tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50316558345214888402024-02-21T04:51:02.003-08:00Does This Babyfunny girl, unofficial life coach, wife, mom, babe supporting babesKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-81623391223089781992021-06-19T21:13:00.051-07:002021-08-18T11:53:08.820-07:00 An Arranged Marriage<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">I am not sure how old I was when my mom told me about my parent’s arranged
marriage, but I’ve loved the story ever since I
was a child. Arranged marriages are customary in Cambodia. Parents consulted match
makers and even astrologers to find the most suitable match for their sons
and daughters. Often the match was economically or politically beneficial to
the families involved. Sons typically had a say in whether or not they agreed
to the match. Daughters usually agreed to please their parents and future in
law's. A girl that refused an arranged marriage would be labeled as difficult
and even ungrateful. Therefore, more
often than not, the daughter would say yes to the match. The hope for an
arranged marriage is that the couple respectfully co-exist as partners. If they learned
to like each other that was a blessing, and if like turned into love that was a
miracle and the match maker would boast about that for their entire career. The tradition and culture around arranged marriages has relaxed over the
last two decades, especially for Cambodians living abroad.</span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; margin: 9pt 0in 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">However, when my parents were matched in
1979 it was still very much the norm; even in the refugee camps, an older
sibling, guardian or elder was involved in setting up the match. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; margin: 9pt 0in 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">My parent’s marriage was orchestrated by
a crafty, yet lovable mutual older friend. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; margin: 9pt 0in 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">The version I grew up with as told by my
mom went something like:</span></p><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; margin: 9pt 0in 0in;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">“I had a good friend at the refugee camp who knew
your dad and his family. He said I should marry your dad because I was all
alone in the camp and needed a man to protect me. He was from a good family,
smart and well educated. My friend told your dad the same thing about me. I was
a good girl from a good family and needed him to protect me. Your dad was not
interested, but his friend convinced him to go down to the river and take a look at
me. I was bathing in a sarong in the river and your dad watched me. I was so stunningly beautiful that
your dad told his friend right away, ok I will marry her.”</span></div><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For years I romanticized my mother’s story. I must have repeated it a million times and clearly missed the
awkward facial expressions of people that wondered why my mother agreed to marry a Peeping Tom. </span></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">About a year ago I retold the story to my dad. He roared with laughter and
uncontrollable giggles at this version of their love story. He was equally
appalled that my mother made him out to be a creep.</span></div></span><o:p style="font-family: inherit;"></o:p></span><p></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: 9.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">My mom shouted, “Well it’s true!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; margin: 9pt 0in 0in;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">My dad rebutted, “No, it’s not! You are
crazy. That never happened!” My parents were both hysterical with amusement. My
mom was smug that she had perpetuated such a good farse for all these years. My
dad was delighted that he got to reprimand her for such a lie. It was a
wonderful example of their playful relationship.</span></div><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However, my entire childhood was flipped upside down. If this wasn’t the story of
the romantic courtship, then what was?</span></div></span><o:p style="font-family: inherit;"></o:p></span><p></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: 9.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">After my dad calmed down from his giggles. He recounted the real
story.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1979 my dad arrived in Mairut, Thailand, a refugee camp along the
Northwest border of Cambodia. He like many other Cambodians had
just escaped the Khmer Rouge regime, a communist government that killed somewhere between 1.5 and 3 million people through slave labour, starvation and torture. My dad arrived at
the camp with a critical case of malaria. He was taken to a hospital in
Thailand as the treatment in the refugee camp was not sufficient enough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My dad spent a few weeks in the hospital and befriended a Thai
family. My dad was and is outgoing, talkative and a natural connector. He makes
friends wherever he goes. Charmed by my dad and his story of survival, the Thai
family offered to let him live with them after his recovery at the hospital.
They wanted to support his college education that was interrupted when the
Khmer Rouge took over Cambodia. However, my dad had to decline as he was
registered at the refugee camp and had to return once the malaria was cured. He
told them that once he got back to the camp, he would find out what his options
were to resettle in Thailand and then reconnect with them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While he was at the hospital my mom arrived at the camp. She had
a bout of malaria herself while escaping Cambodia. My mom and her
older sister, almost lost their lives as two young women, 18 and 20 years
old, traveling alone in jungles filled with armed men and terrified animals. When the sisters made it safely to the refugee camp they were taken in by Sin Heng and his wife, who acted as their
guardians. They knew my aunt well from their time together in the Khmer Rouge
labour camps. Sin Heng welcomed my mom like a long lost family member. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As soon as my dad returned to the camp. His good friend Sin
Heng, told him about my mom. He explained that she needed to be married right
away, “She is from a good family and is a great girl. You should marry her. She
needs a husband to protect her here.” Sin Heng grew up in the same village as
my dad and knew his family would approve of this match. My dad said no and
described his plans to live in Thailand and continue his college studies. His education
was critical for creating the life he wanted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After the conversation with my dad, Sin Heng shared with my mom, “I have a friend. He’s
from a good family, is a great guy and looking for a wife.” My mom replied no. She
had just arrived at the camp, had a near death experience and just wanted to
recover. She was incredibly shaken up by her experiences the last 4 years and
was not interested in marrying anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sin Heng went back to my dad and told him that my mom wanted to
get married within a month. My dad responded that was too soon and asked to extend
it until he finished college.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 9pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #2d3b45;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The friend told my mom that my dad wanted to get married the
next week. She was taken back and said that was impossible. Sin Heng returned
to my dad and informed him that my mom wanted to have a wedding the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 9.0pt; margin: 9pt 0in 0in;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;">My dad confused and flustered about how
