege and gladly pay it, relying on our faith in God to provide for us, which He always has), etc., we are constantly late on bills, wondering where our next meal is going to come from, and lie awake many nights trying to figure out how to better our situation.<br /><br />We have taken on more work, sought out work, worked longer hours, and constantly arranged and re-arranged - just trying ANYTHING to better our lives, but to no avail.<br /><br />Always, this urge to work on music and produce an album has been in the back of my mind and whatever little time and energy I've had, I've written, but the process has been long and tedious and still, after all these years (since 2004), I've never really put out a solid album for sale or taken it to that next level that I would need to in order to make this my career. Part of me has always been afraid. I've never had the faith, I guess, to take that leap and make it happen. It's always been further down my list of priorities because I always had work and children calling.<br /><br />My recent effort to better our situation included putting my children into full time daycare. I felt this would enable me to "crank" out the work and make at least double what I've been making, which would in turn help us climb up out of our hole. In the last couple of weeks, despite my efforts, I've always been exhausted, distracted, and just couldn't quite produce the amount of work I wanted to. I felt a depression over my family issues and our financial issues, and my baby boy hasn't been sleeping much, and basically my whole world has been falling apart.<br /><br />My husband is always telling me to work on the music. "That is what we need to be focusing on. " I've always snapped back at him that that is ridiculous and we need money and the music will have to wait.<br /><br />During this last week, I noticed my infant son acting strangely. He seemed to focus on something in a room and would smile and babble in his baby talk. He even lifted his hand and waved several times. I would turn and try to look and he would squirm around, trying to keep his gaze on whatever it was.<br /><br />One morning, around 2:00 AM, he awoke and, completely exhausted, I stumbled out of bed, picked him up and staggered down the hall. I prepared him a bottle and fed him, but he kept pulling away, staring at a spot in the room and smiling and babbling. I would roll my eyes and sigh and say, "Come on, Mr. Z. Drink your bottle, baby." When he finished, he fought to sit up on my lap, so I held him up and he raised his hand and waved and said, "Hi." He's ONLY 8 1/2 months. My eyes practically bugged out of my head and I said, "Did you just say hi?" He smiled at me and then turned back to the spot in the room, waved his hand again and said, "Gampa." My mouth DROPPED open.<br /><br />Bertrand's father passed away many years ago from cancer. I never had the opportunity to meet him, but often Bertrand has expressed that he can feel his presence and that he feels his father, a once famous musician in France, is guiding him as he plays the drums. And now, here he seemed to be - in the room with us - and my baby was excitedly waving and trying to speak to him. I felt goosebumps all over my body. I didn't feel fear, just calm and wonderment.<br /><br />And t hen this last weekend I finally fell into it - a huge depression. I mean HUGE! I've been so down, I didn't want to be around anyone, didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to do anything, didn't want to eat or sleep, just plain didn't care. I would sit in front of my computer and just stare blankly.<br /><br />Finally, my husband offered to give me a priesthood blessing - a blessing of comfort and peace. ANYTHING to help me out of my emotional abyss. I was so numb and empty, I thanked him, but declined stating that I didn't think anything could help me and I just wanted to be left alone. I told him, "I can figure this out. I always do. I just need to be left alone and I will do my crying and feeling sorry for myself and then I will get up and take action and fix this." And so, knowing full well my stubborn nature, he helplessly walked away and let me be.<br /><br />On Sunday I didn't attend church. I was so exhausted I could barely move. I knew it was emotional exhaustion causing an overwhelming physical exhaustion. I just laid there and let my husband take care of the children and ready himself for church as he had a lesson to give. I felt terrible inside. I watched my dear, sweet husband just patiently deal with all of this and I knew it wasn't fair what I was doing to him...and to my children.<br /><br />Finally, Sunday afternoon, I approached my husband and said, "Can you give me a blessing now?"<br /><br />He said nothing.<br /><br />I said, "Honey? Did you hear me?"<br /><br />He said, "Yeah. Are you sure?"