tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25807769689773984382024-03-12T19:54:45.837-07:00The Jocelberry PatchJocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-58372711117265514902011-04-18T18:23:00.000-07:002011-04-18T19:13:10.311-07:00Ok...to put the record straight...Hey, it's me. You know, the criminal. Yep. The person on you've seen on the wanted posters. And on America's most wanted. that's me. Or so my mom would have you believe from her blog post describing me as a "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span><b>knife-wielding delinquent minor</b>" </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >. If you really, <b>really</b> have to, you can read the whole dramatic story on her blog.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">But I am here to set the record straight. Here, my friends, is the real story...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">MY story begins a little over a year ago. At my AWANA group. At completing certain sections in our books, (*NOTE* the books include reading the bible and memorizing bible verses-you know, God's word, right?- and writing down deep spiritual thoughts on paper.) </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; ">So anyway, I was at my <b>Christian </b>AWANA group, completing a section in my <b>Christian </b>book, and I got a prize. You may have guessed it, this is the very prize that turned me into that <b>"Knife -wielding delinquent minor"</b>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; "> It was this really nifty little pocket knife. I would tell you all of the things that it could do, but -*Sarcastic laugh*-I don't really have it with me to look at right now, but I'm getting ahead of myself. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; ">So I took this inch and a half piece of misery home, where it sat, still in the package, for almost a month. Although it may not have sounded like it, this <b>"Knife-wielding delinquent minor" </b> isn't really a knife person. And when she is, it's more in the context of cutting vegetables, as apposed to the pocket knife people who use their knives to cut...(Wait a second, I'm not <i>one of those people </i>so I don't even know what they use their knives for primarily!) </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; ">But after a while, the look of that little knife lying on the floor made me sad (actually, it didn't make me sad, it was just cluttering up my room...which <i>can </i>make me sad) and for whatever reason, <b>I took the knife out of it's plastic cover. </b>And being the smart individual that I am, I set it in a "Safe place". That was the <b>"Knife-wielding delinquent minor's" </b>first mistake. Her second mistake was to forget where that safe place was. Yeah. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">SO now that I've told you the back story, lets fast forward to this March. I was really excited because my sister and I were going to California for eight whole days and teaching a speech workshop for two of them. I was a little stressed about some of the things relating to that trip. Things like: <i>What if I forget my pajamas? </i>or<i>, What if I forget to print those papers that Catey needs printed? </i>Or, <i>What if my plane crashes? </i>But, alas, there was no little voice in my head saying: <i>What if I left that pocket knife that I got from my </i><i style="font-weight: bold; ">Christian </i><i>AWANA group for finishing a section in my </i><i><b>Christian </b>book and the "safe place" that I put it was actually my carry on bag and it's sunk down deep in one the pockets and I get pulled over by airport security because I have it there and Mom writes a blog post on it and then I have to write one to defend myself?</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Alas. No voice piped up so...yeah. I took my safe place/carry on bag with me to the airport. And I'm just walking through security, when my bag gets pulled out of security and this big, tall security guard walks over and asks me, "Is this your bag?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Um, yeah...?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Now at this point, I'm only thinking; "Why is security pulling my bag? What could that possibly mean? did I pack my toiletries in there? What did I leave in there?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">But the guard made this joke about checking for hand grenades. Not funny. Especially when I'm so confused I don't laugh, I just give the guard a blankly scared look. (I'm sure that was great for my credibility)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">CATEY: hits me. "Joss. Hand grenades. he's joking."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">JOSS: Delayed silence. *Nervous laugh*. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">SECURITY GUARD: Tells me to look through my bag, than officially says; "Is there anything in here that will stick me, cut me or otherwise hurt me in here?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">DELINQUENT MINOR: "Ummmmm, I have a pencil in there."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Then the guard opens the bag and goes through it. "Is this your bible?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Yes...?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Just when I think this was just a routine check, the guard reaches into the pocket and-oops. In that instant, I knew what it was.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Uh-oh." The guard pulls out the knife.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">CATEY: Hits Joss again, as if to imply that she does not agree with my decision to bring a pocket knife into the airport (no, duh?)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">KNIFE-WIELDING DELINQUENT MINOR: "Sorry!!!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">So there's the whole story. I was- ahem- framed. I was too embarrassed to have the the guard mail the knife back to me, so he threw it away. And because of a certain blog post, I spent the whole rest of the time in CA. telling people that I was not a <b>knife-wielding delinquent minor</b>. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Thanks, mom.