quickly this arrangement had escalated, asked his friend if he could at least
meet her. Sin Heng agreed and alerted my mom that he would bring my dad for a visit. Later that day he took my curious dad
to see my equally curious mom. She brought them some water and kept her head
down, staring only at his feet. Delighted by her beauty and kindness my dad looked at
his friend and whispered, “Ok, I’ll marry her”. Three days later they were
married.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><span lang="EN-CA"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #2d3b45; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJS8nw_GxD4Z3UaAnXLkx59p5ri6KGY3xQm9UozVK-xpT7HKHVpA6a15KO8xa2AiYnL8i2vRcWrOUsZ0sFYr7kneIAQGQRHol3ImQIQ6ZlrDSHqF8U5KjxrFF3-S6vKSHhQgt76silaSk/s4032/IMG_2930.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJS8nw_GxD4Z3UaAnXLkx59p5ri6KGY3xQm9UozVK-xpT7HKHVpA6a15KO8xa2AiYnL8i2vRcWrOUsZ0sFYr7kneIAQGQRHol3ImQIQ6ZlrDSHqF8U5KjxrFF3-S6vKSHhQgt76silaSk/s320/IMG_2930.HEIC" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2d3b45;"><br /></span></div></span></span><p></p>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-22911457542696583932020-06-17T18:48:00.001-07:002020-07-02T19:15:38.579-07:00Yao Hon<br />
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The journey from my house to my parent’s house is 124 km,
includes a ferry ride and takes just over 4 hours. I often treat the ferry
voyage as an exclusive cruise through the beautiful clustered display of the
Gulf Islands. I like to observe all the homes on the cliff of each island and
wonder about their stories. Do people live in those homes all year round? Are
they merely vacation homes? If it’s a permanent residence, what do the people do
for work? What kind of work is available on the island? Could my parents retire
there? It would be a faster trip to see them than going all the way from
Coquitlam to Victoria.<br />
<br />
I love that trip though, especially when it ends with a greeting
from my parents who pretend they were not waiting for my arrival the entire
time. There is a sigh of relief that
finally I arrived, as I embrace them with a big warm hug. My mom wears the
scent of freshly cooked jasmine rice. There is always a meal waiting for me,
even when I tell her not to worry and that I have eaten. Cambodians tend to
avoid public displays of affection like hugging and kissing. Growing up my
parents showed their affection through food. Food is how I have always known
I’ve been loved. However, since moving out of my parents’ house they double
their affection through food and now hugs. The distance and absence naturally solicit
our need to be embraced. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I moved away from the quiet capital city of Victoria, British Columbia and towards
the big city of Vancouver for the Fashion Design and Technology Program at
Kwantlen University when I was 20 years old. I was filled with excitement, possibility,
and adventure. Not only was I out of my parent’s house, I was in a completely
different city; two car rides and a ferry away. I enjoyed my independence but the
hardest adjustment for me was missing my mom’s food. Home cooked meals were a vital
practice in our house. Our family didn’t eat out at restaurants while I was
growing up; there was no need because everything my mom cooked was better than
anything a restaurant could deliver. As an eager learner she even made
spaghetti, a recipe she acquired firsthand from an Italian man my dad met in
one of his many random encounters with strangers, who end up being his friends.</div>
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I truly longed for my mom’s food the first few weeks of
living alone. I tried to mimic her recipes, but they didn’t taste the same. Maybe
love really does elevate food and as humans our senses can taste it and
appreciate it. Or maybe it was just because I didn’t use MSG. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My favorite meal is Yao Hon, a Cambodian Hot Pot, best
enjoyed in large groups with two or more pots of broth boiling fresh
ingredients. Visually it is a showstopper, bite size pieces of raw bright pink salmon,
jumbo prawns cut down the centre to resemble butterflies and thinly sliced beef
are fanned on a tray, one tray for every 6<sup> </sup><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dinner guests. The vibrant green hues of broccoli,
parsley, green onion, and bok choy are displayed in deep serving bowls
overflowing with their abundance. The rice noodles are precooked and assembled
into individual portions that resemble circular balls of yarn. The center piece
is a steel bowl full of rich bubbling broth creating airy vapors on top of a
portal gas stove powered by a butane canister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The aromatic smell of lemon grass, limes leaves, garlic, red peppers,
fish sauce, and coconut milk waft in the air. Instantly my mouth waters
anticipating the combination of spicy, sour and sweets flavours. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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My parents didn’t grow up enjoying Yao Hon. It wasn’t a part
of Cambodian cuisine when they were young. I imagine hot pot was a concept brought
to Cambodia by the Chinese and Koreans in the 80’s as they helped rebuild after
the Khmer Rouge Regime. Yao Hon was introduced to my parents in 1987 when they
visited friends in Seattle. My mom challenged herself to replicate the beautiful
display of fresh meat, vegetables and fragrant broth at home for our family
and friends in Victoria. It was a huge success and has been the most requested
meal for the last two decades.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When my mom makes Yao Hon, it is a family affair. Both my
aunts come over and help prepare all the delectable ingredients. My older aunt
cleans and cuts the vegetables, while filling us in on all the work gossip. My
younger aunt slices uniformed pieces of beef, prawns and salmon with ease and precision.
She works with my older aunt at a hotel in downtown Victoria and agrees with my
aunt’s observations about their co-workers. My mom is hovering over her broth
on the stove, tasting her wooden spoon every 2 minutes to make sure the
flavours are developing. They laugh and cackle until all the prep work is done;
broth completed, meat and seafood fanned, noodles put together, and vegetables
washed and ready for display.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The table is set with all the scrumptious ingredients for
the meal. Cutlery, plates, wine glasses and shot glasses are arranged at each
table setting. There is nothing better than a shot of fiery whiskey after the
first bite of salmon, and noodle in spicy broth. My mom throws in the protein
and vegetables after the portable gas stove is lit, and the broth starts to
boil. Everyone watches excitedly as the ingredients cook, swirling and bouncing
in the bubbling broth. There are always more guests than chairs and table
settings. Children and non-whiskey drinkers make their plates; a portion of noodles,
and a generous ladle of broth, cooked vegetables, beef and seafood on top, and then
move to the living room where there is more space and seating. Depending on my
mood I have joined both the whiskey drinkers and whiskey escapers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yao Hon is reserved for special occasions like Christmas, birthdays
and anniversaries. After too many months apart, my mom also likes to make Yao
Hon when my husband and I and our kids visit. It is a meal made for
celebration. These dinners have also facilitated many conversations about my
family’s journey from the Communist period in Cambodia. I learnt once that my thick
burly built Uncle Khonn, was a Khmer Rouge Soldier; a choice he made to survive
the regime, be one of them or be killed by them. My other Uncle Lorn, who I
look up to like a big brother was part of the Khmer Rouge’s Child Soldiers,