<br /><br />I sighed deeply and said, "Yeah. I need help. I've finally realized I can't do this alone and I need a blessing to get me through this."<br /><br />And so he followed me into our bedroom where he laid his hands on my head and after a few moments began to give me a blessing of comfort and peace through his priesthood power. I sat there very numb. I tried to feel something, but I couldn't. In fact, I started feeling a slight annoyance over his blessing. A lot of the things he said I felt were just him giving me a lecture - telling me to stay close to the Lord, read my scriptures, appreciate and draw closer to my children, remember the talents I was blessed with and focus my attention on those. One thing he said a couple of times was, "You know what you have to do."<br /><br />As soon as he was done, I sat there a few moments silently. He stepped back and looked at me and asked, "Do you feel better?" I sighed and glanced over at him and replied, tonelessly, "Yeah. Thanks, honey." Then I proceeded to walk away.<br /><br />"What part of the blessing made you feel better?" He asked.<br /><br />I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly turned around and shrugged and said, "I don't know. I guess all of it. I know - I need to read my scriptures and pray and....yeah."<br /><br />Later that evening, the tension between us grew and I finally spilled it to him later in our room.<br />"I'm sorry, hon, but it just felt like you were giving me a lecture or something. I worry that those words were your own and not coming from the Lord."<br /><br />I saw the expression on his face instantly turn to anger, but he tried to suppress it. "Fine", he calmly replied. "Let me call another man from the ward and have HIM come give you a blessing. Who do you trust to give you a better blessing? Tell me and I'll call him."<br /><br />I released a huge sigh and looked down and said, "No, hon. I don't want that. I'm sorry. I just....I don't know what's wrong with me. I just feel so numb right now. And lost. Thank you for the blessing. I'm so sorry I said those things. That was terrible. Thank you for bringing the priesthood into our home and blessing our lives with it. And thank you for being so willing to give me and our children a blessing whenever we need it." I hugged him, but I could feel the tension and hurt in him, so I let him be.<br /><br />Monday evening I reluctantly agreed to jam with Bertrand. I had written a new song and he was trying to solidify his drumming on it. We ran through the song a few times and I perked up a bit. He was solid. It sounded so good. It renewed my hope that we could do this and it would be good.<br /><br />I expressed my excitement to him and said, "Let's make a point to jam every night and then try to get into the studio next week if we get some more money in and get this song laid down properly." He agreed and we went about our evening, getting kids into bed, etc. Later that night I felt inspired to work on music and so I worked until midnight. By that point I was literally nodding off as I composed. I think the fact that I was working on "Forbidden Love Lullaby", key word being "lullaby" didn't help my situation.<br /><br />And then TODAY happened. And the turn of events was CRAZY! ABSOLUTELY CRAZY!!!!<br /><br />It all started with me dropping my kids off at daycare, returning home and just staring at my keyboard. I couldn't bring myself to work. I didn't want to. I felt so much inspiration and I just wanted to work on music. I decided to put off my work for a little while longer and just sit down at my keyboard for a moment. After working on music for about an hour I stared out the window and thought, "I wish I'd just lose my job so I could work on music all day."<br /><br />Then, realizing that my kids were in daycare, I was paying for their time to be there and I needed to make money to be able to pay for that and our bills, I arose from my keyboard, sat at my computer, downloaded some files and slowly began to type, heaving several sighs as I went along, occasionally glancing at my keyboard.<br /><br />My good friend, Jenn, called me and we visited for a few minutes and then I heard another call coming through. I pulled the phone back, saw that it was my manager from the transcription company I worked for, and told Jenn I had to go.<br /><br />I clicked over and the conversation went like this:<br /><br />PSI: Hi Kristin. How are you?<br />ME: Fine, thanks.<br />PSI: You sure?<br />ME: Yeees. (chuckling)<br />PSI: I have really bad news. (heaving a big sigh)<br />ME: Ok.<br />PSI: We've just lost half of our accounts and there's no way we can keep everyone busy enough, so we have to lay off 50 transcriptionists. This decision has been very difficult and it has nothing to do with your quality of work or anything. It's just that you haven't been with us as long as some of the others and so....we have to let you go.