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; "> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div></div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-64816623488143585582010-12-19T13:14:00.000-08:002010-12-19T13:38:15.423-08:00Hi, everybody who still hangs on to the hope of me writing again. It's been a really long time...and a lot has happened. Sometime I should write a post to tell of my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">wondrous</span> adventures in the past...7...months. Wow that's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">embarrassing</span>. But today I wanted to tell you about something I've been thinking about. <div><br /></div><div>I was reading through the Psalms recently. I was moving through the passages that king David wrote. And I noticed a pattern. Maybe I wouldn't have paid attention to it if I hadn't been experiencing the same pattern in myself for the past few years. As the chapters went on, I saw David either praising God for wonderful deeds or for just being God (which is praiseworthy as well), or David was crying out to God, needing help, and holding on to the hope that God is coming...because He has in the past. </div><div><br /></div><div>Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that every believer in Christ has experienced this very pattern. God is not someone to constantly bring us through hard times, but He also likes to purify us and make us more beautiful. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not saying God is predictable.</div><div><br /></div><div>God is not a mere machine that controls us, his mere robots. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I do know that God brings us through difficult times. He wouldn't be a loving and perfect father if He didn't. That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt, though. I understand this...I go through it first hand every day. But finding the pattern in Psalms encouraged me. (Not by saying: "Hey, look, I'm just as good as king David." Or "I'm going through things too, but I don't write down my troubles so that they sound all poetic and then put them in a book"-please don't misunderstand my meaning.) Going through the Psalms, I saw David as a joyful king...and I saw him as an admittedly broken king. But in king David's hard times, he ended with trusting in God and offering up the praises that God so desires and deserves. And in one of the next Psalms, David was praising God for delivering him. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want to encourage you. Though the times might be hard-keep trusting God. You are moving toward the time of easy praise. And while you are waiting, praise God still. He always deserves it. </div><div><br /></div><div>And if you are going through a time when God is blessing you (in an obvious way)-praise Him for that too. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jocelyn</div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-15855285956714803622010-04-29T15:01:00.000-07:002010-04-29T15:42:04.401-07:00The phone call that changed my life forever...<span style="font-size:100%;">This story begins about a few days ago. My mom and our friends mom (the same friends from my post: how to clean your child) left to go to a conference in New Mexico. Leaving us for an even longer period of time with all of our little siblings.<br /><br />(Before I continue, let me point out that the best stories from my blog always come when my family is gone.)<br /><br />The conference was for homeschooling, the highlights being in the speakers. One of the key ones had taught a class that my sister had watched. The other was- *horror music*- MY MATH TEACHER! some people may not know this about me, but I hate math. (No, that's not enough) <span style="font-style: italic;">I HATE MATH!!! </span>No... <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:180%;">I REALLY REALLY REALLY HATE MMAAAAATTTTTHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">ah...that's better. I have hated math almost as long as I've taken it. And when I heard that my math teacher (The very one I watch in my videos) was going to be talking to my mom-I was terrified. <span style="font-style: italic;">Trigenomitry is the only way to go!! teach it to your kids! If they aren't learning it by junior high they are failing! And you too! It is the parent's job! </span>But I soon regained my composure and simply asked my mom to give my math teacher a very grown up and sophisticated message.<br /><br />"Hey, Mom? When you see my math teacher, shoot him in the eye. Thanks."<br /><br />Yeah. It would've been awesome.<br /><br />For some reason, though, my mom didn't give him the message-instead...well, I'll just record my exact feelings.<br /><br />I was doing my hair up in the bathroom when Catey (my sister) came in.<br />"Mom wants to talk to you." She said, holding out the phone.<br />Ok. This was really frightening. When your mom is out of state, and she calls-asking for you...<span style="font-style: italic;">I'm in trouble...big trouble...what did I do?</span> "Did mom sound angry?"<br />Catey just shrugged, so I got up my courage and answered the phone.<br />"Hello?"<br />"Hi, Joss?"<br />"Yeah...?"<br />"Hold on just a second......."....................<br />"...............HI Jocelyn!"<br />This probably wouldn't have seemed weird except for the fact that my mom had been repeating himself. But it wasn't my mom's voice. It was a man's.<br /><br />"Ummmm...hi?"<br /><br />"How are you?"<br /><br />"Good, how are you..?"<br /><br />"I'm good. Do you know who I am?"<br /><br /><br />"Noooo..."<br /><br /><br />"Well, let me sing this song for you-"<br /><br />and at that moment, I knew who he was. I probably would've figured it out sooner if Catey and my friend hadn't been sticking their heads in my face, trying how to figure out who was talking to me. but I did figure it out...THE MYSTERY MAN WAS MY MATH TEACHER! I said that I knew him right as he started singing the 3 times tables.<br /><br />I think I talked to him for about ten minutes, but all I could think about was what I was going to do to my mom when she got home to make her pay for what she'd done. BUT there was one important thing that I remember. the thing that changed my life forever! truly amazing! Something that makes me not hate my math teacher's guts!<br /><br />He asked me where I was in math and I told him, then he asked me what lesson I was on and I didn't tell him, I just said I'd been having trouble with it and I was slightly behind. He said there wasn't any grade requirement for those books because everyone moves at their own pace; "Besides, what are you- seventeen?"