children that were taken away from their parents and raised by Khmer Rogue to
be resourceful, heartless killing machines. Uncle Lorn was not a good Child Soldier
because he kept running away. “They would beat me so hard when I got back
there. It hurt for days. But that didn’t stop me. I didn’t want to be there.”
He laughs.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The more shots of whiskey the more insights blurted out as
if they were in group therapy sessions. And it is therapy, the warmth of the
broth, the tender sliced beef cooked medium rare, the hearty rice noodles soaking
up all the flavours, it is comfort and love in a bowl. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-70204617964407216482017-04-17T21:33:00.001-07:002017-04-17T21:54:59.170-07:00Babes Supporting Babes<div style="text-align: justify;">
Feminist is a word I'm finally comfortable identifying myself with. In my 20's I thought feminism was a movement that meant hating men, women against cooking and being better, tougher, or stronger than men. I didn't want to associate myself with a word that seemed so full of hate and hypocrity. Thank goodness for being in my 30's. Thank goodness for the internet and having unlimited access to feminist views that are varied and full of love. Thank goodness for feminist stay at home moms, feminist lawyers, feminist fashion bloggers and Feminist Emma Watson. </div>
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<a href="https://www.google.ca/amp/s/yourstory.com/2017/04/emma-watson-contemporary-feminism/amp/" id="id_f6ed_5917_ea5a_30d7">https://www.google.ca/amp/s/yourstory.com/2017/04/emma-watson-contemporary-feminism/amp/</a></div>
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Now I know that being a feminist simply means standing for equality. And whether male or female being a person that is active in creating equal opportunities for women. </div>
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As a mother raising two daughters, as a manager and mentor to younger women in my office and network, as a sister to an incredible woman, as a friend to amazing women, I want to create a world where all the females in my life have every opportunity to live their best life. So imagine my delight when I see a sweatshirt that read, "Babes Supporting Babes".</div>
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<img alt="" id="id_1051_bae6_4427_9d64" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5VKqtcF_joSVNIpDkAq9RIyXyvefmvhbq72T1TYEaK737pRX82fIhJlErbRiK5Q0x9SB64VrgdNIc_T1WNXQTv58gNT-8nLHEZmZV1S2QmaqA0pDSADkApXXgz5fBGPv0jbw0U6M_fQ/" style="height: auto; width: 353px;" title="" tooltip="" /> </div>
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Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-56171366557917110252013-05-28T08:35:00.001-07:002013-05-28T08:35:16.174-07:00Two Babies Are A Lot of Work<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfWGSticEPzJTtw98DQsrCPVxG5qQ-IkW7xpeewy6uwdxIyVz7E1qWEnjtNwfrfW6trjGrwMQLUy9DKE_JIpugoUMz1u24kXY8t176UeTbHj4JQxjfyR34ncWdNFglYdMxH3LfhKijb4E/s1600/photo-716179.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfWGSticEPzJTtw98DQsrCPVxG5qQ-IkW7xpeewy6uwdxIyVz7E1qWEnjtNwfrfW6trjGrwMQLUy9DKE_JIpugoUMz1u24kXY8t176UeTbHj4JQxjfyR34ncWdNFglYdMxH3LfhKijb4E/s320/photo-716179.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5883054287923878914" /></a></p>I'm at the ferry terminal going home. My mom came with me to help out. They're adorable but it's definitely been a busy last six months.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-86794374104058112602013-03-25T15:09:00.002-07:002013-03-25T15:09:46.185-07:00Decisions <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMnGUTJv2fYMl2ciiQIDQmGA0HrCXXAy3c5AMtg343bSudAmvf58H5j-I1T_29GK_vlhG8c3VWv6CRn61NB09OzkYbO-z0RZuY4pWtaGFCYD5lttAeSI0alSS-N2jAjbt76doHpTUO5jU/s1600/EF0435C8-7E09-44D6-851B-0FA942308658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMnGUTJv2fYMl2ciiQIDQmGA0HrCXXAy3c5AMtg343bSudAmvf58H5j-I1T_29GK_vlhG8c3VWv6CRn61NB09OzkYbO-z0RZuY4pWtaGFCYD5lttAeSI0alSS-N2jAjbt76doHpTUO5jU/s320/EF0435C8-7E09-44D6-851B-0FA942308658.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Before the babies, heck even before the hubby, I knew when I had kids I wanted to live in the same city as my parents. But life happens. I moved to Vancouver for school, got married, fell into a great job, and bought a house. We've settled nicely into our life on the mainland. Elle starts kindergarden in the fall. I go back to work in November, and already have child care for Rosie in place.<br />
<br />
Every couple of years hubby and I consider the move back to Victoria. Lately, it's been a hot topic.<br />
<br />
I've been staying at my parents place for the past week. As I type, Elle is outside with my parents sun bathing in the backyard. There's laugher, and chasing, and hide and seek. And I'm kind of sad that we're going home tomorrow.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-22474604800068702502012-11-29T21:14:00.000-08:002012-12-11T08:54:42.504-08:00Things I Don't Miss About Being PregnantI delivered our second daughter Rosalie 3 weeks ago, on November 7th. She was 3 days overdue. Not a huge deal in hindsight, but at the time it was 3 days too long. I had an acupuncture induction session the day before she was born to get things moving. I guess it worked.<br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">She came fast, and furious. My first contraction was at 8:45am. I pushed her out at 12:45pm. There wasn't much time for drugs, great for baby, but not for mama. The labour was painful, but the whole time I kept thinking thank god I won't be pregnant</span><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> anymore. </span><br />
<br />
This is the list of things I will not miss about being pregnant.<br />
<ul>
<li>Waking up to pee three times a night.</li>
<li>Strangers looking at me and saying, "You're ready to pop, eh?".</li>
<li>Strangers telling me I was going to have a boy because of how high I was carrying baby.</li>
<li>Irregular bowel movements (like I need anything extra taking up space in my belly.)</li>
<li>Finding a new stretch mark on my stomach.</li>
<li>Having Braxton Hicks, and realizing that the car is parked farther than I thought.</li>
<li>Shaving my vagina by feel.</li>
<li><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">Being told to be patient, that the baby will come soon.</span></li>
</ul>
Of course I would do that all over again just to meet this little lady.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKW4e5mpaTYdO6sDZtdYlxdhPAVWUsGz34_7bGQQSBxnWKZsIDpJT7YMmO1ir8gjhIU4EM7SRC76H9SpzkPPGPkDiOqyxE_jkYcOq5FeuGjY7X9VuWyDHX3m9AYTUxYs0_1X-VfCT_K_g/s1600/Rosalie+Chhay+Todd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKW4e5mpaTYdO6sDZtdYlxdhPAVWUsGz34_7bGQQSBxnWKZsIDpJT7YMmO1ir8gjhIU4EM7SRC76H9SpzkPPGPkDiOqyxE_jkYcOq5FeuGjY7X9VuWyDHX3m9AYTUxYs0_1X-VfCT_K_g/s640/Rosalie+Chhay+Todd.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-61995420860992054712012-09-08T19:50:00.001-07:002012-09-08T19:52:06.845-07:0032 Weeks PregnantIt's been a crazy few months. I have pregnancy brain, and haven't been able to focus much these days. Also, my almost 4 year old is incredibly demanding and really doesn't care if I get time to blog. That's the partial truth... I've actually turned into a <a href="http://pinterest.com/kchhay/eat/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> whore. Any free time I get on the computer I'm looking up the latest food, and home design Pins. It's sick, but I justify it by all the recipes I've made since joining <a href="http://pinterest.com/kchhay/eat/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a>.<br />
<br />
I often forget why I started blogging. I keep thinking that it doesn't really matter I'm not posting since no one is reading this. Then I realize I started blogging for me. To record milestones, to remember funny stories, and to practice my writing skills.<br />
<br />
