<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687</id><updated>2012-02-16T03:55:13.841-08:00</updated><category term='first day of school'/><category term='fall'/><title type='text'>a day in the life of a cowboy's wife                                  and all other tales</title><subtitle type='html'>Del  Nicole  Ethan  Oliver  Dillon</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-4667585204614867226</id><published>2009-11-08T15:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-20T14:38:26.931-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='first day of school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fall'/><title type='text'>Fallin' into Winter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SwcTHwtkZCI/AAAAAAAAANU/9-cA4pn7eN8/s1600/Autumn+2009+049.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 251px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406310901737612322" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SwcTHwtkZCI/AAAAAAAAANU/9-cA4pn7eN8/s320/Autumn+2009+049.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;It is Sunday FUnDaY as my friend Karen calls it. I, of course as usual, am drawing a blank as I sit down to FINALLY write more on the family blog. Momma bear gave me a hard time on the phone the other day because I haven't updated in awhile. As I logged on to do this, I just checked hers and her family entry is even older than my last....go figure! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406310898881438034" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SwcTHmEmoVI/AAAAAAAAANM/UhHNjiKovNQ/s320/Summer+2009+160.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;This fall has been an interesting time. I thought having both big boys in school all day would allow me to accomplish much MUCH more, but boy was I wrong. I have learned that I accomplish more with some time constraints...when Dillon and I have nothing planned or I don't have any pressing work to do, I find that we just frolic the day away. Kindergarten broke the day up enough to keep me busy and on schedule. I am LOVING the time with Dillon, although we miss the brothers when they are gone. Dillon is quite bossy and I have apparantly told him he is 'being bossy,' because his new thing to tell me all day is, 'mom, you're a little bit bossy.' Pretty funny I think.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406310890793605698" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SwcTHH8UGkI/AAAAAAAAANE/8qwkekIPJaU/s320/Summer+2009+162.jpg" /&gt;Oliver and his friends, JP and Dominic on the first day of school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oliver is in Mr. Weber's first grade class. He is retiring this year and we are so happy we were able to have him as a teacher his last year. He is the "bug" guy of the school and even has a talk radio program on public radio on Friday afternoons, during which he talks all about bugs for the little audience. They have a gerbil, tarantula, hermit crabs, preying mantis, and many other creatures in their classroom. Needless to say, Oliver loves school and is learning all about bugs!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406310886763055122" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SwcTG47WyBI/AAAAAAAAAM8/tf12QWoaGNY/s320/Summer+2009+161.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ethan is in Mrs. Miller's class. He didn't want me to walk him to school on his first day...I made him, don't worry. He thinks she is a great teacher and is learning and excelling in all areas. His new thing is football and begs to go to the University of Montana football games with me (we only get two tickets). He has been taking his football to school everyday and plays on every recess. I love to hear his play by play details when he gets home from school. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;They started piano lessons yesterday and are quite excited. They fought over who got to practice when they got home and were really excited to show dad what they had learned....after all, mom knows nothing (after taking for 8 years) and dad is the piano king.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The mountains are teasing us, they are turning white and the level is slowly dropping. We got out the sleds and hung them up yesterday. Uncle Mark comes this weekend and they asked if we could go sledding...pray for snow!!! Mark is my baby brother :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-4667585204614867226?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/4667585204614867226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=4667585204614867226' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/4667585204614867226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/4667585204614867226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2009/11/fallin-into-winter.html' title='Fallin&apos; into Winter'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SwcTHwtkZCI/AAAAAAAAANU/9-cA4pn7eN8/s72-c/Autumn+2009+049.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-6897915050017757973</id><published>2009-08-10T08:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T10:02:18.293-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Happy Birthday Jon Dillon Post!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The big '3'. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Everyone loves Dillon. Ethan and Oliver both revel in his attention and love to play with him. They even go as far as, 'am I your best buddy?' and 'who do you like more? Me or Oliver'. It is funny because he is a little bully, a little crazy, a little bossy...alright, a lot bossy, a little aggressive, and a lot bit of fun. He is our monster. (read past posts about his obsession with Monsters)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Del's sister Mariann is pregnant with her second and Dillon learned the concept of having a baby or something else in your tummy from her pregnancy. One funny thing he says lately is, 'I have a baby monster in my tummy,' while pushing out his big belly. He has this really deep voice and just uses all kinds of different voices when he talks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to write more, but we are off to the lake with friends!! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-6897915050017757973?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/6897915050017757973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=6897915050017757973' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/6897915050017757973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/6897915050017757973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2009/08/happy-birthday-jon-dillon-post-big-3.html' title=''/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-860334776934659405</id><published>2009-06-07T22:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T22:34:08.226-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A few pet peeves (one of them is that term)</title><content type='html'>I wrote this blog months ago and never posted it. I am laughing now, but what the heck, I am posting it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not a grumpy or moody person (sorry if you feel differently about me). However, there are a few things that BUG me. Here are a few of the ones on the top of my list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;CALL WAITING. I am fine with people having it, but come on saying things like, "I have to get this call" or "I have another call" and "Oh, so and so is beeping in" is plain rude. In other words you are telling the person you are presently speaking with that, "someone more important than you is calling me" or "I'd rather talk to this person." There are exceptions in my mind, however. For instance, if your husband is beeping in on the other line and you say, "(husband's name, is calling me. Can I call you back?" or "the babysitter is calling, I need to see if everything is okay with the kids." Obviously, there are exceptions and phone ettiquette probably depends somewhat on who you are talking to. I personally do not have caller ID or call waiting (except on my cell phone). If you have call waiting and you have caller ID, you can see who is beeping in and call them later after politely getting off the phone.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Saying, "I'll let you go." Okay, I will be frank. I very much DISLIKE when someone says "I'll let you go." When in a phone conversation, how you end a phone call depends on who called who. Saying "I'll let you go" implies that the person you are speaking to wants to get off the phone. You shouldn't make that assumption unless they give you reason. If you are the one that needs to end the call, be honest and say, "I have to go, (give a brief reason)" or "Can I call you later? I need to go make dinner." Saying "I'll let you go now" is pretty much saying, I am done talking to you. That is how I feel anyway, so in that case you might as well say, "I don't want to talk to you anymore." If you are one of those people that says "I'll let you go," I realize you probably don't mean to make the person feel stupid for calling you, but think about it next time you are about to say it. If you have to get off the phone, say that. Also, if you did not call the person, you should never say, "I will let you go." The only person that should ever say, "I'll let you go," is the person who made the call. I am probably guilty of my own pet peeves. So please excuse the venting. Like I said earlier, I wrote all this months ago and never posted it. Please keep the phone calls coming...maybe I was in a grumpy mood when I wrote this. Who knows! &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344823978628223586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SiyhFykgEmI/AAAAAAAAAL4/JTYXEDdVwwI/s400/Franky.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I had to throw in a picture for fun, so I found this one to go along with the Peeve theme: Shoeing horses in my garage. Come on! Yes, they do poop everywhere. Del didn't want our puppy to sleep in the garage because, 'she will stink it up with dog smell.' I have to say walking into the garage while franky was being shawed (sp?) definately smelled worse than my puppy! I hope you enjoyed a moment in the life of a cowboy's wife.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-860334776934659405?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/860334776934659405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=860334776934659405' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/860334776934659405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/860334776934659405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2009/01/few-pet-peeves-one-of-them-is-that-term.html' title='A few pet peeves (one of them is that term)'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SiyhFykgEmI/AAAAAAAAAL4/JTYXEDdVwwI/s72-c/Franky.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-5328102919257517347</id><published>2009-05-01T21:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T22:06:37.874-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Monsters.....again</title><content type='html'>Dillon is haunted (or befriended) by monsters day in day out and night in and night out. It is kind of funny, creepy and weird. He woke up the other night at about 2:47 am and said the Monsters were teasing him. Another night he woke up and said they were sleeping by him. The other afternoon, they were in the garage, but Coconut (our puppy) ate them. He isn't really afraid and usually will go back to sleep just fine or continue playing, but isn't this just weird for a two-year old to be so creative? Dillon DILLON dillon Dillon. What a funny kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SfvSu1oJ7AI/AAAAAAAAALg/q9L3R7Axh9E/s1600-h/IMG_1033.