<br />ME: (Very matter-of-fact). Ok. That's Ok.<br /><br />I felt so much peace, it was insane! It was SO unlike me! I typically remain calm, but inside it's like the lions have escaped at the zoo and they're ravenously hungry and the overcrowded zoo is running for the gate all at the same time and people are getting trampled and....you get the idea.<br /><br />But this time was different. I felt totally calm. It was almost like I had expected this phone call and it was all very matter-of-fact and no big deal.<br /><br />My manager proceeded to tell me that she couldn't even give me any notice - that I needed to stop working right then and there and call the computer guy for the company to help talk me through erasing everything from my system. I agreed and thanked her and said, "It's Ok. I'll call him right now. Thanks."<br /><br />She gave me the name and number of the company that had taken over the accounts and informed me that they were short-staffed and hiring. She urged me to call them and see if I could get on. Then she promised that if they received any new accounts, I'd be one of the first hired back. I thanked her and hung up.<br /><br />I called the company in Utah and spoke to the manager. She warned me that many transcriptionists from PSI had already called and that when they heard about the terms with this new company, they ran away screaming. I chuckled and said, "It's OK. I've worked in many different types of situations, so I'm sure it won't be foreign to me." She agreed to send me the information and told me to call her if I was still interested.<br /><br />During that conversation, Bertrand stopped in briefly. As I spoke on the phone, I scribbled out the words, "I just got laid off" on a piece of paper. His eyes bugged out of his head and he gasped, "Are you SERIOUS? Oh my gosh. You're joking, right?" I smiled and shook my head "no." Then I held up a finger to signal I needed just a minute and mouthed the words, "It's OK."<br /><br />After getting off the phone with the manager and assuring my husband that all would be well and that I felt peace over this. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as it hit me - I need to pray. I need the Lord to guide me. This is all happening for a reason and I know He'll direct me and watch over us like He always has. I explained this to my husband with tear-filled eyes and he asked, "Then why are you crying - if you feel so much peace?" I responded, "Because. I know that everything will be Ok. I feel so much peace right now and I actually I'm excited to discover what's in store for me now."<br /><br />I then prodded him along to go back to work and told him I needed to be alone to pray and think about this and figure out what to do next. He left and I immediately proceeded to check out the latest transcription job postings on line.<br /><br />They were grim. Bad hours. Bad pay. Bad conditions over all. I realized quickly that I had been spoiled by PSI and that I wasn't about to find anything like it with any other company. The only jobs available right now require me to work weekends, Saturday AND Sunday - ALL DAY or work midnight to 5:00 AM.<br /><br />I decided to stick with my original plan and retreat to my room to kneel and pray and ask for the Lord's guidance. As I knelt, I pondered for a few minutes what was happening and the words of the blessing I had received entered my mind again. I thought for a moment about what I wanted to ask the Lord and then I began my prayer.<br /><br />I started out asking, "Please help me to be able to know if transcription is the right avenue for me to continue in. I feel like I should try to apply for jobs and find another job quickly in that field to help us through while I continue to work on my album and...."<br /><br />My mind went blank. Absolutely blank. I had ZERO thoughts. It was like a room with four white walls and there was nothing in it. NOTHING! I knelt there completely dumb-founded. I finally opened my eyes and looked heavenward and thought, "This is weird." Then I remembered what I had learned - if you have a stupor of thought, that's the answer that something isn't right. I thought for a minute and then decided to change what I was asking for. I closed my eyes and began again - "Please help me to know if this is right to concentrate on the music now. I have my children in daycare the rest of this week and it's already paid for, so if it's right for me to take this time to finish my album, please help me to know that this is right. I feel like I should take advantage of this time and..."<br /><br />And that's when the ideas came flooding to my head like a dam breaking and the waters overtaking.<br /><br />Finish the album.<br />Don't look for another job.<br />Take full advantage of this week your kids are in daycare.<br />Call Brian right now.<br />Tell him you need to get into the studio and finish the album this week.