<br /><br />And there it was. I am a lot younger than seventeen. Not like a couple of months, not like just a year...but one big hunk of time! I'm ahead!!! I'm ahead!!! I told him to tell my mom that I was ahead and he said she was listening! Thanks to my math teacher I can take Algebra 1 slowly. Yay!<br /><br />so maybe I don't want to shoot my math teacher in the eye anymore-but I'm just glad I don't have to do so much math!!!<br />Now if only my worldview teacher had been there too...<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span></span><br /></span></span></span></span>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-27493798821846600682010-03-22T18:05:00.000-07:002010-03-26T09:07:51.890-07:00How to clean your childBefore I tell you the meaning of the title, let me first explain what happened before hand.<br />I have some friends who like to stay at my house pretty regularly. There are five kids and a mom. The kids are all around our ages; the oldest is close to my age, the second oldest is close to my younger sister's age, and the two youngest are around my brother's ages. We'd been enjoying the nice weather we'd been having lately and were letting the young kids play outside. This left us free to do pretty much whatever we wanted. So we enjoyed our free time...We should have known better. I remember coming down the stairs and hearing the moms giggling. I could also hear water running from the hose faucet on the side of our house...that was our first bad sign.<br /><br />The moms mentioned that they told the kids to stop playing with the water and yelled it out into my yard again. I was puzzled at first at why the kids would be wanting water...that is, until I saw them. I was so shocked at the little people's appearance that I went outside onto our deck to get a better look. But my eyes hadn't deceived me. All of the kids (I'm not exaggerating) were covered from head to toe in mud. They had it in their hair, on their clothes, and caked on their hands and feet.<br /><br />I asked the kids what they were doing. My little brother's answer didn't comfort me. "We can't use the water so we're melting snow to make more water. " They needed the water to make either a little waterfall in the backyard or to make the biggest mud hole I'd ever seen in my yard. (I can't remember which).<br /><br />Then the moms had to go run out and do something out of the house for a really long time, leaving us older people with the kids...great.<br /><br />This brings me to the title. Needless to say, we put off cleaning the kids for as long as we could. We fed them outside, watched them outside, and we even...<span style="font-size:78%;">let them use the bathroom in our yard<span style="font-size:100%;">...<br /><br />Assuming </span></span>the kids started their playing early in the morning they played for almost the whole day.<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> But then the time came when the kids got tired of being outside. </span><br />Instantly, the wheels began turning in my mind. I'd worked or been in enough VBS's and co-ops that I knew a lot about stations and how to work a lot of people with less workers. Considering there were three of us "workers" and four little kids who were covered with mud from head to toe (but considering how dirty they were, I'll ad about a million children to the four) I thought I would need to call on that knowledge.<br /><br />I announced that we would need three stations. One person would strip the kids at the door and carry them upstairs.<br /><br />Another would stuff them in the shower and wash them up.<br /><br />And the last person's job was to dry and clean the kids. (they also have to calm the sometimes screaming children by telling them that the shower's like a water park.)<br /><br />When our parents got home, the kids were playing safely on the deck and we were all drying off in and outside the house. We behaved like champions as we told the moms what we had accomplished. The looked more confused than impressed.<br /><br />So if you ever have a bunch of mud-children when your parents are gone (or maybe you <span style="font-style: italic;">are </span>the parents and your older children have run away screaming)...ummm...well that works...but you probably wont need that information anytime soon...<br /><br />Oh well. It may be useless knowledge but it was still a funny story-right?<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-10369260373767711732010-02-27T07:50:00.000-08:002010-02-27T08:16:33.301-08:00Additional Ideas for Olympic Events...<span style="font-size:100%;">Before you read this, you may want to read the posts of my darling mother and sister.<br />The issue that has recently been floating around my house is the issue of...too many events? or confusion over too many events?...whatever. You get the idea. My sister and Mother have already come up with some brand new and fresh ideas on new events. Here are some of my top three new Olympic sports...<br /><br />#1: Cross Country ski jumping...<br />where you jump off the ramp as far as you can and shoot a rifle at the ground to prolong your flight.<br />When you land, you go up another ramp and fly on that one while shooting the rifle. Do this for ten miles. (The Wright brothers would have loved this...)<br /><br />#2: Moose Fighting...With a Bull...<br />where you ride a bull (believe me, it's safer than the moose) trying to detain the bull moose with figure skating skates. Dazzling it with your hip-shakin' moves is not allowed.<br /><br />#3: Bobsledding-capture-the-flag-curling with skis...<br /> You begin on the super duper teeny weeny slalom and steel the gold medal from one of the athletes. When you've finished that, go to the bobsled mountain (I can't remember the name, so I'll call it the Matterhorn.) and with your team of two, go down the mountain. Depending on how you did on the ski place, and how fast you can be on the bobsled, you could be way ahead of the angry gold medalist, or you might have to use your curling stick. When anyone gets too close, you can hit them with the stick (creating importance for the person in the back). The people behind you will scream threats like "You're not invited to my birthday party!"<br /><br />So these are my top 3 ideas...what are yours?<br /></span>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-19667645150891120532010-02-13T19:15:00.000-08:002010-02-22T10:13:46.498-08:00Quebec, Land of the Canoeing DevilHere begins my account of this year's winter Olympics. I was going to write about each event individually, but with the Olympics going on every day...it's a little hard to keep up. so here is my account of all of the main events that have been happening this past week.