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331086286034430978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SfvSu1oJ7AI/AAAAAAAAALg/q9L3R7Axh9E/s320/IMG_1033.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One day he decided to serve breakfast while we were still trying to get out of bed. Mmmm piles of rice krispies!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I am pretty sure he learned this one from his daddy. Reading the paper on the pot....specifically the Wrangler rodeo and team roping &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SfvSvKE2q0I/AAAAAAAAALo/HHBGI8pGAOs/s1600-h/IMG_1028.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331086291523513154" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SfvSvKE2q0I/AAAAAAAAALo/HHBGI8pGAOs/s320/IMG_1028.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SfvSvTPuBHI/AAAAAAAAALw/vXt9K-M3Tn8/s1600-h/Winter+09019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331086293985002610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SfvSvTPuBHI/AAAAAAAAALw/vXt9K-M3Tn8/s320/Winter+09019.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, well what can I say? Potty training is dangerouse stuff. You might fall in, fall off, hit your head, you never know when the helmet will come in handy. Seriously, he did fall in this week. It was pretty much just a head and knees poking up. He did not like me laughing as I pulled him back up. Another time, he was standing up on the stool and it slipped out from under him and he hit his chin on the toilet bowl. No wonder he doesn't like to tell me he has to go. I can say that it is getting much better. I don't know if he is potty trained or if we are (just take him every few hours and he is good to go, but if we forget, he doesn't usually tell us).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-5328102919257517347?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/5328102919257517347/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=5328102919257517347' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/5328102919257517347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/5328102919257517347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2009/05/monstersagain.html' title='Monsters.....again'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SfvSu1oJ7AI/AAAAAAAAALg/q9L3R7Axh9E/s72-c/IMG_1033.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-5286759943250176574</id><published>2009-03-29T17:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-29T18:03:23.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oliver Turns SIX!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAZlQCPvyI/AAAAAAAAALY/mD6YkEh_XY8/s1600-h/March09006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318779287674797858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAZlQCPvyI/AAAAAAAAALY/mD6YkEh_XY8/s320/March09006.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Talk about excited. This kid had a countdown going since mid January. When you only get a friend birthday party every two years, IT is a big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318769092185505746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAQTy4LP9I/AAAAAAAAAKQ/_iGrxDDNvVg/s320/March09009.jpg" border="0" /&gt;Oliver wanted to be part of the ENTIRE planning process. About three weeks before the big day, he wanted to make his invitations. They were so cute, he drew pictures of R2-D2 and different clone troopers and then colored them. I wish I had taken a picture. Everyday after that, he said, "mom, let's talk about my birthday," or "let's plan my party." It was so much fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318769103219933890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAQUb-_QsI/AAAAAAAAAKg/leRgO1dfjos/s320/March09029.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We played star wars bingo, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318769107093146466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAQUqaby2I/AAAAAAAAAKo/xTz3cP0JE-U/s320/March09011.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;jedi light saber training, pin the arm on R2D2, and ate a clone trooper helmet cake! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318769103308282722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAQUcUDW2I/AAAAAAAAAKY/LDJC7WT935I/s320/March09001.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318775791776293698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAWZwzF40I/AAAAAAAAAKw/Akk_Ap4CdVw/s320/IMG_1067.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The weekend before, we went skiing and snowboarding at Schweitzer Mountain in Sandpointe, Idaho and did a little family birthday on the slopes. Our neighbors (they are awesome) invited us to their cabin and offered to watch Dillon for the day why we took the boys skiing. Dennis and Dillon hung out in the lodge and did some sledding while Gwen met up with us for some afternoon skiing. The conditions were pretty extreme, but the temperature wasn't too bad. It was a little scary when we got off the lift at the top and couldn't see each other as we went down. The wind was so strong, we weren't able to get enough speed to descend the mountain quickly enough. After we FINALLY made it back to the bottom, we found a great high speed quad that only took us about 2/3rds the way to the top and fed into about five intermediate runs and the terrain park. We had a blast the rest of the day hitting the jumps and bumps. I am so proud of Ethan and Oliver and the tough skin they showed that day amid the conditions. We literally skied our legs off. I have never, and I mean NEVER, been so sore after a day on the slopes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318775796777912834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAWaDbkigI/AAAAAAAAAK4/vyLMc4_OCDI/s320/IMG_1070.