<br />Tell him you don't have money to pay him right now. He'll be OK to wait for the money.<br />Tell him you need as much time as he has to give you.<br />Work on music every night with Bertrand.<br />He's ready with the drums. There's no need to wait.<br />He can do this.<br />You can do this.<br />You're ready.<br />Now is the time.<br />Put whatever music you get done this week on I-tunes.<br />The money will come in from that and get you by until the album is completely finished and ready to put out.<br /><br />I just knelt there, my mouth gaping open, the thoughts flowing through my mind like a waterfall. And then they stopped. And I suddenly felt a warmth and peace. I slowly stood up and stared out the window for a second.<br /><br />Then I grabbed the phone and called Brian. I got his voicemail, so I left a message for him to call me back as SOON as he got a chance.<br /><br />Then I called and explained to Bertrand what had just happened. I could hear him sniffling on the other end.<br /><br />"Are you OK, honey?" I asked.<br /><br />"Yep. I know this is the right thing too." He replied. "Those words in the blessing I gave you were NOT MINE! I promise you that. I've been waiting for you to figure that out."<br /><br />I began to sniffle with him over the phone.<br /><br />Just then the other line rang. It was Brian. I told Bertrand I had to go and clicked over.<br /><br />"Kristin's transcription", Brian said with a laugh. He always greets me this way.<br /><br />"Not anymore", I stated proudly.<br /><br />"WHAT? What's going on?" He nearly shouted into the phone.<br /><br />"I've been laid off."<br /><br />"Are you kidding me? What's happening?"<br /><br />"Brian. I don't mean to get all religious fanatic on you, but..."<br /><br />"Oh no", he grumbled and then chuckled. "OK. Let's have it."<br /><br />I then proceeded to tell Brian the nutshell version of this extremely long story. And, just as my answer from the Lord had come to me, he was completely on board AND, amazingly, the rest of his week was completely open.<br /><br />"Bring Bertrand's drums in Wednesday night. We'll get everything set up, tuned and ready to go. Thursday he can come in and lay down the drums. Then we'll spend the rest of the week getting all of your stuff down."<br /><br />I was overjoyed. Then came the important part - "Brian", I started in. "I can't pay you right now."<br /><br />"That's Ok." He responded. "I can wait."<br /><br />"Brian. As soon as my tax return arrives, I will pay you for all of the hours you've spent with me in the studio."<br /><br />"Sounds good to me. I'm fine." He replied again.<br /><br />This is Brian's livelihood. It's how he makes his money. Things haven't exactly been easy for him either and yet here he was agreeing to just let me come spend hours and hours, day after day in his studio without paying right now.<br /><br />And so, this is the plan. I will continue to pray and seek guidance and I will stay on the course and keep the faith. I have NO idea what happens after that, but I have to focus on the task at hand - get as many songs completed and mixed this week and get them on I-tunes and my strong impression is that all of these people from all over the world who have been begging for us to put our music out there for them to buy will come through and buy it.<br /><br />This has just been an amazing experience and I know that there will still be obstacles. My faith will still be tested, possibly even very severely. But I know that through all of this, the Lord will guide me if I just stay close to Him. If I just do exactly what I feel impressed to do - no matter how grim things may look. I know this is what I'm supposed to be doing and I know somehow we will make it through.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-87779994556465606502010-04-30T07:22:00.006-07:002010-04-30T07:48:14.735-07:00I Don't Know What To SayI always knew this day would come.<br /><br />I always knew someday I would hear these words.<br /><br />I just didn't know it would be this soon.<br /><br />But last night I just received word that I'm going to be a grandmother.<br /><br />My first reaction was "I'm too YOUNG! I'm only 34! This isn't supposed to be happening to me right now!"<br /><br />But then I realized it's not about me.<br /><br />Even more surprising is that it's not just <span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102); font-weight: bold;">ONE</span>, but <span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">TWO</span></span> babies!<br /><br />And apparently this news has been kept a secret for quite some time because we already know what the babies are.<br /><br />But I haven't even told you the most disturbing part about all this.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7JNajZGKqzgdlk8d52gox910AB2IwMDWMf65a7fb9rzACx871L3EjBJENFT1XlkOlKyH5T9l4465ABC3xScslMCnK71FQygiUFMgMVK8u8m5Eg0SLo0yp71R7S71e-er31eHHM3RFzUv/s1600/pregnant+girls+2.