<br />Let's start with the opening ceremony...<br /><br />This year, at the Olympics opening ceremony, the commentators said that the only difference between this ceremony and the one in Beijing would be that the parade of nations would come before the rest of the show. They said that it would be better than usual, when the people would normally be lined up in a parking lot, this way they could sit back and enjoy the whole performance...I disagree. [stupid commercials]<br />There was nothing enjoyable in the performance. I would rather be outside, lined up in a parking lot in snow and sleet and fiery hail instead of watching that show. It was one of those awful times in life where you sit back after doing something and realize you've just wasted hours of your life. [extra stupid commercials]<br />I don't see that there was anything "breathtaking" or "spectacular" or "amazing" about that performance. Unless a drunk man's dream of gansta-Scottish people wearing ripped up kilts is amazing... Maybe they meant Spectacular in context of the Christmas decoration gone bad polar-bear-god. I don't think it was that great, though it would've taken someone with at least as much acting talent as Julie Andrews to pretend to be afraid of it.<br />Wonderful. Breathtaking. Just great...<br />[extra stupid-er commercials]<br />Maybe, if all the commentators represent what people really think, I'm<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> the only one who doesn't like the performance because I'm extremely concrete. Or maybe I'm the only one who'd get nightmares from watching a canoeing devil compete with it's shadow on playing the fiddle...or maybe he was a werewolf, you decide. [Joss goes to bed really confused after the torch lighting goes bad]<br />3 words I would use to describe the opening ceremony: weird, abstract, Purple polka dotted ponies (Hey, in that ceremony, that wouldn't have been too out of place!)<br />FAQ's of the opening ceremony: what's going on? is that supposed to be the devil? I think I'm missing something...what's going on with the...why is that...who is...what's going on???<br /><br />Then, after a couple of days, my favorite part of the Olympics comes. Pair figure skating. They showed the first couple of skaters and then made us watch some boring event before getting to see the rest...maybe it was skiing. (is it just me or does the news channel treat us like I used to treat my dog when I was training her : "Sit! Stay! <span style="font-style: italic;">drops treat in front of nose. </span>Leave it! Down...) just making us go through a bunch of stuff before we actually see what we want to see. But finally we get to see the pairs out on the ice...then I found out that we weren't watching pair figure skating...we were watching a new sport called "pair figure falling where your partner drops you and you try not to cut his neck as you fall on the ice." I can hardly remember a single routine where they didn't fall. And don't even get me started on how the judges never rank the team that you like first.<br />After pff (abbreviated from new sport title), we went to men's figure...skating! (They didn't fall quite so much. ) But I would rather have watched every single one of them fall instead of watching them...shake their hips? And wear a corset??!!!! I'm not going into detail right now, but you can check my mom's blog for detail on everything I'm writing about.<br /><br />And finally, speed skating. That's where real men skate! It's kind of like a mix between figure skating and hockey. figure skating :they're on the ice and wearing skates. Hockey: they actually have mini fights on the ice! The pushing and shoving in those races got me screaming almost as loud as when Yevegeni Plushenko licked his hands while shaking his hips and flirting with the judges.<br /><br />Well, that has me caught about up in all the interesting events that have happened so far...the next time interesting things come up, I'll be able to go over them a little more in depth.Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-23747142790744026932010-01-19T17:23:00.000-08:002010-01-19T17:54:13.614-08:00There once was a girl...Let me tell you the story of a happy little girl. She was an artist, a musician and a speaker. She was the queen of the world and was pretty much amazing. In the drear times of day, she would ask herself questions. The thought provoking questions that everyone asks themselves every once in a while. Questions like: Who am I? What is the purpose for my life? Why is there so much evil in the world if God is a good God? Where are all of my socks?<br /><br />You know, the normal stuff.<br /><br />Then the news hit her. Her mom and sister wanted to go away to North Carolina. Forever. Well, not really forever, but it might as well have been. They were going away for a whole week. At this point, it was only sure that her sister was going, but this girl (Who was selfless and amazing) did the amazingly selfless thing and offered to stay home with her younger sister and two younger brothers so that her mom could go too.<br /><br />The girl took things pretty well...before her mom and sister left. After that, she tried to look at the whole thing as a learning experience.<br /><br />She learned that those so-called "Thought provoking questions" could be answered easily. <span style="font-style: italic;">Who am I? </span>Cinderella. <span style="font-style: italic;">What is the purpose of my life? </span>To be a slave...and stay alive. <span style="font-style: italic;">Why is there so much evil in the world if God is a good God? </span>That wasn't the point. It didn't matter if God was good...it mattered if the people were.<br /><br />She made up new unanswerable questions. Why did it matter who you were if you couldn't even take a shower before lunch? <span style="font-style: italic;">Why did I agree to this? How could I let the boys watch so many movies already? How can the boys think I have patience for this? WHERE ARE MY SOCKS?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span>finally, this girl got to get on her dad's computer and wrote down her memoirs. So she died in agony. the end.<br /><br />Just kidding! The end was in the style of a fairy tale. No comment on the beginning and middle...<br /><br />I just want to say that I miss my Mom and sister. I also want to thank the people who are helping me!