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318775803928143378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAWaeEUZhI/AAAAAAAAALA/mDdceuPJdCA/s320/IMG_1073.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318775810230251506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAWa1i27_I/AAAAAAAAALI/Eyju5hSzVLQ/s320/IMG_1074.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318775818144319506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAWbTBuCBI/AAAAAAAAALQ/gjZmDkUhlBg/s320/IMG_1059.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;On our way up to the cabin, we pulled over to check out this herd of about 40 elk.  Sweet.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-5286759943250176574?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/5286759943250176574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=5286759943250176574' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/5286759943250176574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/5286759943250176574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2009/03/oliver-turns-six.html' title='Oliver Turns SIX!!'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SdAZlQCPvyI/AAAAAAAAALY/mD6YkEh_XY8/s72-c/March09006.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-2351040388587323497</id><published>2009-02-21T08:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T21:27:09.025-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eight is Great!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305301339238964274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SaA3dZe-HDI/AAAAAAAAAJg/7STDHGVDvJc/s400/Winter+09041.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look how handsome Ethan is in his new suit! Isn't he cute? Ethan has had this thing with suits since he was five when my Aunt Sheryl bought one at the DI (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Deseret&lt;/span&gt; Industries thrift store). She sent up this little grey suit, straight from the eighties with pleats, shoulder pads, you know, the works. I have to admit, I didn't really want him to wear it, but Del thought the suit was awesome and Ethan wanted to wear it, so I relented. He did look pretty cute for a kid stuck in the eighties. However, he wore that thing faithfully every Sunday for like a year regardless of what other clothes I would beg him to wear that day. As the suit slowly became tighter (he had to suck in to button) and the cuffs became shorter, he still wouldn't wear anything else. Finally, one day in church, he really went to town with the markers, a green one to be exact, and marked his suit up and down. I DID try to get the markers out. I washed the suit a few times and then reluctantly took it to Goodwill. Alright fine, I didn't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;OxiClean&lt;/span&gt; it and I was a little excited for him to at last wear something else to church. But boy was I in trouble when Ethan found out that the suit was gone, GONE.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305301336893037618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SaA3dQvqHDI/AAAAAAAAAJo/Y8yvDQspUbQ/s400/Winter+09042.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Ethan turned eight on February 1. And, guess what he wanted for his birthday? A new suit (surprise, surprise)! I found this new suit at Macy's during their winter clearance and paid $100 less than the original price. I was so excited, and then I realized I had to buy new shoes, a belt, and a shirt to go with his new suit. An expensive birthday to say the least. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I can't believe how fast time flies. I am not sure if I am ready to have an eight year old. So many things change as your children get older. I hope Del and I are doing our part to teach him the IMPORTANT things in life, the things that really matter. One day he is a little boy and the next he is accountable for his actions. I am not sure if I was ready for him to be baptized. I didn't feel like I taught him everything he needed to know to be baptized and confirmed a member of our church. Sure, we read about baptism, had &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;FHE's&lt;/span&gt; (family home evenings) about it, talked about it and tried our best to make sure he was ready, but was he READY? Bishop Lind thought he was (we have an awesome bishop).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305301341533084690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SaA3diB7nBI/AAAAAAAAAJw/cc1QSDbeJ20/s400/Winter+09046.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We decided to have Ethan baptized on his birthday so he would always remember he was baptized that day. It wasn't until I was at the gym two weeks before on the elliptical when I realized February 1st at 6:30 p.m. was right smack in the middle of the super bowl. I fretted until the day came. Would anyone come? Would the bishop come? Not that getting baptized isn't more important than a football game, but I really felt like I had jeopardized his baptism because I scheduled it during a HUGE sporting event. I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt; wrong. The turn out was amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were so lucky to have my parents come up and attend his baptism. However, we wished Del's parents could have been there to be a part of it as well. We missed them. A lot of family friends attended as well as the missionaries, Ethan's primary teacher, two members of the primary presidency, and the Bishop. We are so blessed with amazing friends in our ward and community. Sean Cather (a family friend) and Grandpa Nichols gave talks and spoke directly to Ethan. His daddy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;performed&lt;/span&gt; the baptism and confirmation and then the bishop spoke to Ethan. Words cannot express what an amazing experience it was. I wish I could write exactly what