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7JNajZGKqzgdlk8d52gox910AB2IwMDWMf65a7fb9rzACx871L3EjBJENFT1XlkOlKyH5T9l4465ABC3xScslMCnK71FQygiUFMgMVK8u8m5Eg0SLo0yp71R7S71e-er31eHHM3RFzUv/s400/pregnant+girls+2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465939386007785666" border="0" /></a><br />BOTH of my daughters are pregnant! At the same time!<br /><br />Oh, no - it gets even better:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpumNUQVgG0AsN-F8k6VYQ2pkojulpVfoFBhkZPn7z1GTk9-T5iySOq9DKA1c-52CG1Mil8kL_QbPxzS8mYohBvvgM9LGxQzwWu-ew7vGKStt-w7vpkmqCewTWYtnrAwkAGorU0_mB_Ncx/s1600/pregnant+girls+4.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpumNUQVgG0AsN-F8k6VYQ2pkojulpVfoFBhkZPn7z1GTk9-T5iySOq9DKA1c-52CG1Mil8kL_QbPxzS8mYohBvvgM9LGxQzwWu-ew7vGKStt-w7vpkmqCewTWYtnrAwkAGorU0_mB_Ncx/s400/pregnant+girls+4.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465940550360634466" border="0" /></a><br />Sylvie is carrying a <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >CAT!</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"> </span>Yes, you're reading that right! There's a cat in there!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLpKoq8onvM5vCMa_e1yoV2dQRIvxZ9M5Z8AzYLiO3Vi4u-pMkpAHNa6EuXpz6ychf3I_yBqSHcSITmmKZ2TbKwlDiDasWRiuKBk0hxnEPUE7egINY14mU7mDwW9NXKPPTmK_Ck4HwNkC/s1600/pregnant+girls+5.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLpKoq8onvM5vCMa_e1yoV2dQRIvxZ9M5Z8AzYLiO3Vi4u-pMkpAHNa6EuXpz6ychf3I_yBqSHcSITmmKZ2TbKwlDiDasWRiuKBk0hxnEPUE7egINY14mU7mDwW9NXKPPTmK_Ck4HwNkC/s400/pregnant+girls+5.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465940560796887138" border="0" /></a>Chloe is carrying a <span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51); font-weight: bold;">MONKEY!</span></span><br /><br />I don't even wanna' know. All I have to say is - "Bertrand! I TOLD you it was a bad idea to let them take their stuffed animals to bed with them every night!"<br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyNw1hRzusrvTowWEL5xGDOwax5PAITnBxt5gQYlksKCwZsQW7rOjM6VUO0-dZmFcqt3a3PVCQCYQ4ZlLk4-t8CJ9z_1JhA2-8CPkNhKep3nuDfIg76IpJ2WRPsEX9ukH_bTZ1nnLs7pa/s1600/pregnant+girls+1.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyNw1hRzusrvTowWEL5xGDOwax5PAITnBxt5gQYlksKCwZsQW7rOjM6VUO0-dZmFcqt3a3PVCQCYQ4ZlLk4-t8CJ9z_1JhA2-8CPkNhKep3nuDfIg76IpJ2WRPsEX9ukH_bTZ1nnLs7pa/s400/pregnant+girls+1.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465939851177369682" border="0" /></a>Toward the end of this photo shoot, Sylvie informed me that she was having "conTRAPtions" and then both of my daughters grabbed their bellies, hunched over, moaned and waddled to the family room couches, laid on their backs and wailed and squirmed about and then proceeded to deliver their own babies within seconds of each other.<br /><br />Let me tell ya' - never before in the history of this earth has a more disturbing sight been beheld.<br /><br />But there you have it. I am now a grandmother to a baby cat and baby monkey. This is NOT going to look good on the family tree, but you know, worse things have happened to families like....I don't know.....ummm.....like.....oh, come on! Help me out here! Name some worse things that have happened besides 3 and 4-year-old girls birthing animals!<br /><br />OK, I don't know why, but I'm drawing a blank here. I'll think of some things, though. I mean, this can't be the worst thing that has ever happened! I refuse to believe it! I will find something more disturbing and post it ASAP!Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-58592425758997170122010-04-15T15:21:00.006-07:002010-04-15T20:52:58.349-07:00The Mall GameI hate those kiosks at the mall. I hate them because the sales people are aggressive....and rude. One time I walked past a T-Mobile stand and the sales guy winked at me and said, "Hey, how are you today, ma'am?" I immediately raised my hand to signal<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">STOP</span> and said, "I already have T-Mobile service, thank you." And then scurried on my way. Of course, this ticked the guy off so he came back at me with,"Wow. I wasn't trying to sell you anything. I was just saying hi. Excuuuuse ME!" And then I retaliated by tossing a "Whatever, jerk" look over my shoulder as I continued on.<br /><br />This just plain makes me hate the mall - period! Trying to get to the store I want is like trying to sneak across the Mexican/U.S. border without getting shot. Good luck with THAT!<br /><br />You have to have a strategy. This is where having young children comes in handy. If the enemy attempts to engage me, I simply point at my secret little weapons and shrug like, "Sorry. I would TOTALLY stand there and let you waste my time, but these little people won't let me. DANG them."