One day I will figure out how to link my blog to my instagram account. But until then, here are some pictures from the last few months.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGL6OQa0zV4JRVp8BcZiKElJAu7hFOEJ3s-KMxca0v8V9zA_rHr2DNiAerN1zbkOOm7HZbxUP76hL2MAafCe4-7TAMOtepD9HkLfSLmDBPQ_pNN4m6LxCIXgbdIiJhnuxFYzVZGzs48w/s1600/23+Weeks+Pregnant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGL6OQa0zV4JRVp8BcZiKElJAu7hFOEJ3s-KMxca0v8V9zA_rHr2DNiAerN1zbkOOm7HZbxUP76hL2MAafCe4-7TAMOtepD9HkLfSLmDBPQ_pNN4m6LxCIXgbdIiJhnuxFYzVZGzs48w/s320/23+Weeks+Pregnant.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">23 Weeks Pregnant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBo63wrrUmZcX9qrWPzHe_lDOxfV_-yFHLk08Fc7XQeSo2SkgRIAhC8Q53_6J0r1vQRd65hw0nMchtUekGm9gHdacugr25t71VJvrpUWccCyAPKdWndySkZqiuMOoaDMEPvEX9LIsR64/s1600/Life+is+a+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBo63wrrUmZcX9qrWPzHe_lDOxfV_-yFHLk08Fc7XQeSo2SkgRIAhC8Q53_6J0r1vQRd65hw0nMchtUekGm9gHdacugr25t71VJvrpUWccCyAPKdWndySkZqiuMOoaDMEPvEX9LIsR64/s320/Life+is+a+beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vacation on the Sunshine Coast, BC</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMFsCWAGiDxudMHvZ1vN6kcl8ntEfl40vAQatAv8GrBPJHZB0enUoOuybFvmDTCIPkO36PrcbSR1HDk-upqjjbn0Q3p-eR0KPLZJrAVD1NYqcoJKt_qGkSUO_g1qzRXqpmJ7hM8Ho-ac/s1600/Lil'+Kim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMFsCWAGiDxudMHvZ1vN6kcl8ntEfl40vAQatAv8GrBPJHZB0enUoOuybFvmDTCIPkO36PrcbSR1HDk-upqjjbn0Q3p-eR0KPLZJrAVD1NYqcoJKt_qGkSUO_g1qzRXqpmJ7hM8Ho-ac/s320/Lil'+Kim.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my mom in the refugee camp in Thailand.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga71u0ARncdHMHI9Pd-M12OE3kW5cD3shKIV2AA3pQEgIBPLZHfduIr8zZV9HGBTyTzNP-l-KAKGIf73BYxT299AlqZQrD7ScOofHZSR8wdLL7qYUFOlLATNwRK45yLdG6x8bNLguW_tM/s1600/Pink+Swan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga71u0ARncdHMHI9Pd-M12OE3kW5cD3shKIV2AA3pQEgIBPLZHfduIr8zZV9HGBTyTzNP-l-KAKGIf73BYxT299AlqZQrD7ScOofHZSR8wdLL7qYUFOlLATNwRK45yLdG6x8bNLguW_tM/s320/Pink+Swan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A serious dancer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4YSSTdlsh-frqwEzvcJORmrf_dfYKlkEEJft4V1SizRZgeCBeR-jrJwGKz_xyEYkAqPxFoOmkXjWsd64EIQDHNqBGCVdNs-1XnE-o3cQSSfS5OClz1zM-siBHWBUnL1LAU-rt0vfm_c/s1600/Pregnant+Jumper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4YSSTdlsh-frqwEzvcJORmrf_dfYKlkEEJft4V1SizRZgeCBeR-jrJwGKz_xyEYkAqPxFoOmkXjWsd64EIQDHNqBGCVdNs-1XnE-o3cQSSfS5OClz1zM-siBHWBUnL1LAU-rt0vfm_c/s320/Pregnant+Jumper.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling sassy in August.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPsKffbd9ULuqyieJ7asUmAghruGmlpdTAhWgARE21Orn6oM3U3Rab3kIu-lomuVJlSg933dwV8HpADkuIibeD6G3_Ld_rvG6KxHTh1tdhJI2acF8rZgbCXxmWpMWs-2mSTWiA-yVCPA/s1600/Start+of+Fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPsKffbd9ULuqyieJ7asUmAghruGmlpdTAhWgARE21Orn6oM3U3Rab3kIu-lomuVJlSg933dwV8HpADkuIibeD6G3_Ld_rvG6KxHTh1tdhJI2acF8rZgbCXxmWpMWs-2mSTWiA-yVCPA/s320/Start+of+Fall.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her first dance class.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-30255418758076578642012-06-22T17:07:00.001-07:002014-04-20T21:17:57.738-07:00A Sister's Love<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Last
Friday we found out that our next baby is a girl. There was a moment of, "OK
fine, it’s not a boy. We're not going have that perfect little nuclear family", but it was quickly replaced by, "Sweet all our baby stuff
is girlie anyways". Wow sisters. Is there anything more beautiful in life than
the relationship between two sisters? I have a sister. My mom is one of 6
sisters, and now my daughter will have a sister.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I
love my sister. She will never
understand how much I love her. She rolls her eyes at me most of the time, because
she thinks I’m mean to her, but really it’s tough love. I’m the older one, so I have an
innate duty to take care of her, no matter what. I’m tough on her because she deserves to
have her shit together, and I’m the only one that can force that on her. At the
end of the day, she still has to love me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">My mom, and Auntie Chanthon have a similar relationship, though I'd say my mom, the younger sister is the mean one. Or maybe being the older sister, my auntie just lets her bratty younger sister have her way. They are exactly in the middle of the line of sisters. There are two older sisters before my mom, and auntie, and two younger sisters after them. They are the closest in age, and have followed similar paths.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Between 1975 and 1979 the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khmer_Rouge" target="_blank">Khmer Rouge</a> ruled Cambodia. They were extreme Communists, who forced the entire country into agricultural concentration camps. By the end of their reign, one third of the population had either died from starvation, had been killed, or tortured to death. Some people stayed in Cambodia while the Vietnamese tried to stabilize the country. Many escaped to refugee camps along the Thai border.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">My mom, and auntie were around 17, and 18 years old when they headed with a group of other Cambodians for the border. They had to constantly dodge cross fires between the Khmer Rouge and the Vietnamese. There were land mines. They walked for days on empty stomachs. They were driven by fear, and desperation. Did I mention how old my mom, and auntie were? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Half way through the jungles of Cambodia my mom got malaria. She was very weak, and slowing the group down. My mom knew she was dying. The group told her that they had to abandon her. My auntie told them that her sister deserved to be buried properly. She would care for my mom until she passed away, bury her body, and then try to catch up with the group later. Traveling alone as a woman, she most likely wouldn't have made it back to the group.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"> Regardless, the others left the two sisters.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Miraculously, after a few days in a field, hidden amongst the tall grass, with my auntie by her side, my mom recovered. She gained back her energy. Within days, my mom, and auntie caught up to the group.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">I know how truly blessed I am that my sister and I, and my daughters, will never have to go through an experience like that. But it fills me with pride that this example of sisterhood exists in my family. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">My mom, and auntie aren't BFF's by any means, but there is a love and respect for your sister that you just can't create with anyone else. I'm really excited that my daughter will get to experience that. </span><br />
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Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-86453314586337522882012-05-06T20:13:00.002-07:002012-06-11T18:45:16.345-07:00I'm Having a Dragon BabyHubby and I decided a while back, that 2012 was the year we were going to concentrate on adding to our family. My birthday was in January and I didn't want to limit my wine intake, so we decided to start in February. We got pregnant in February. It's a shock, and such a blessing that it happened for us right away.<br />
<br />
We wanted to wait to tell everyone until the 3 month mark, but by 6 weeks I was already showing. Remember my <a href="http://doesthisbaby.blogspot.ca/2012/03/im-quitting.html" target="_blank">30 for 30 challenge</a> that I quit? I was getting so big I couldn't do up my pants or skirts. <br />
<br />
So I'm having baby due November 4th. The pregnancy has been hard, colds, flu, nausea, a bladder infection and just plain tiredness. My second pregnancy is way harder then my first. Of course, recently I realized that the first time I didn't have a 3 year old to chase after. Now I'm finally starting to feel good.<br />