the bishop said, but I can't (when he was talking, I sat there wishing I was writing it all down). He said something like this, "do you know what is happening right now? what millions of people are watching on TV tonight?" Ethan, of course, says, "no." (remember, Del is a team roper) And then he said, "They are watching the Super Bowl, the biggest football game of the year, maybe the biggest sporting event of the year. And do you know what God is watching right now? He is watching you. This is what matters." I just love that guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305310929710993122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SaBALoxrzuI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/r_wMy1ZudxM/s400/Winter+09062.jpg" border="0" /&gt;Look how handsome they are! It was cute, someone reminded them to take their socks off before going into the font. Dillon was quite the handful during the baptism because in two year old language, "I be baptized with Ethan."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305310935506724658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SaBAL-XfpzI/AAAAAAAAAKA/six-qyL_X_M/s400/Winter+09069.jpg" border="0" /&gt; Grandpa Nichols gave the talk on receiving the Holy Ghost and presented Ethan with a head lamp to symbolize the light and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;guidance&lt;/span&gt; the Holy Ghost can give you. Grandma Sue lead the music as she turned down Ethan when he said he wanted her to sing the musical number. If you know my family, you know we can't sing and if you know Del's family, you know they can. So my mom was not about to get up there and sing in front of Del.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next week Ethan came home from school all worked up over something. He couldn't put his finger on it, but said he might have done something wrong and 'what if he doesn't know when he does something wrong.' A few days later, the same thing. He was really distraught this time almost to tears. When I finally got something out of him, he said, "I think I lost the Holy Ghost." I tried not to laugh....not a laughing moment for an eight year old. How sweet is that? I asked him what he did that made him think he lost the Holy Ghost. He was just so worried he would lose it. I promise, we didn't lay it on too thick. He is a very intelligent little boy and really thinks things through. Then he wanted to know how do you know if you have the Holy Ghost? I am very proud of him and HIS choice to be baptized. EIGHT really is GREAT!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-2351040388587323497?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/2351040388587323497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=2351040388587323497' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/2351040388587323497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/2351040388587323497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2009/02/eight-is-great.html' title='Eight is Great!'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SaA3dZe-HDI/AAAAAAAAAJg/7STDHGVDvJc/s72-c/Winter+09041.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-7862461487685901841</id><published>2009-01-19T16:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T16:33:46.201-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Friend Monique</title><content type='html'>I am a nerd. Yes, the type that gets excited over weird, random things like saving a lot of money at the grocery store.  My friend, Monique, is amazing when it comes to good deals and getting food for almost free.  I don't cut coupons very often, but if you know when certain stores have certain sales, there is almost always a coupon (a really good one) floating around out there to combine with these great deals.  So today I went to Albertson's to hit their Quaker sale, which they have twice a year (I think), and had my coupons from a previous ad from another store ready and get this, this is amazing, I bought $50.48 of Quaker products (10 boxes granola bars, 2-48 oz. containers of oats, 2 boxes of instant oatmeal packets, and four boxes of Life Cereal) for $8.  Like I  said, I am not very good at doing this, but this is one sale, I have been taught how to hit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I briefly met Monique in Tucson, Az at a mutual friend's wedding shower some seven or eight years ago.  We moved to Missoula a few years after that shower and within a month or so, Monique moved into town with her awesome family!  SMALL WORLD.  Anyway, Monique has taught me everything I know about getting great deals and buying food for 'almost free.'  She also taught me how to make awesome tamales and has inspired me with her amazing zeal for life.  Monique had two babies (close in age ~some 13-18 months apart) to raise while her husband served in Iraq and then several years later added twin daughters to the bunch.  Despite having her hands full, she always has a smile on her face and time to spread word of good deals.  I don't know about you, but right now, every penny counts and the less I spend on groceries for my three boys, the more I can save or spend on our barnhouse.   Monique just moved to D.C. for six to nine months while her husband does some officer schooling for the Marines.  I am going to miss her and her great money-saving advice! Monique you are awesome!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-7862461487685901841?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/7862461487685901841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=7862461487685901841' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/7862461487685901841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/7862461487685901841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-friend-monique.html' title='My Friend Monique'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-2182491048232974932</id><published>2009-01-09T21:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T19:33:36.612-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Monsters</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I think we can thank Del for this: (although I am not sure why??? Del?