<br /><br />Of course, once I reach my destination, I'm not so grateful for my little "helpers"<br /><br />But seriously! WHY do they have to be all Chester? If I wanted to buy something from them, I'd stop there - a concept their kind have apparently never heard of.<br /><br />ANYWAY...there's one particular kiosk, which is really tricky to get past and that's the <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); font-weight: bold;">Seacret</span></span> one. You know which one I'm talking about? There are typically foreign women running it. Tiny little things with black hair and heavy accents. There's no way around it. Believe me, I've tried getting at my favorite store from every angle, but when the dang kiosk is located RIGHT OUT FRONT of it, there's no hope. They call it Seacret because all of their products contain mud from the Dead Sea and it's like a secret formula...from the sea...like a secret potion from the sea. Get it? SEAcret?<br /><br />Thankfully, their associates are always women so the whole shrug and exaggerated pointing-out-my-young-snot-nosed-children maneuver always works. Women get that. Whether or not they have children of their own, they see those kids and they throw their hands up in surrender and back away. It's a beautiful thing, and one of those rare situations where I welcome rejection.<br /><br />But, recently I discovered they've got a new "Seacret" weapon of their own:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >A MANBOT! </span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;">DUN! DUN! DUNNN!</span></span><br /><br />I call it a manbot because there is NO WAY this thing is human. They pulled out ALL the stops when they created this thing. I mean it's got the foreign accent, attractive features, SOFT HANDS! And it's programmed to not take "NO" for an answer.<br /><br />So, the other day I took my girls to the mall on a little "date". And here I thought I was being smart with the air-conditioned building, the cute little doggies to look at, a play area AND it's free. It's almost PARADISE!<br /><br />And I'm walking along, walking along, minding my own business, pretending to discipline my girls so the kiosk people won't target me, and BAM! Out of nowhere - something soft and supple grabs my hand. I'm thinking, "Dang! These little ladies at the kiosk are getting aggressive!" But as I glance over at the hand encompassing mine, I notice it's larger than normal and the arm - a little hairier. My eyes slowly navigate their way up the biceps, over the shoulder and stop dead in their tracks on the hairy chin. "What's this?" I ask myself.<br /><br />"Hello there. Oooh, you've got nice skin. Yes. Very nice" it coos as it caresses my arm in long, gentle strokes.<br /><br />I let out a nervous chuckle and respond with "I've got little ones with me. Sorry. I have to..."<br /><br />"Hello beautiful little ladies." It reaches out and strokes an arm of each of my girls. "So lovely. How old?"<br /><br />"3 and 4", I respond very curtly and slightly agitated. "OK. We have to go now. Thanks anyway."<br /><br />The manbot steps RIGHT in front of me. "Tell me. What products are you using on your face?" And then it strokes my face with the back of it's silky soft hand.<br /><br />I draw in a breath to answer and then hesitate. It continues stroking my face and my mind just goes blank.<br /><br />"It no matter. Come. Let me show you something Vunderful. Please." And it pulls me back in - closer to the kiosk.<br /><br />"I..." I try to fight back, but the manbot's mind control powers quickly take over as it focuses its attention on my forearm, stroking again in long, gentle strokes.<br /><br />"Now just relax and let me show you something you will not believe."<br /><br />And I'm thinking, "I'm already seeing something I don't believe - I'm still here - at your stupid kiosk!"<br /><br />It begins rubbing a concoction onto my arm. It's cool and soothing and my mind immediately starts drifting to a white, sandy beach, the waves rhythmically drifting in, water lapping at my toes, seagulls gliding along on air currents...<br /><br />"Yes. Very nice." The bot continues in its specially programmed, soft-spoken voice. It goes through the motions of applying product, rubbing it in, then gently running cool water over my arm as I fade in and out of consciousness.<br /><br />And then it's over. Just like that. The manbot releases its grip and slides over to the product, hand-picking a certain jar. I slowly begin to regain my senses.<br /><br />"Now" it begins, its voice becoming more stern. "This product is a very special. You know that, right?" It caresses my arm for reinforcement.<br /><br />I politely smile. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the manbot, I'm plotting my escape.<br /><br />The bot is going on about the product and why it's amazing and why I need it and all of the ingredients that are in it, but I have no idea what it's saying, as I'm positioning my feet for a mad dash.