<br />
My only problem now is how can anybody be cuter than this?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiqVrqRlSRPU9h01iTjvP7lCzgYeT9-zwdebB13Hre0trLp5U_MNT9grGegWMOKCpem-3L5YyESLhkvO_neChVWpOSmGoJtK7gmp6zFYkXK3IADw-UBmpr2FatFbhYapRFqd8dUxBj2M4/s1600/The+First+Child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiqVrqRlSRPU9h01iTjvP7lCzgYeT9-zwdebB13Hre0trLp5U_MNT9grGegWMOKCpem-3L5YyESLhkvO_neChVWpOSmGoJtK7gmp6zFYkXK3IADw-UBmpr2FatFbhYapRFqd8dUxBj2M4/s400/The+First+Child.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-24123983862523076062012-03-14T07:35:00.000-07:002012-06-11T18:44:38.908-07:00I'm QuittingI am quitting my 30 for 30 challenge. I know crazy shit, but I am too tired and I'm getting fat. I picked a bunch of pieces that I haven't worn in a while. I wanted to put them in my cycle, but the reason I haven't worn them in a while is that they don't f*cken fit.<br />
<br />
I love all my crazy ideas about wearing a limited wardrobe, and not shopping for a year. <b>CONFESSION TIME.</b> I bought a something last week. I got a pair of designer jeans at Bluefly for $35. I'm going to still <a href="http://doesthisbaby.blogspot.com/2012/01/2012-shopping-diet.html" target="_blank">diet</a> though. But what I really love is that I'm honest with myself. So I'm going to give myself a get out of jail free card and quit the challenge this round.<br />
<br />
These are the outfits that I managed to record from last week. Notice that I forgot to get a picture for Day 6!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skinny Jeans and Flats Day 7 Outfit</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ankle Boots and Midi Skirt Day 5 Outfit</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BCBG Dress Day 8 Outfit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-55189937844196722292012-03-07T20:02:00.000-08:002012-06-11T18:45:56.802-07:00No Sew Tutorial for A Toddler Pop Culture T-Shirt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I just got the best present ever. One of friends knows that I love Chuck Norris Facts, and knows that I can turn old t-shirts into cute tops for little people. So while at Value Village for herself, she found this t-shirt, and bought it for me! So cool, and thoughtful. </div>
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Here is a tutorial on how to make a toddler's t-shirt out of an adult's t-shirt.<b> Enjoy!</b></div>
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You will need an awesome t-shirt, scissors, and a fabric hole punch (scissors are fine as well, the punch is just easier).</h2>
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Fold t-shirt in fold and cut off excess length.</h2>
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Use excess length to cut two pieces of "string". </h2>
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Cut the sides of the t-shirt and arm hole.</h2>
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Use the hole punch to create holes equal length apart on the sides of the t-shirt.</h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Use the "string" to lace up both sides of the t-shirt. Tie two tight knots at the very end.</span></h2>
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Put it on your 3 year old and see if she'll sit long enough for you to take a picture.</h2>
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<br /></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-69787703089129324702012-03-04T21:53:00.000-08:002012-03-04T21:53:14.289-08:00Minimalist Dressing for The Office<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was really excited to start my <a href="http://doesthisbaby.blogspot.com/2012/03/30-items-for-30-days.html" target="_blank">30/30 month</a>. I loved my first two outfits because I've never put all the pieces together in those ways before, so I felt super creative, which is the whole point of this challenge. But this weekend all I've worn are jeans and a white t-shirt. And I didn't even bother to do hair and make-up. And the pictures that hubby took of the outfits are awful, and I'm kind of annoyed that he takes awful pictures. And I'm annoyed at myself that it annoys me, but it does. Seriously, any good pictures of me are taken by people other than hubby. Whatever, he's good in bed, and treats me well. I guess I don't have it that bad.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A person that does take good pictures is my friend Becky at work. Two reasons why I love her; she takes pictures of me at work, and her partner refers to me as "Super awesome Kim at work". That's the best compliment I've ever heard from someone I've never meet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 1 Outfit</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 2 Outfit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-70262526638665001062012-03-01T21:22:00.000-08:002012-03-01T21:22:44.093-08:0030 Items for 30 DaysI did a mini challenge a few <a href="http://doesthisbaby.blogspot.com/2012/02/5-day-fashion-challenge.html" target="_blank">weeks ago</a>, and it went pretty well. It was really easy to pick something to wear since I had a limited choice. This time I'm going to do a month long challenge. I picked 30 items, and will wear them for 30 days straight. There wasn't too much rhyme or reason to the pieces I picked so I hope I can make some unique outfits! Wish me luck :)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">14 Tops</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidiPw-c6m80zy8P7WWcQi8ks7UT9AHmO7vMAtfWwmtIQ5aatOZ4hOsFsRLUrUrbAHE62MGWW6O_gZRcNL_6IJbihDp4LE8QegjUYL_9iDESgqvmbeAwhmmlAJ7XEmW3fIgeOVG8kvyPTQ/s1600/3+Jackets+6+bottoms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidiPw-c6m80zy8P7WWcQi8ks7UT9AHmO7vMAtfWwmtIQ5aatOZ4hOsFsRLUrUrbAHE62MGWW6O_gZRcNL_6IJbihDp4LE8QegjUYL_9iDESgqvmbeAwhmmlAJ7XEmW3fIgeOVG8kvyPTQ/s320/3+Jackets+6+bottoms.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 Jackets, 6 bottoms</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAX6OUehw_7CF0SOajtj7-uuhI3WT4thKzHiek4w1lyQDCeQ73IMhfM_vvMsGksQ9JjTmJwezi_v2LhSm9oGxJD_Oh1P2YTRzF-ys_FQGxJAQRyPFuC8sE23eREzQW0zVWkjN36LMqc9M/s1600/4+Pairs+of+Shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAX6OUehw_7CF0SOajtj7-uuhI3WT4thKzHiek4w1lyQDCeQ73IMhfM_vvMsGksQ9JjTmJwezi_v2LhSm9oGxJD_Oh1P2YTRzF-ys_FQGxJAQRyPFuC8sE23eREzQW0zVWkjN36LMqc9M/s320/4+Pairs+of+Shoes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4 Pairs of Shoes</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6TnA3R9tUQmeYz-uWmgbiqiJLI505pUSWZCTjw7u72r4wEaEJ7IOftVdT9yaT6isp49HDWqEDTilaNyUkmEdqC_n5iMw8Vx_avMGpWDp7VT88WDKyDCVTeZEdJdCsYjeC8pnM08coAR4/s1600/3+Dresses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6TnA3R9tUQmeYz-uWmgbiqiJLI505pUSWZCTjw7u72r4wEaEJ7IOftVdT9yaT6isp49HDWqEDTilaNyUkmEdqC_n5iMw8Vx_avMGpWDp7VT88WDKyDCVTeZEdJdCsYjeC8pnM08coAR4/s320/3+Dresses.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 Dresses</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-71640083688248049572012-02-29T20:52:00.000-08:002012-02-29T20:52:18.655-08:00How Do I Stop My Kid from SwearingChildren are like little sponges, soaking everything up. Elle is soaking up everything hubby, and I are, for better, or for worse.<br />
<br />
The latest things coming out of her month;<br />
<div style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Shit, where's my bear?"</i></span></div><div style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Why can't I say shit?"</i></span></div><div style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>"What's an idiot daddy?"</i></span></div><div style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Because it's stupid?"</i></span></div><br />