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The other day, Tuesday to be exact, Dillon and I went to the grocery store and were checking out. This older lady came up behind us and was kind of talking to Dillon. He was not very receptive and kept saying, "mommy, go monster away," and would like throw his arm in her direction. When I realized what he was saying, I tried to make small talk with her so she wouldn't feel too bad, but he wouldn't stop saying it. She wasn't bad looking, not too &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;monstorish&lt;/span&gt; anyhow. So then, on Wednesday we went to the Post Office (which Dillon was calling office post...kind of like Dillon Post). I had this burly box I was trying to tape up while he was standing in between my legs, hugging them and circling them like he was trying to hide. As I was waiting in line, he kept saying things like, "there's another one, monster," and "go home monster." And he was so serious. Then this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;motorcycle&lt;/span&gt; dude came in and was in line behind us and Dillon said, "no monster" really loud and the man said "Hi, I'm Kevin." It was pretty funny because Dillon kept calling him a monster and then wanted to 'hold you mommy.'&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Where do kids get the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;darndest&lt;/span&gt; things that they say from? I am pretty sure that I haven't ever said half of those things and neither has Del. From the mouth of a two year-old at church during sacrament meeting just loud enough for the people behind us to hear: "don't touch me" aimed at me and, "mommy be quiet" and "don't like him, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Colton&lt;/span&gt;" aimed at the teenage boy behind us. He is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; our fireball. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290244419833026338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SWq5RVsj1yI/AAAAAAAAAJY/XksDRPEGenI/s400/dillon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But how can you not love a face like that?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-2182491048232974932?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/2182491048232974932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=2182491048232974932' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/2182491048232974932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/2182491048232974932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2009/01/monsters.html' title='Monsters'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SWq5RVsj1yI/AAAAAAAAAJY/XksDRPEGenI/s72-c/dillon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-8089226215405874439</id><published>2008-12-07T21:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T21:20:35.835-08:00</updated><title type='text'>OHMMMMM.......</title><content type='html'>Nothing beats yoga on a not-too-early Saturday morning. Okay, seriously I LOVE love yoga, but chanting....ummmm even though I have done it lots before, it is still a little on the weird side for me. Luckily, this wasn't the chanting type of class.  I escaped about 8:30 to attend a free ashtanga class for 'First Friday' (even though it was Sat.) in Stevensville. I had been wanting to check out this studio for a while, and well for FREE how could I not go? It was great, nothing new, but I really enjoy yoga, especially when I am not the instructor. Del and the boys went to pick up his tractor and then they met me back at home around noon. We gave up our Griz tickets to go Christmas tree hunting and well, it couldn't have been a more perfect day (okay, yea it could have if their was snow on the ground). Here are some pictures: &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278766424088514626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SUHyGDgOEEI/AAAAAAAAAIw/CeRov3XHI3Y/s320/pre-Christmas+019.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oliver was pretty funny, he couldn't wait to go, but within a half an hour he says, "can't we just cut one down already?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278762777187151266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SUHuxxvLbaI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/16P2fGYuVBg/s320/pre-Christmas+018.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dillon loves to get in the backpack and hike. He kept saying, "big hike," and "there's a trail."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ethan is getting older every minute and can't decide if he is still a kid or more responsible than both Del and I. He was worried we'd get in trouble for cutting down the wrong tree.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So we found the perfect tree (according to Del). I think it is a little bare, but it is a really nice tree. We cut the bottom four feet off and the top one and a half and that left us with about a 12 footer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Earlier this week, our stockings came in the mail. It was so funny! I had laid them out across the floor to check them out and left them there to get Dillon out of bed. The boys were so excited they gave Dillon his and said, "this is yours, Dillon." Dillon kept calling it 'my boot' and tried to put it on lots of times. He finally succeeded and wasn't happy with me when I told him it wasn't a boot. It was darn cute. One of the funny things he keeps saying lately is, "I'm Big Dillon." He has a pretty deep voice for a two year old, so it just sounds funny.