<br />Besides, this gives me practice for when my sister moves out...*Joss...I mean the girl-breaks into hysterics* and the jocelberry patch is never written in again.<br />Jocelyn <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-88996204257190413822009-12-18T13:19:00.000-08:002009-12-18T13:41:38.969-08:00A Brother's Point of View part 3Today, instead of being stuck in the house all day with Jason, we decided to go to the park.<br /><br /> I picked up a spider and dangled it above Shanti's head. "Shanti-it's a friend!" I did my evil laugh and dropped the daddy long leg into her hair.<br /><br />Shanti started screaming. "Ewww! Get it off! Jason-where is it?"<br /><br />I watched in utter disgust as Jason fished around in Shanti's hair for the offending bug. "Here it is." he said, holding it up.<br /><br />Shanti brushed through her hair and itched her arms a couple times before she turned on me. "What is your deal? Why are you being so obnoxious?"<br /><br />My parents came over from the bench they had been sitting on. Dad stood between Shanti and I, the way he used to right before we were about to get into dirty fight. "What's the problem?"<br /><br />I was about to make a quick excuse before Shanti could tell on me when Jason cut in. "It was just a joke. jordan put a spider in Shanti's hair. But it's out now."<br /><br />Shanti and my parents were all looking at me the way they always did when I did something I shouldn't do in front of Jason. But I was sure nobody could have been more embarrassed than me at that point; I hadn't done things like putting bugs on, around, or even <span style="font-style: italic;">in</span> (long story) since Shanti could scream and I could be devious.<br /><br />My dad knew that I was really embarassed so he just nodded at Jason. "You have my permission to tackle Jordan." He smiled and went back to the bench.<br /><br />I looked at my shoes. All of a sudden I was on the ground. Jason was laughing on top of me. I pushed him off me, gasping for breath. "It was a joke!" I paused to force more air into my lungs. "You-you weren't really supposed to tackle me!" I stormed off in the direction of the house with Shanti's shouts ringing in my ears; "Come on, Jordan! Can't you take a joke?"<br /><br />Normally I could. I knew I was being stupid about this whole thing. But as I stomped up the stairs to my room, something in the back of my head said; <span style="font-style: italic;">can I ever show my face to them again?<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Did you like it? Keep your eyes out for the next few sections!</span></span></span></span></span>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-68059934622105425452009-12-11T12:18:00.000-08:002009-12-11T12:42:29.196-08:00A Brother's Point of View part 2I waited in the bushes. There was the car. It pulled into the driveway. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sure, make yourself at home, Jason. </span>I thought.<br /><br />The car door opened, and Jason stepped out. He looked nervously at the house and started up the walk. My grip tightened on the trigger. Jason came within aim. BOOM!<br /><br />"Ouch!" Jason stumbled back, gripping his arm. I snickered. <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, look, Jason's got an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">owwy</span>.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />Jason<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span>looked at the paint stain on his shirt. I used the chance to escape back into the house.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;">()<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">"What's with the shirt?" <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Shanti</span> could be such a flirt sometimes.<br /><br />"Oh, that." Jason glanced at his gray t-shirt to the splattering of black paint on the shoulder.<br />"It's kind of weird."<br /><br />I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">looked</span> up from my mashed potatoes. "Yeah it's weird. Why did you even buy it? And <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Shanti's</span> always saying that fashion's everything-you two obviously aren't cut out for each other."<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Shanti</span> glared at me, mouthing the words "shut up". That was another thing that had changed between us; she was so mean to me now.<br /><br />Jason laughed nervously. "No, I mean how I got the stain. I was walking up the driveway, and...what I think was a paintball hit me."<br /><br />"Oh, the neighborhood kids can bee so bratty sometimes." Mom's mouth twitched. She was obviously thinking the same thing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Shanti</span> was.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Shanti</span> pinpointed me with her "this better not be true" glare. "Jordan, where did that paintball gun I got you for Christmas go?"<br /><br />I knew my face was probably going white. "I dunno."<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Shanti</span> cocked her eyebrow at me. "Uh-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">hu</span>."<br /><br />"You fail to mention that you bought me that thing when I was twelve. I haven't seen it in forever. I haven't used it in forever too. It's probably at the bottom of my closet right now-or maybe it isn't! I don't even know! I-" It sounded fake even to me.<br /><br />But <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Shanti</span> held up her hand. "I'm sorry, 'k?<br /><br />"You better be."<br /><br />Jason laughed even more nervously. "Brake it up, you two. Brake it up."<br /><br />I glared at Jason. "You don't have to repeat yourself, what do you think we are-deaf?"<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Did you like it?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Keep checking up for the rest of the updates on the story!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Jocelyn</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span></span>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-11097693828303361042009-12-01T14:28:00.000-08:002009-12-01T14:36:58.980-08:00A Very Special Day!!!!!Hello, everyone!<br />I know you were all expecting an amazing continuation of my amazing story I wrote a while back.<br /><br />But I found out that microsoftword and blogger don't work well together...So I'm taking a little time off from that (I'll go into that later). And besides, I have something much better to show you today!