Needless to say we're trying to catch ourselves with the bad words before she does. However, I am a little bit proud that she was able to use the word shit in the proper context.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0HxYAJrG-utgb3HqCuU71dwl0ajHoB-tSSKI73jEO3MJFlQtYh0tGJEUJZ_fEi1seQsBXDps8N_5vckHkMwEWagL0aal7hiN9vrK5zTfY1qBl9sBaRv7-2dcVxKTbP6vVfigLejR4Vk/s1600/Elle+Uses+the+Word+Shit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0HxYAJrG-utgb3HqCuU71dwl0ajHoB-tSSKI73jEO3MJFlQtYh0tGJEUJZ_fEi1seQsBXDps8N_5vckHkMwEWagL0aal7hiN9vrK5zTfY1qBl9sBaRv7-2dcVxKTbP6vVfigLejR4Vk/s400/Elle+Uses+the+Word+Shit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-61484092841553747162012-02-13T22:13:00.000-08:002012-02-14T10:58:28.442-08:00An Ombre for Girls with Black HairI've had the same long black hair for at least 3 years now. Long hair is actually really easy. I can wear it in a pony tail for casual days. I can make it curly for dressy events, and I have straighten it for drinks with the girls. But it was time for a change. I decided to add colour in the form of an ombre. My sister just graduated from hair school so did some of her magic. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfZAGeZhbQMww-yqgakR_irmfwk3BRWrjehq3btCXFZ8mxRAu5upf7ttTeQZbNNKglFRjqrQdIOjfmQPS7QjF6h3clu_M8cpsv2tLHlpMUtX9HYfpfWiTuLZ5bXXd-ZaiScL8XPgWtVI/s1600/Black+wavy+hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfZAGeZhbQMww-yqgakR_irmfwk3BRWrjehq3btCXFZ8mxRAu5upf7ttTeQZbNNKglFRjqrQdIOjfmQPS7QjF6h3clu_M8cpsv2tLHlpMUtX9HYfpfWiTuLZ5bXXd-ZaiScL8XPgWtVI/s400/Black+wavy+hair.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natural black waves before the colour.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJXocmumnCwceaac04CboL9II2G0EOeKUlI-_CkPU-LIlDjyDcMlbx1vqOwUGyJB3hMLb12eU_MxCEKQA9Ygt9ng_MiT6acQBYr5GlnoYtvPeW9cwKbvJck9kojytscbOsk9i2nhqferc/s1600/Red+Ombre+on+Black+hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJXocmumnCwceaac04CboL9II2G0EOeKUlI-_CkPU-LIlDjyDcMlbx1vqOwUGyJB3hMLb12eU_MxCEKQA9Ygt9ng_MiT6acQBYr5GlnoYtvPeW9cwKbvJck9kojytscbOsk9i2nhqferc/s400/Red+Ombre+on+Black+hair.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New cut and colour. Even though my sister told me I was asking for copper tones, and wanted to make sure that's what I really wanted I said yes to the copper tones. It wasn't what I really want.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIrdfbzgTwpx5eJo7mKPKCiiFICcyz61hOatuQxbg8MwTfyZJCbvWCmeX4vywCuHZbPwzp6s8UK7m11tdBhcnEEnJqBaq50fkQTlqUSOF8cFPnOX12Rg3WUahvYZmNYXLlCsLpVRf-Ixc/s1600/Brown+Ombre+on+Black+Hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIrdfbzgTwpx5eJo7mKPKCiiFICcyz61hOatuQxbg8MwTfyZJCbvWCmeX4vywCuHZbPwzp6s8UK7m11tdBhcnEEnJqBaq50fkQTlqUSOF8cFPnOX12Rg3WUahvYZmNYXLlCsLpVRf-Ixc/s400/Brown+Ombre+on+Black+Hair.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She added brown to tone down the copper. This is what I wanted :)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-61586128922075541702012-02-10T22:08:00.000-08:002012-02-10T22:08:32.579-08:00End of the Fashion Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The best thing about having a limited choice was that picking out something to wear in the morning was a no brainer. This is what I got, that's what I wore yesterday, this is what I can do. These are the outfits for the rest of the week. I've been using Instagram for my photos, and am loving it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA70bWKK6iDV3djqtj86bOoPnZ9WMFzJqfVDc1c-JbkHIoOQSay59wKExz4PZs_zqJW258EO3HXmNse0HJxmKWnp2ggvgAcaEDk1PQx5Kn7NEOk9PBIEwNVdML_c109GGB1hwEaKJ26_w/s1600/Day+3+Outfit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA70bWKK6iDV3djqtj86bOoPnZ9WMFzJqfVDc1c-JbkHIoOQSay59wKExz4PZs_zqJW258EO3HXmNse0HJxmKWnp2ggvgAcaEDk1PQx5Kn7NEOk9PBIEwNVdML_c109GGB1hwEaKJ26_w/s320/Day+3+Outfit.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 3 - Slim trousers, black long sleeve, Chanel Inspired Flats</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSxhct6HJ7HYrFw6-hlyzdoNTqCIC3jvXrpWQ0NJL9UleFc4JPZrmgJgl-bXgRljAPvPCQkDwH7cmTUBRwuhGsij30pPpSRD-7N9exHp3-Oh6LDfQrZ4Wat-S93-4dYOKPrH55xPjOs8/s1600/Day+4+Outfit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSxhct6HJ7HYrFw6-hlyzdoNTqCIC3jvXrpWQ0NJL9UleFc4JPZrmgJgl-bXgRljAPvPCQkDwH7cmTUBRwuhGsij30pPpSRD-7N9exHp3-Oh6LDfQrZ4Wat-S93-4dYOKPrH55xPjOs8/s320/Day+4+Outfit.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 4 - Boyfriend jeans, white tee, pink cardigan, black pumps</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi060ckT3dtvV79oRBAGC9T0CAKlv-ZRkA-y_u4R3ZrElqpZF7lqwBLH9A7meHqnU1iPOOVMXaSZ6GF17iZZ9W9x9682n0-aXRe_Z44GOCRTQ9bvBnN-R54e6g_QHdSPByLucgVAQIppjU/s1600/Day+5+Outfit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi060ckT3dtvV79oRBAGC9T0CAKlv-ZRkA-y_u4R3ZrElqpZF7lqwBLH9A7meHqnU1iPOOVMXaSZ6GF17iZZ9W9x9682n0-aXRe_Z44GOCRTQ9bvBnN-R54e6g_QHdSPByLucgVAQIppjU/s320/Day+5+Outfit.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 5 - Black long sleeve, black dress, Chanel Inspired Flats</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-50645208896134796882012-02-07T20:08:00.000-08:002012-02-07T20:08:27.105-08:00Day 2 OutfitMy co-workers think I'm being silly. Wearing a limited number of items for a week doesn't seem like much of a challenge to them. Regardless, they amuse me by taking pictures of me.<br />
<br />
This is day two.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hmRrlbFx97EBuo_Hu4YMnpLe6qGZphbgN6_fZ4JMtQaNstCEsbEIcTZF8rSKPOG8_isH4__dkJdcWknzTxZaXT4HhDHT6nyHBzrsOwNFowqZ8kCu0j6TNHwZEKuB8siul0ze2srYbpY/s1600/Day+2+Outfit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hmRrlbFx97EBuo_Hu4YMnpLe6qGZphbgN6_fZ4JMtQaNstCEsbEIcTZF8rSKPOG8_isH4__dkJdcWknzTxZaXT4HhDHT6nyHBzrsOwNFowqZ8kCu0j6TNHwZEKuB8siul0ze2srYbpY/s400/Day+2+Outfit.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tweed jacket, boyfriend jeans, and white tee</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfy6VGOlE4o0Kaf6uhsBv0S5hI5bDZ2l1bw4Qv_SVhkgwMDaRTkspPQxHwkdUYCvUv5wriPoiaIhcpamJxUQ2MI_Sd8Tn4bpvehmyB0U77fLPr7eOTeIKYuU7PiHY3sHK1zx7jKUbOQVg/s1600/Chanel+Inspired+Flats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfy6VGOlE4o0Kaf6uhsBv0S5hI5bDZ2l1bw4Qv_SVhkgwMDaRTkspPQxHwkdUYCvUv5wriPoiaIhcpamJxUQ2MI_Sd8Tn4bpvehmyB0U77fLPr7eOTeIKYuU7PiHY3sHK1zx7jKUbOQVg/s400/Chanel+Inspired+Flats.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chanel Inspired Flats</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-59203778892853336712012-02-06T19:05:00.000-08:002012-02-07T18:56:28.968-08:005 Day Fashion Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I didn't get my shit together fast enough to join my friend Sheila on her <a href="http://sheilaephemera.blogspot.com/2012/01/30-for-30-for-12-challenge.html" target="_blank">30 for 30 For 12 Challenge</a> so I'm going to do my own mini challenge until I can join her in March. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For my challenge I picked 9 pieces that I can wear for the next 5 days; slim trousers, black dress, boyfriend jeans, white tee, black long sleeve, tweed jacket, pink cardigan, Chanel Inspired flats, and black suede pumps. I can only wear these pieces. I can't repeat an outfit. Accessories don't count. The goal is to be creative. The bi-product is less time in my closet looking for something to wear. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here is Day 1. I didn't mean to match my glasses to my cardigan but they just happen to be ready for me to pickup this morning.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYoWfQCwiHj3kmU1F-Wpc8acAtZaJRFJXIClVEJpWOq-If_USrqt2ipyoAa3bZ6XFTZnYLCR67kNhP0QGwnOC2ohrfgrl0eiCi145ISqX37KVXf3hzDCoo09CiQUnfn_JGnJWeUs0OAI/s400/Day+1+Outfit.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black dress, Pink Cardigan, Black Pumps</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wPv8edEWLCE992Gx_b1KHUCkd28vm_KnA6HsGFJPD3n09y_SudBI7ph1o2MM-qcuw1NJuBFFhsTF4SoeS9aYwonTT2NtQcaYcXoItBbVcq9jIyBnQ4WKjVg5Kf7y6zH0-xTrEQqhk9M/s1600/Pink+Derek+Cardigan+Frames.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wPv8edEWLCE992Gx_b1KHUCkd28vm_KnA6HsGFJPD3n09y_SudBI7ph1o2MM-qcuw1NJuBFFhsTF4SoeS9aYwonTT2NtQcaYcXoItBbVcq9jIyBnQ4WKjVg5Kf7y6zH0-xTrEQqhk9M/s400/Pink+Derek+Cardigan+Frames.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New glasses!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOYICU_t9LIcWMDi8EFML9-9lLhXLmnGBodwzq_KQmF8xQR9XReuQgQBQ6TcN89uy71FvCgKJBd1hF7CeMMW0F1sKxZOqRo1KViwe9MWv0_lsVEf4ZyoxG4mDO9oVAjOqqtwDphRGZo4/s1600/5+Day+Challenge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOYICU_t9LIcWMDi8EFML9-9lLhXLmnGBodwzq_KQmF8xQR9XReuQgQBQ6TcN89uy71FvCgKJBd1hF7CeMMW0F1sKxZOqRo1KViwe9MWv0_lsVEf4ZyoxG4mDO9oVAjOqqtwDphRGZo4/s400/5+Day+Challenge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 9 pieces for 5 Days</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-62437693052670040282012-01-27T09:58:00.001-08:002012-02-03T17:29:20.178-08:00My Three Year Old is Ruining My LifeNot really. I just want to see how many people google that. If you got here because you searched that, please remind yourself that children keep a family together, especially when one can't find a babysitter.<br />