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278766415695796818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SUHyFkPPWlI/AAAAAAAAAIo/pCDKaRItUsc/s320/pre-Christmas+001.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278766409288218706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SUHyFMXjeFI/AAAAAAAAAIg/EedS2z5ELsE/s320/pre-Christmas+005.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-8089226215405874439?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/8089226215405874439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=8089226215405874439' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/8089226215405874439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/8089226215405874439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2008/12/ohmmmmm.html' title='OHMMMMM.......'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SUHyGDgOEEI/AAAAAAAAAIw/CeRov3XHI3Y/s72-c/pre-Christmas+019.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-7206699776255317985</id><published>2008-11-27T11:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T12:10:18.336-08:00</updated><title type='text'>And in everything give thanks.  D&amp;C 98:1</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, and rejoice evermore, &lt;em&gt;and in everything give thanks&lt;/em&gt;. D&amp;amp;C 98:1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ethan made this thankful list in primary at church. I thought it was great! Here it is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;I am thankful for Jesus because he died for us.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;I am thankful for Oliver because he likes me to read to him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;I am thankful for Ethan because I am funny.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;I am thankful for Mom because she makes dinner for us.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;I am thankful for Dad because he loves me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked Oliver what he was thankful for yesterday. Here is what he said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;I am thankful for mommy because she is nice and she makes cookies with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;I am thankful for my brothers because they are fun to wrestle with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;I am thankful for Star Wars because it is so cool.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;I am thankful for dad because he rides horses with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I asked Del what he was thankful for. Here is his list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#993300;"&gt;A free country&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#993300;"&gt;My family&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#993300;"&gt;A pair of blue jeans that fit just right&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#993300;"&gt;A good job&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#993300;"&gt;Team roping&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If Dillon could understand the concept of being thankful, here is what he would say:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;I am thankful for trains, mommy's truck, bananas, the kids coming off the bus (his brothers), and horse rides with daddy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is my thankful list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;I am thankful for the beautiful scenery outside my house because it reminds me of God's love and just makes me happy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;I am thankful for my three boys who are so sweet to their mommy and love me regardless.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;I am thankful for snow, without it their would me no snowboarding, sledding, adventurous driving, snow angels, snow forts, snow balls, snow days (remember those in Pinetop?) and no winter FUN!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;I am thankful for my hubby, Del who is the most compassionate, romantic, thoughtful, sweet, and handsome person I know. And he looks really good in a pair of wranglers and a cowboy hat. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#009900;"&gt;And Del if you read this, I am really thankful for you, for all your hard work, for loving me despite all my flaws and for being the best daddy in the world. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-7206699776255317985?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/7206699776255317985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=7206699776255317985' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/7206699776255317985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/7206699776255317985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2008/11/and-in-everything-give-thanks.html' title='And in everything give thanks.  D&amp;C 98:1'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-1757778488172463927</id><published>2008-11-23T19:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-23T20:58:14.739-08:00</updated><title type='text'>She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy.....</title><content type='html'>I met Del (my hubby of 9 1/2 yrs.) when I was 18 years old, just short of one month after moving out of my parent's house.  I moved down to Tucson from my beloved hometown of Pinetop to attend the University of Arizona.  I was never, and I mean NEVER going to be &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; girl who got married right out of high school.  I was going somewhere and was going to be somebody.  That didn't last long and six months after dating, we were engaged.  That's not to say it was an easy decision and one I didn't wrestle with from the day we just &lt;em&gt;knew&lt;/em&gt;.  I was too young to get married and yet not ready to lose him to an unknown future.  