<br /><br />It's one of those amazing "International...so and so, such and such..." days.<br /><br />So, from now on, I want you all to celebrate the "International <strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Kylie</span> <span style="color:#ff0000;">is Awesome</span> </strong>Day!" So as soon as you read this post, (Since you're already on blogger <em>and </em>your computer) write a post talking about how awesome <span style="color:#ff0000;">Kylie</span> is...even if you don't know her! Take my word for it...SHE'S AWESOME!<br /><br />So get to work! I want to see posts every year declaring how awesome <span style="color:#ff0000;">Kylie</span> is!!!!!!!Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-43777016570191255782009-11-17T07:40:00.001-08:002009-11-17T11:38:41.144-08:00Short story!Hey, everyone! I wrote this a while back and thought you might enjoy it!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">A Brother's Point of View<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> I don't understand it. My family was completely fine the way it was. It didn't need a new addition. </span>I'm not talking about a baby. That takes way less of an adjustment. It all started a year ago. Well, if you want to get technical, three years ago.<br /><br /> When my sister was fifteen years old, she fell in love with this other gawky fifteen year old. Although I was only twelve, and didn't know about the existence of crushes, I was still glad to see the Williamsons move away for a little three years on a military tour. Then everything went back to normal...until last year.<br /><br /> The family came back. The gawky teenager had turned into an attractive eighteen year old and seemed to have every intention that he could just barge back into our family. And my sister let him. I didn't have to be told anymore. I was fourteen and could tell when things were beginning to get serious.<br /><br /> While my parents and sister were seemingly falling all over this guy, I grew to despise his every move. I hated that while I gave Shanti a wal mart gift certificate, Jason got her chocolate, among, like, six other things.<br /><br /> Shanti started treating me differently when she was around her beloved Jason. She didn't tease me anymore. When I tried to talk to her about it, she got grumpy with me. I didn't like the way Shanti glared at me the rest of the day so I decided to take it up with Prince Charming.But I lost my nerve every time I approached him.<br /><br /> So I settled for dropping hints.<br /><br /> I suggested that <span style="font-style: italic;">I </span>had known Shanti since I was born. That <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> had come to love her first and knew all her deepest darkest secrets that she wouldn't <span style="font-style: italic;">dare </span>tell Jason. And it <span style="font-style: italic;">should </span>be that way. After all, I <span style="font-style: italic;">did </span>live with her.<br /><br /> Jason took the hints. He started coming to my house every day, as if to say; "who says I don't live here?"<br /><br />He found out my interests by way of bribing my parents. He tried to get to know me by saying things. like; "So I hear you like to play basketball, want to play a coupe of rounds?" To which I would bluntly refuse.<br /><br /> But all my hard work failed me. One night, a year later, Jason came over to help on a project he and my dad had been working on in the backyard. When they came in, my dad's eyes were shining. the next morning my sister danced around the house. I put two and two together and asked my mom if the question had been asked. She giggled and told me yes.<br /><br /> Shanti and Jason would enter into courtship.<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">I made up my mind then and there that I would kill Jason.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Did you like it? I'll be posting the rest of the story in the next couple of weeks!<br /></div></div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-21078774195522513472009-11-04T12:40:00.000-08:002009-11-04T13:37:20.765-08:00The Day That I Pushed My Brother Into the Toilet.<div><div><div><div>Let me, before I tell you the very interesting story, introduce to you the culprit.<br />As the title indicates, the culprit is my brother, Sam. Here are some pictures of him to give you an idea of what he's like. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400361900938507730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 312px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiGlgntGx28KMrdSh8NW2Ki4XgjV-ygpFcyJb9P6lsJj5L_FCTodwgj-WRIrPd-qOKsWZJHhJsM_ko8bhRw7J9BzXh_MxmVVlkTIBAP-D5yBB5_Nl3z-gwr2e9y7EwjaT8_wjOfkVxeM/s320/Yuens+22-1.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400352669951636866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOOGvOzBwnicPzk97UjYUph6-h9sktMjRBWEyaOac0aLJbmLKoKNnDIP7akr2fN5ciZmRL4S5H-xyqGJXemfTT1Gd_hdZSZiwvqt7gNxHJA-EU82e5SswVcFO8m5qWuwuRwTpJiz89aE/s320/IMG_6347.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400352681831080034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7tWYTMamfqaFathZheB5J9BgZCe9JuNsfBJTLBVe9Ru87ocZfwkIvKKKuiguGaXJSxhZmkbhbAw4XHO4BHfjwDetZ6-cHCxYWIMb5gZfqtg-7pSS5zsT8-fhhMBF8sbf7ZWu7HNj7nds/s320/2009_0611summerbirds0006.JPG" border="0" /></div></div></div></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400355969546176386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCU9IcdnLGL-BShae72yQrxpiaS5iCc1ONvwLj5Hn7yFBwMzn4v-3diQ0YeQ_l5CPhRkle0ji768djkhTvptjyEKTZ30D3kQrTlc9MSuaNzWWIsNZcgyzleW493KvK7qS4kiHN6eTqZg/s320/2009_03230041.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400352663079637874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6H7c91k3Df32znDht9MexiSgbXW9llNIr5Qjr8ueAEbGg-9VxkBtYS0q0Br1ua9Zo6snMgKS1vdTfl44zWDDN6P0ulIru0UFzh8EdHuG_M-n5bgvM7CvjZxFHpZ3l3UchJWV3D75TT0/s320/2009_0917schnuentrippart20059.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><p><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ok</span>. If the idea you got was that he was an angel, and liked wearing hats. You were right in one area. He loves hats and is a ham for pictures. In the last picture of him, he was an angel. But he was <em>asleep</em>. Alright. I admit that Sam is really great most of the time...but when he isn't...well, that's when I push him into toilets. </p><br /><p>So today is mostly stay at home day. The boys are in a slightly bad mood as they usually are when my Dad's gone for a little while. And then I hear it. </p><br /><p>My sister and I are eating our lunch. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Catey</span> looks at me and says: "it's your turn to check on Sam next."</p><br /><p>Reminders like this are pretty easily satisfied. You just yell out, asking if the boys are staying out of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">trouble</span> and they usually yell back something to the effect of: "We're not making a mess!"</p><br /><p>And Since <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Catey</span> just said next and not <em>now</em>, I kept on finishing my lunch. That's when I heard it. The sound isn't something you can put into words. I don't mean it's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">indescribable</span>. I mean that it's not really any real words. just a string of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">gibberish</span> from a two-and-a-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">half</span>-year-old. But when you hear that sound-you know what it means. That wordless call can be roughly translated to: "I NEED A WIPING!"</p><br /><p><em>Great</em>. </p><br /><p>So I get up like any dutiful sister who wants the screaming to stop, and walk toward the bathroom.</p><br /><p>The screaming stops when I walk through the door. Sam is sitting on the toilet, waving a wad of toilet paper at me. I take it, starting the usual polite bathroom conversation. "You didn't try to wipe yourself, did you?"</p><br /><p>Sam says no, so I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">believe</span> him and wipe him. Then, (terrifying 'bad news' music) I flush the toilet. </p><br /><p>Sam yells at me. "I want to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">flush</span> it!!!!!!!!"</p><br /><p>It's too late. That's what I told him. But it was really too late to stop the terrible doom. </p><br /><p>Sam (Who doesn't like listening to anything once it involves him not getting his way) gives me his evil eye, reaches behind him, and flushes the toilet again-before it's done flushing from the first time...and he's holding the handle down.</p><br /><p>Before I tell you what I did next, let me just explain <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">something</span> to you. My dad is the main fix-it person in our house. But he teaches all of us a lot of stuff. But somehow, <em>I'm </em>the only person who actually <em>remembers</em> any of it. So I really don't like it when <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Sam</span> is messing up the toilet...especially when Dad isn't back till <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">tomorrow</span>.</p><br /><p>I was washing my hands at the moment I saw Sam do it. Angry, pulling my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">hands</span> out of the water, I yell at Sam to stop it.</p><br /><p>He doesn't, of course. He just gives me a look very similar to the look he's giving the camera in the first picture.</p><p>Not thinking about the fact that my hands are still wet and that Sam's backside isn't really as large as it should be for the toilet, I shove his hand off the flusher <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">handle</span> thingy. </p><p>Sam lost his balance, like majorly. He slipped so that the only thing keeping him from falling into the toilet water below, was his arms and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">legs</span>, both looped around the seat. </p><p>I pulled him up instantly, feeling kind of bad. but I'm not going to let him off so easily. Shoving him into the toilet wasn't enough punishment. So I talk to him. "Do you know why I..." oh boy. "why I pushed you into the toilet?"</p><p>Sam's reply clearly indicated his shock. "You pushed me into the toilet. That hurt."</p><p>"Yes, but do you know why?"</p><p>"You pushed me into the toilet."</p><p>I asked the question about ten million times more, telling Sam the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">answer</span> each time. the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">response</span> was always the same.</p><p>"You pushed me into the toilet. That hurt."</p><p>Finally I got the point across to Sam that he <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">shouldn't</span> hold the handle down because it could break the toilet. </p><p>I don't know if he really gets it. He's done so many thing to that toilet. Once he put about half a roll of toilet paper in the bowl while Mom and Dad were gone.</p><p> But that's another story. </p><p>Jocelyn</p>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-56481131955505734992009-11-01T10:10:00.000-08:002009-11-01T10:14:06.830-08:00This post is dedicated to...me not writing a post.<br />That's right. I don't have time to update on anything except to say that I am not updating.<br />Hopefully I'll have time to post something that's actually a real post soon.<br />Have a happy day!<br />JocelynJocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-11203135491362296902009-10-12T18:49:00.000-07:002009-10-12T19:14:56.621-07:00Fun, Fashionable Alyssa...Nerdy, Noble Catey<div align="center"><strong></strong></div><br /><br /><div align="center">There once was a Queen<br /></div><br /><div align="center">(The queen of the malls)</div><br /><div align="center">She wore fashion clothes like you've never seen</div><br /><div align="center">but didn't care much for the balls.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">My sister Catey gives me advice<br /><br />I promoted her to the position.</div><br /><div align="center">Even though she is challenged in size</div><br /><div align="center">She never demands a commission.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I say this to them so they're not left behind</div><br /><div align="center">I'm showing my appreciation</div><br /><div align="center">For only they seem to know my mind</div><br /><div align="center">or the "leave a comment" location.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-4631534456237950632009-09-28T14:37:00.000-07:002009-09-28T16:11:46.647-07:00Bethany's bathtubBethany was laying down in the tub. She watched as she raised her foot (which was starting to turn into a giant raisin) out of the water and plopped it back in, making the bubbles in her water make little popping noises. Then came the bad news, the doorknob clicked as it opened. And in it came. It was furry, it was huge, it was pink with Hawaiian flowers! Bethany closed her eyes tightly. The thing spoke.