<br />
I remember the days when I could hang out in my closet for hours trying on different outfits. I remember making last minute plans to see a pal at a new restaurant, coffee shop. I remember walking aimlessly in boutiques, staring for hours at all the pretty new clothes. I remember when I could pee without someone barging in the room asking what I was doing. Those days are long gone. They've been replaced with a little girl that wants to try on my dresses, even though they're huge on her. Last minute plans have been replaced by strategic (at least we try), play dates at kid friendly cafes. I rarely get the chance to walk aimlessly in a pretty boutique. I now follow Elle around aimlessly in Build a Bear.<br />
<br />
It's a new life, and it's pretty sweet. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Pw7bMr3qlGwnWT9pFNsSRAQCOpHHTPF_GBAsJc5XK_CZuYzRssXT19Dy98pgtMxe3nb7TfH6xyhFASwvNZEvxu8O4Wxbj5j8lGqORog0arLEm_Xz5ugKcYvvfNnCDhtjNGx__jRQIGI/s640/blogger-image-1040520397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Pw7bMr3qlGwnWT9pFNsSRAQCOpHHTPF_GBAsJc5XK_CZuYzRssXT19Dy98pgtMxe3nb7TfH6xyhFASwvNZEvxu8O4Wxbj5j8lGqORog0arLEm_Xz5ugKcYvvfNnCDhtjNGx__jRQIGI/s400/blogger-image-1040520397.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOu_HGRvg-O3VPzgSh3qun8iNQAsCNhZ-PLMtsYkp_6acv_BJtyj_VKxdf3QMPXFt3anItnvNg2VB4aelHV0B-xGJOTbDQ1HmPgFW4kjh2HEL6FzUIDzA3xUdm1i9y_4NfvuzK3LojCU/s640/blogger-image-981214232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOu_HGRvg-O3VPzgSh3qun8iNQAsCNhZ-PLMtsYkp_6acv_BJtyj_VKxdf3QMPXFt3anItnvNg2VB4aelHV0B-xGJOTbDQ1HmPgFW4kjh2HEL6FzUIDzA3xUdm1i9y_4NfvuzK3LojCU/s400/blogger-image-981214232.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BFk5r4_dZ6MWx8hNge7Ey2YuE7d51HU9ihm9QrNJldC1YZtoVXOzh2IMadOeKsX95MDG6xUB8PmCZeaBM_N2rrnjv9x3CCt3r06ha4pGguIa15-LrSsmD0Q_StiLXrQX1oIqVC4NWqI/s640/blogger-image--1640783041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BFk5r4_dZ6MWx8hNge7Ey2YuE7d51HU9ihm9QrNJldC1YZtoVXOzh2IMadOeKsX95MDG6xUB8PmCZeaBM_N2rrnjv9x3CCt3r06ha4pGguIa15-LrSsmD0Q_StiLXrQX1oIqVC4NWqI/s400/blogger-image--1640783041.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZqYk7QnR7XOXJ95xt0eVROw86iG9wmkZ4cw70BFTF2MR9PDflP_dgTPJO3dozJ7aRDJ1KJCw_04HenC3KPIb6sHBTtOYcUMRjZXP_auXH2tXNbSByClx2r0B19MI2LF9X8icXWX2nvc/s640/blogger-image-642793057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZqYk7QnR7XOXJ95xt0eVROw86iG9wmkZ4cw70BFTF2MR9PDflP_dgTPJO3dozJ7aRDJ1KJCw_04HenC3KPIb6sHBTtOYcUMRjZXP_auXH2tXNbSByClx2r0B19MI2LF9X8icXWX2nvc/s400/blogger-image-642793057.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-12031762755224240542012-01-16T20:01:00.000-08:002012-01-16T20:07:08.302-08:00Steps to Making Glitter Pumps<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKFQmAHy-9_sfS36Ls41dxY1ZoSfkrJbvaQyfuBtX1SDlgNjWn7o9xFXT5Biy8EWF5R3XPbdg-HjswGMeNdOuQVi26NOp_r0T5gbMJhICB2gk79dny1JxfCupUARuji5xcm40fmCjYD4/s640/blogger-image--1785211233.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Step 1 - Get a rip in your heel by doing something stupid while intoxicated.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b> </b><b> </b><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1w4uXKZU0OaygZ-x-vMmPeoqz65nHeSB_P_pguQd7W465zKAscutiP1tGromymifUGZ2IPzcf-M8-LylrBePQQFzLlIOHvxSZphHoM1QT0bAWxvoQLkKu-_7FAkw3jN20KYBV8bIsOM/s320/blogger-image-2146708678.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Step 2 - Buy glue for shoes and some glitter.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhawF0NofIhZIIGKp7IcrLakMtfBTtXKR5Hh9qvJlImyRY1NJ4VlrtOB1bOM2h3lgtRpizEdEq2-l5Bp83btKtde-soeQbxLAusi14eblO5TW2ovHoOcyMbL0EyzOjcke8aDpT-gXsUKn0/s1600/blogger-image-1633472312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhawF0NofIhZIIGKp7IcrLakMtfBTtXKR5Hh9qvJlImyRY1NJ4VlrtOB1bOM2h3lgtRpizEdEq2-l5Bp83btKtde-soeQbxLAusi14eblO5TW2ovHoOcyMbL0EyzOjcke8aDpT-gXsUKn0/s320/blogger-image-1633472312.jpg" width="320" /></a><b> </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhawF0NofIhZIIGKp7IcrLakMtfBTtXKR5Hh9qvJlImyRY1NJ4VlrtOB1bOM2h3lgtRpizEdEq2-l5Bp83btKtde-soeQbxLAusi14eblO5TW2ovHoOcyMbL0EyzOjcke8aDpT-gXsUKn0/s640/blogger-image-1633472312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsrI0dYyTNs_u5y7xQaekFO-OEfiPMZgreVrd4JgEqs5oRa1rlG1JwYtWVF1Ha2NB0oRecUx070K4SepWU_jyT_ZQfWMpDTjoNRxtiV98oW3KfhqF30fZKba3nQkM2WUKhCZQTRqpGFBQ/s640/blogger-image-1330969106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsrI0dYyTNs_u5y7xQaekFO-OEfiPMZgreVrd4JgEqs5oRa1rlG1JwYtWVF1Ha2NB0oRecUx070K4SepWU_jyT_ZQfWMpDTjoNRxtiV98oW3KfhqF30fZKba3nQkM2WUKhCZQTRqpGFBQ/s320/blogger-image-1330969106.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Step 3 - Use an old toothbrush to spread the glue on one clean heel.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b> </b><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyJ0wC2dfgQbIYlWQP5vzBVnat4bjbb4aXu1epfvajX3Bo0R4Sd3rYD2mVWjftShhkUPitrDdljaeFxinBp0te-p7oPjrZvqRLT-DEir4z1L4E8dDfqb2uS2gf8OvHi_iFC2O4FN2bN0/s320/blogger-image--376029127.jpg" width="320" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Step 4 - Sprinkle glitter all over the heel. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Step 5 - Repeat on other heel.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmH_wv8mCIByul7UXeA2Bmzq7Ps6gs0igWw4b5SV9sXj-whMnmOiKVN-qOWS6Un-Q9Q3iygiOiWvSbEgJJHa1K_KDAYhSmbE5h9EiSXMj06cTuz5QVmuj_92MQ8rQw3h_Etu2erjJkJYA/s640/blogger-image-1797896278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmH_wv8mCIByul7UXeA2Bmzq7Ps6gs0igWw4b5SV9sXj-whMnmOiKVN-qOWS6Un-Q9Q3iygiOiWvSbEgJJHa1K_KDAYhSmbE5h9EiSXMj06cTuz5QVmuj_92MQ8rQw3h_Etu2erjJkJYA/s320/blogger-image-1797896278.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Step 6 - Let dry before wearing them and going out to get intoxicated.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKFQmAHy-9_sfS36Ls41dxY1ZoSfkrJbvaQyfuBtX1SDlgNjWn7o9xFXT5Biy8EWF5R3XPbdg-HjswGMeNdOuQVi26NOp_r0T5gbMJhICB2gk79dny1JxfCupUARuji5xcm40fmCjYD4/s640/blogger-image--1785211233.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKFQmAHy-9_sfS36Ls41dxY1ZoSfkrJbvaQyfuBtX1SDlgNjWn7o9xFXT5Biy8EWF5R3XPbdg-HjswGMeNdOuQVi26NOp_r0T5gbMJhICB2gk79dny1JxfCupUARuji5xcm40fmCjYD4/s320/blogger-image--1785211233.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-84386052220768787012012-01-07T18:15:00.000-08:002012-01-07T18:16:37.583-08:00I Found A Dress in My Husband's ClosetEverything comes together when you throw it out to the Universe. So I posted that I was on a shopping diet. Then I found this super cool video on how to make multiple dresses out of a man's dress shirt. Then I made myself a new dress.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/2JwdZC31nQU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBC3oUioBL4c0PrU64LFUx4NP1a6AqE5mhxymj6QzmFBEp4f-XRPop9gfxj5fiKSIGxsImGZDEeMuVfiij1bvMt8N70oELvrVtHINZSqL0X1UxtnakQMAaVJbWWHgcINFzZkpDhkrO6WA/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBC3oUioBL4c0PrU64LFUx4NP1a6AqE5mhxymj6QzmFBEp4f-XRPop9gfxj5fiKSIGxsImGZDEeMuVfiij1bvMt8N70oELvrVtHINZSqL0X1UxtnakQMAaVJbWWHgcINFzZkpDhkrO6WA/s400/010.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-81977166014782853832012-01-03T18:41:00.001-08:002012-01-04T19:42:46.155-08:002012 Shopping DietBy posting about it on this blog, I hereby commit to a 2012 Shopping Diet.<br />