It is amazing how when you find the one you love, your future just molds around to include him and sacrifices anything and everything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Del and I spent a good part of our courtship on a tractor and yes, I did think his tractor was sexy!  Lucky him!  It even happened  to be the year Kenny Chesney's song came out...how ironic.  I would ride on the buddy seat of the tractor on Saturday's and Sunday's after church.  He would drive doing whatever it was that needed doing and I hung out.  I do have to thank Del for the great grades I got in Spanish thanks to his tutoring on those rides.  Between dates in the tractor and dates that he fell asleep in my dorm while I did homework, we fell head over heels in love.  It wasn't until after we were married that I realized the amount of sleep this guy really needs and that his sleeping all the time wasn't so much fun....it kind of became lonely.  I slowly learned what being a farmer's wife was going to be like.  Ups and downs, early to rise, early to bed...not by choice, just by being human.  I remember this one time he came home, dropped his dirty clothes by the door, got a popsicle to eat, sat down to eat it, finished it and fell asleep before dinner and didn't wake up.  He eventually made his way to the bed and I admit, I was pretty irritated.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank goodness for the darn sexy tractors he had to drive day in and day out...it kept the irritation at bay!  I have lots of great pictures of these days, but they are on film and I don't have a scanner.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-1757778488172463927?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/1757778488172463927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=1757778488172463927' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/1757778488172463927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/1757778488172463927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2008/11/she-thinks-my-tractors-sexy.html' title='She Thinks My Tractor&apos;s Sexy.....'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622307149774418687.post-7633257872126673618</id><published>2008-11-18T20:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T19:37:59.963-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Am I A Cowboy's Wife?</title><content type='html'>Is my husband a cowboy?? This is a question for anyone out there that knows Del. If in fact, he is a cowboy, then I am a &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;cowboy's wife.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; And what a wild ride life has been emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually, and in all other possible ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Del has a hard time defining himself as a cowboy (I think most cowboys do...it sounds too much like a childhood dream), but insists upon living what I would call a western cowboy lifestyle!?. In order to come to the bottom of this issue for myself, I looked up a definition of cowboy on the web.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, the Merriam-Webster Dictionary's definition:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Main Entry: 1cow·boy &lt;a class="audio" href="javascript:popWin(" wav="cowboy')&amp;quot;"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pronunciation: \-ˌ&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bo&lt;/span&gt;̇i\&lt;br /&gt;Function: &lt;em&gt;noun&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Date: 1623&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1: one who tends cattle or horses ; especially : a usually mounted cattle-ranch hand&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2: a rodeo performer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3: one having qualities (as recklessness, aggressiveness, or independence) popularly associated with cowboys: as a: a reckless driver b: a business or businessperson operating in an uncontrolled or unregulated manner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so 1: we have three horses, four cows and maybe two more calfs on the way come spring(not an exorbitant amount, but considering he works in town as an attorney); 2: this August, he entered the Hamilton Rodeo here in Montana and took fourth in the first round with a 5.6 second run; and 3: umm... we won't go into too much detail, but yes, recklessness, aggressiveness, and independence are qualities that have been displayed all too frequently in the past nine and a half years of marriage. In my mind, he fits the definition and therefore would be a 'cowboy' and I a cowboy's wife. I can't go as far yet as claiming the title of 'cowgirl.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why you may ask does all this matter? Because I have a purpose for this blog (if I can stay on course). I have always wanted to write down my thoughts, feelings, ideas, and anything else that floats in and out of my overflowing mind to come to some conculsion of what defines ME. This is life through my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hcZclnOOHPo/SSODR8YTDjI/AAAAAAAAAIA/SBePmFyyziA/s1600-h/Autumn+2008+059.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7622307149774418687-7633257872126673618?l=mtpostfam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/feeds/7633257872126673618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7622307149774418687&amp;postID=7633257872126673618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/7633257872126673618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7622307149774418687/posts/default/7633257872126673618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mtpostfam.blogspot.com/2008/11/am-i-cowboys-wife.html' title='Am I A Cowboy&apos;s Wife?'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11275059251161163300</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