<br /><br />THEN, as if the manbot can read my mind, it grabs my arm in a slightly tighter grip and pulls me in so close, our noses are practically touching. "I'm going to make you a deal because I know - these products are a very espensive. But you will be so happy. And I want you to be happy."<br /><br />"You do?" I reply sarcastically, a smirk on my face.<br /><br />"This I give you half price." The bot turns the jar around, exposing an $89 dollar price tag.<br /><br />"WHA....?" I practically shout.<br /><br />"No no no no. No no. Come. Wait. Please." It begins to beg.<br /><br />"Sorry" I respond, holding up my hand. "That's too much. I'm sure it's great, but I don't have money for that kind of thing right now. Thanks anyway." I quickly reach out to grab my girls' hands.<br /><br />The manbot proceeds to step in front of me YET AGAIN! "Look into my eyes."<br /><br />Reflexively, I glance up at his face and our eyes lock.<br /><br />"I really want you to have this product." It begins its pre-programmed dialogue again. "It will make you so happy. I want you to be happy."<br /><br />"I know." I reply sincerely. "And I appreciate that. I really do."<br /><br />"Tell you what. Let's talk about different product. Come. I show you."<br /><br />"Look I have no money." I begin to back away, holding up BOTH hands this time.<br /><br />But the expression on the manbot doesn't change. It simply internally switches to a different program. "How are your nails? We have nail boards. Not espensive."<br /><br />"I really have no money." I repeat, a desperate tone in my voice.<br /><br />"You have no money." The manbot repeats.<br /><br />"None. None at all. Zero." I hold up my fingers in the shape of a zero so it can get a visual. "I literally have no money in my bank account right now. I couldn't buy these products if I wanted to."<br /><br />And then, as if I had flipped the off switch, his head drops, his shoulders droop, and it slowly slides back into its corner. Completely shut down. Completely!<br /><br />I just stand there, gawking in disbelief. I shut him down.<br /><br />I had unlocked the secret code to winning the mall game. "I have no money." That's it!<br /><br />"That's IT?" I'm thinking. "That's all I have to say? WOW!"<br /><br />I'm so excited I just want to shout it at the top of my lungs. "I HAVE NO MONEY!"<br /><br />I want to run up and down the corridors and announce my victory. "I HAVE NO MONEY! Did you hear that? I! HAVE! NO! MONEY! HAHA! I am AWESOME!"<br /><br />"I have no money". It's that simple, folks. And now you know the secret to winning the mall game.Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3180848499292510226.post-24730206894821561772010-04-01T15:06:00.004-07:002010-04-01T15:32:39.174-07:00The AccidentBefore you read this, I just want to warn you that it's pretty graphic. I posted one picture - the only one I got. I tried to take a full shot of Bertrand, but he's so upset he won't let me. However, if you have a weak stomach, I'm warning you - this is really bad.<br /><br />I received a phone call this afternoon from Bertrand and all I could hear was panting into the phone. I rolled my eyes and just sat there waiting for him to knock it off. You see, today is April Fool's day and he had already stopped by home at one point and told me his truck was breaking down and he was negative in his bank account - just to scare me and get a reaction for April Fool's. I didn't react and he was very disappointed, but he went on his way and I figured that would be the end of it.<br /><br />So here he was now panting into the phone and I'm like, "Oh give it UP!" Finally, in an annoyed voice, I said, "Babe, I'm busy right now. What?"<br /><br />He continued panting. Then he spoke in a weak mumble, "I had an accident."<br /><br />I cackled into the phone. "WHATEVER! You'll NEVER get me!"<br /><br />He continued panting and then crying. At this point I paused and thought, "Either he's really hurt or he's insisting on taking this as far as he can until I fall for it."<br /><br />"Seriously, hon. I'm busy with work. What's going on?" I sighed.<br /><br />"I hurt myself bad. Really bad. I need you to come right now." He began crying into the phone.<br /><br />I perked up in my seat. "What happened? What kind of accident?"<br /><br />"Just get over here right now. I don't know what to do." He moaned.<br /><br />He told me which pool he was at and I jumped in my minivan full of fussy little kids and drove to the site, my heart pounding thinking "Okay, something IS wrong. There's no way he'd take a prank this far."