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Here's the deal. I have a shit load of clothes. So many that I always feel the need to purge items. However, every time I purge, I rationalize that I can buy something new, since there is now more room in my closet, or dresser. So it's a stupid cycle of clearing my clutter, adding more shit, clearing more, adding more. I'm stopping that right now.<br />
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Why? Why not? I've been playing with the idea doing a wardrobe challenge for a few weeks now. Maybe something like a Capsule Challenge, like my friend <a href="http://sheilaephemera.blogspot.com/search/label/Summer%20Capsule%20Challenge%202010" target="_blank">Shelia</a> did. She only had 5 pieces of clothing to wear for 7 days. Then I thought, go big, or go home. "Aim for the moon, even if you miss you end up in the stars". I've been really digging that quote lately. So that's what I'm going to do. Realistically if I can make it until Summer 2012 I'll feel really good. My goal is to actually get more creative with my current closet. If I happen to save some money doing it, that's just gravy. <br />
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<u>The Rules</u><br />
No purchasing of new clothing items allowed (with the exception of underwear and hosiery).<br />
Thrifted items allowed but with a max of $20 per day.<br />
Shopping can only happen on a Saturday.<br />
Clothing swaps allowed but enter with caution.<br />
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I'm sure I will add more rules as I go. I'd like to disclose that I bought some last minute items before publishing this post. Don't worry, I didn't buy them to create an outfit. They are simply pieces I felt necessary for my wardrobe. Hell's yeah, sequin pants are necessary.<br />
<div style="height: 400px; position: relative; width: 400px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/recent_purchases/set?.embedder=1823924&.svc=copypaste&id=41764009"><img alt="Recent Purchases" border="0" height="400" src="http://embed.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/cid/41764009/id/hmB7vPQ24RGbJLBbrtCdJg/size/e.jpg" title="Recent Purchases" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div><small><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/recent_purchases/set?.embedder=1823924&.svc=copypaste&id=41764009">Recent Purchases</a> by <a href="http://clearlyshopaholic.polyvore.com/?.embedder=1823924&.svc=copypaste">clearlyshopaholic</a> featuring <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/zipper_jeans/shop?query=zipper+jeans">zipper jeans</a></small></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-59027666905878931262011-11-27T20:53:00.000-08:002011-11-27T20:53:20.442-08:00I'm A Dangerous DriverOn our way home from Grandma's birthday dinner, me, hubby, grandma, and Elle were in the car, I drove. While at an intersection I started to take my foot off the brake as I saw the light turn green. Of course the car in front of me hadn't started moving yet so hubby yells at me to stop the car. Elle, from the backseat yells, "Mom keep your eyes on the road!" She turns 3 in about a month. Precious, isn't she?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8bZgMk-AWORnHrrO7l1Dox9cN8i0R_zNbh9QobMkDfDEyqAOqNu35ivWneBpZsULUSwuae4uuRHU_ro_MyBat2T23IxEn7gY6r0RWlNBXPx8-vFb1LmLSUFuWDiJvovDyNQ6AsP101A/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8bZgMk-AWORnHrrO7l1Dox9cN8i0R_zNbh9QobMkDfDEyqAOqNu35ivWneBpZsULUSwuae4uuRHU_ro_MyBat2T23IxEn7gY6r0RWlNBXPx8-vFb1LmLSUFuWDiJvovDyNQ6AsP101A/s400/006.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-56480926503097125952011-11-15T23:06:00.000-08:002011-11-16T11:23:18.152-08:00Visiting SecheltMy friend Beth FINALLY got pictures from our weekend getaway off her camera. This was the first time since Elle was born that I did a night away from her. I've gone out, and come home late, but I've never actually left her for more than 12 hours. I left her with hubby for 2 whole days. It was a big deal. We all survived. Of course I spent most of the time wondering what they were doing, and if they missed me as much as I missed them. Pathetic I know!<br />
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None the less, I will definitely go away again with the girls. It was a simple trip, bed and breakfast, beach combing, pub food, wine, and hot tub. I think we painted our nails and fell asleep by 10pm. <br />
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Here are a few pictures of goofy fun at the beach.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfJAfcRZ2GpgZqbWFSuHmfbE2AmoKNZqbh-Jv6xAuY_y0qsrXSvQirUA7AVQVEm1Ptn70jpfJwALZk1XWPQd4tAWhK3f9P29Tf9b5wxSV7dK6AaAn3TUR_wX49gcB2ZdhVT_sgXbslWg/s1600/dsc_0362-0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfJAfcRZ2GpgZqbWFSuHmfbE2AmoKNZqbh-Jv6xAuY_y0qsrXSvQirUA7AVQVEm1Ptn70jpfJwALZk1XWPQd4tAWhK3f9P29Tf9b5wxSV7dK6AaAn3TUR_wX49gcB2ZdhVT_sgXbslWg/s640/dsc_0362-0.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGFlVRFYzJ0Ej_9xXTeuuygy5KHkTOmsM6DVd-Syaife0D5n5PAmOzsmN322lSCqiEPyGz3_dAdMdZAQOhnPE3KjnIyJiusPQ5VpQrXNVwuevOBl6O_BTQHFEu-1W4DHgQHF39SGCmc9o/s1600/dsc_0586-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGFlVRFYzJ0Ej_9xXTeuuygy5KHkTOmsM6DVd-Syaife0D5n5PAmOzsmN322lSCqiEPyGz3_dAdMdZAQOhnPE3KjnIyJiusPQ5VpQrXNVwuevOBl6O_BTQHFEu-1W4DHgQHF39SGCmc9o/s400/dsc_0586-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5031655834521488840.post-67065481194475798472011-11-02T19:58:00.000-07:002011-11-09T09:10:57.873-08:00Why You Need An Image Consultant<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidR115I4HIyU4HjhF4y1y-vUo2ncdo2jQ7QHF6Weya3hYU3QaiEMw3IjDHMYg9uFfWOCZ5K24AO5xOys15eL5eUgTTJT-dQ8WTJmOcrYRC_Y5XVsNzOOINL21SBzDA-Ix8HAYzyVN8Xrg/s1600/Battle+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidR115I4HIyU4HjhF4y1y-vUo2ncdo2jQ7QHF6Weya3hYU3QaiEMw3IjDHMYg9uFfWOCZ5K24AO5xOys15eL5eUgTTJT-dQ8WTJmOcrYRC_Y5XVsNzOOINL21SBzDA-Ix8HAYzyVN8Xrg/s400/Battle+2.JPG" width="265" /></a></div>A few months ago I hired an Image Consultant. Those of you that know me in real life are probably thinking what the hell? I know, I know, I'm into fashion, I went to design school, and I dress pretty well, why did I hire an Image Consultant?<br />
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Well, truth be told I felt like I needed to up my professional game a little. I was hired at my company when I was twenty one, and sometimes I think some of the execs still see me as a twenty one year old. Even though I'm thirty now, a mother now, and have successfully managed crucial parts of our business.<br />
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Prior to our first session Katherine, the image consultant, had me fill out a dozen personality surveys. Then we had a two hour discussion about the results of the survey. A huge light bulb went off when I realized all the things I wrote down on paper weren't actually the things I wanted at all. Katherine pointed out that on paper I wanted to fit in, go unnoticed. But the things that I was passionate about, my goals, my dreams, they were loud. I want to be noticed. Not for the having a super professional career, but for being me. I'm not a suit, and after this exercise I was OK with that.<br />
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The goal of hiring an consultant was to polish up my appearance, look more professional, and be more serious. The goal was stand in the manager meetings and feel like a key player. The result, was looking inside, and loving myself for who I was. I'm smart, caring, and compassionate. I value my relationships with my staff, and with my suppliers. I'm honest, and trustworthy. I don't need to be in a suit to have people respect me. They already do. And for those that don't, it's none of my business why.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16164655159533087389noreply@blogger.com0