<br /><br />When I arrived at the scene, I grabbed Zander, rolled down windows and told the girls to stay in the minivan. They started fussing and I said, "Hey! You just wait here a second. I'm going right over there where you can still see me. Just let me see what's wrong with Papa." With that, I made a mad dash over to him. He was on his knees, doubled over, holding his arm and crying. I saw something lying on the deck next to him, but without my glasses, I couldn't really tell what it was. As I got closer, it looked like...his arm. His forearm and hand. There was a lot of red stuff around him. It looked like blood. My stomach turned. I gasped and smacked my hand over my mouth.<br /><br />"What the....?" I gulped hard. When I got close enough I realized it WAS HIS ARM! His arm just about halfway up the forearm was completely OFF! Just lying there on the deck! I screamed and dropped to my knees. Zander jumped and immediately started crying hysterically. I set him down next to me and, clasped both hands over my mouth and just screamed and screamed. Bertrand looked up at me, tears just running down his face. I started bawling.<br /><br />"WHAT HAPPENED?!?!" I screamed. "WHAT HAPPENED?!?!"<br /><br />I ran back to the van with Zander and grabbed my cell phone and called 911.<br /><br />Anyway, long story short - the paramedics came and took Bertrand and his arm to the hospital. They had a cooler with ice ready and packed it in there, but we really had no idea at this point if they'd even be able to save it.<br /><br />Apparently Bertrand was fixing a pool heater and he lifted a really sharp, heavy part out by himself, which is a job that NO MAN should be doing by himself! He should have had someone there with him, but he was too impatient and just wanted to get the job done, so he tried to do it himself, lost his grip on the heavy part and it just fell and took his arm clean off. Just took the whole thing right in the middle of his forearm!<br /><br />At the hospital I took a picture with the camera Bertrand had in his truck.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_oZDbyjAz2CorXfGHscnBHyeN2Db78VPb7Pzk8D6yERwg9pCPC2sCB9dQ9BJOU3fP_dtIixfasf7CrUtpz1K2DfXrXdosdqI489Ir_l2lISqhP1FeU3njmTc3dST0oX3tgsr8OMbgJHMX/s1600/severed-hand.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_oZDbyjAz2CorXfGHscnBHyeN2Db78VPb7Pzk8D6yERwg9pCPC2sCB9dQ9BJOU3fP_dtIixfasf7CrUtpz1K2DfXrXdosdqI489Ir_l2lISqhP1FeU3njmTc3dST0oX3tgsr8OMbgJHMX/s400/severed-hand.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455296879106108242" border="0" /></a><br />So, I went to the hospital with all of the kids and sat and waited a while. The kids started fussing, so I took them home. I got them all taken care of and just collapsed on the couch in shock. And just sat and waited for the call from the hospital.<br /><br />They were NOT able to save his arm. There's nothing they can do. The best they offered up was to clean the wound, bandage it up, keep him on antibiotics in the hospital and later on down the road we can try to get him a prosthetic arm.<br /><br />To answer any questions that might come up:<br /><br />1. He will definitely be out of work for a long time, possibly indefinitely. We have actually already worked out a plan. I tried to get him to quit his job a while back. I can totally support us with my work, so we're just letting his truck go and I'll just work around the clock - Hey, at least we'll have medical benefits for all of us now.<br /><br />2. He will NEVER give up drumming. There have been one-armed drummers before him. He'll have to figure out a whole new way of drumming. This does put a damper on our album, but we'll find another drummer in the meantime until Bertrand is healed up and has had time to learn a new way to play.<br /><br />Anyway, we really appreciate the phone calls and support and the help everyone has offered. Many have offered to go visit him in the hospital, but he's really out of it right now. I'll be going back over there tonight to sit with him, but this is really shocking and upsetting and we kind of just want to be alone right now. Sorry if you've called and the phone just rang and rang. We don't have an answering machine. You can reach me on my cell phone. Don't call his. His is turned off right now.<br /><br />We'll get through this. Bertrand is the KING of freak accidents and health problems, so this is just really no surprise. Crazy that it happened on April Fool's Day and I just feel so bad that I didn't believe him at first.<br /><br />All I have to say right now is....<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:180%;" >APRIL FOOL'S SUCKAS! </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal;">If you are a face booker, please do NOT say anything about this being a joke on my FB page. I want to fool as many people as possible! MUHAHA! Please help me in my evil plight.</span> Admit it - you liked it! <span style="font-weight: normal;">Who doesn't love a good fake out? </span><br /></div></div>Kristin Coppeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14219578468874545703noreply@blogger.com6