<br /><br />"Bethany, it's time to get out of the tub."<br /><br />Bethany stood up, reaching for the towel. "Ok, Mom. You can unplug the bathtub, and I'll get dried off."<br /><br /><br />Mom snatched the towel away, cruelly. "Bethany, be a big girl and unplug it yourself. I've done it for five years, it's your turn now."<br /><br />"I think I want to stay in the tub a little longer."<br /><br />Mom gave Bethany the evil 'someday-when-you-have-kids-and-they-give-you-a -had-time-I-will-laugh-in-your-face' look. She stuck a finger in the tub. "Bethany, you've been in here for almost an hour. The water's freezing. Come on, get out."<br /><br />"No!" Bethany was ready to cry. She was too scared to unplug the tub. When you unplug the tub, you go down, down, down the drain with the rest of the water. Bethany had never witnessed this happen before, but she'd heard about it from her older brother.<br /><br /><br />Mom gave Bethany another look. But this time it was the deadly 'If-you-don't-start-cooperating-right now...' look. Mom never finished that phrase. She didn't have to, Bethany knew what she meant.<br /><br />Mom started tapping her foot.<br /><br />Bethany squeezed her eyes shut. A few tears slid down her cheek as she slipped her hand into the water. She yanked it back out. "I can' do it!"<br /><br />Mom wasn't being merciful today. Her foot continued to tap, and the deadly look was still on her face.<br /><br />Bethany started screaming and crying. Mom didn't even move-except for her eyebrow. She was doing the eyebrow-cock.<br /><br />Finally, Bethany reached her hand down to the plug <em>and was promptly sucked sown the drain without another trace.</em><br /><br />"Bethany, stop crying. Just do it." Mom reached over and grabbed Bethany's hand, guiding it toward the drain.<br /><br />Without any other choice, <strong>Bethany unplugged the drain all by herself and was promptly <em>not </em>sucked down the drain! </strong><br />From then on, Bethany was never afraid of unplugging anything. She always remembered how brave she had been that day and it helped her never to be scared!<br />Until the day she had to take her first shower...but that's another story.<br /><br />There is an analogy in that story so whoever can guess the correct one gets a post written for them. My next post will explain the analogy if no one can get it.<br />JocelberryJocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-15712524421241611492009-09-22T10:07:00.000-07:002009-09-23T10:47:31.252-07:00Have you seen it?<div><div>Hello, the few people who read my blog!<br /><div><div><div><div><br /><div>Maybe you can help me find something. I lost it, and couldn't find it. Maybe I was just too busy to find it. But I somehow or other, I lost it.<br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384719184885356530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 3px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 2px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z4SaXCXTDVfSdLyPBq58BTPsL0sHrwCHOSvk9KsNVofsbeS9VxmvJavFKjICx5uuX57lKyPhSgBQeepZHyE-4kbOm_0_omKFck_wyU1JXOMqpF5z9ZhZMy0oSlyJLF9iDBz2OI1bcMw/s320/2009_0715evanstay0066.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>MISSING: Have you seen Summer? If you have, please contact me and leave a comment.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>That's right. I lost my summer. Summer ran away, leaving behind it a schooless and very extremely busy world. I don't exactly know why it ran away, though I think it was because it took one look at my mom's calender and ran away screaming. </div><br /><br /><div><strong>And was never seen since.</strong></div><br /><br /><div>Though I did do some very fun things like go to California, work VBS (discussed in one of my previous posts), and get my ears pierced, it would've been nice to have Summer with me to share in the excitement. Summer is always so good at helping me relax. </div><br /><div>But Summer will not be so greatly missed because Fall is here now.<br /></div><br /><div>Fall keeps me busy enough that I wont miss Summer quite so much.</div><br /><div>Here are some pictures of my not- Summer</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384717314636589346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JE5ULUkrk5TWWooxEMjbXAIhiI-MO6jd1-0MHA0JhJr7wlkVh9x_RxCvNCOnF_rEFZdDLTo7C2-bzr4jl2hyphenhyphenCu1tIKU6ENrOk3mzWweftST91Ks-_k6lt4-MgVSQzs9hUfybOsYR5js/s320/2009_0715evanstay0039.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384717299697124466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPCf-b_ID_uFkvnjxO6FWrN0xwrTuoH-60EKcOXWXNSUI7LXe8VeL-z55OukPEWNRHGfaMefnStmewC1PFAr-XUB5LuyYT7JbLCWovJ5YIa3ZUlVmgpnYe0u6hX3GoGDHKsQ22gwF21Y/s320/2009_0917schnuentrippart20068.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384717305028882738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fw1yipUVvwqsJzMMyMQsv7mQSajsDXhl32i0VFhuVeOh_NnFDU-N_svMqMLBQiJBUd8Bs-dytUWyvfmBuXDX68NBFixYt3cu-Dz-tnX08xbbM_EzFueV30RJRoXQiLadxl9AqkSgvKw/s320/2009_0829jossbday0002.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384717288107440610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7x0YoxLsyrfNckeM3-F5G7MNWPFdUBLLh0Uo862yN35jXtXWcvKNKp6hvnP0lUl5aFf_VkA96iWvI7y54KJSnEfdvyKhREPZGeQuHg4P543zSFrTN7NZj1e0xnXfLBY9B248IahhXI8/s320/2009_0917schnuentrippart20004.JPG" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384717281640725794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 155px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 125px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqvajoMSGCdd4YaOiXGFn6jwnGcQyA4V4MRjg47SZ5TCly-25y3OB-LdAMGqpE7O5xEUYBFOdk0yhrnIzxS5226PRUuv5C1gsexM4ctu9HOEUyKtSe5o9EOx_dYY-WqHHes_elBLpuZA/s320/Joss+and+Carli.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384719194039770002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY8aCzijngDX_FSG8MdrRQCojrVfdiQovyMDFGLa6CPVs9nsfXV2NBsFQxIh1MLQ2ldqAQRqrkdXwAS1YGkCkGzlr9Yv6twFTy764RP1XQf02Yva_3S2lUFZStykj9uUiKoY_PPNrTGpc/s320/2009_0707pix4grammy0004.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-5483867931257877112009-07-08T15:57:00.000-07:002009-07-08T16:09:07.162-07:00My lament...sunglassesMy grandma has been visiting with us for the past eight days, and today we dropped her off at the airport. On the way back home, my mom took my siblings and I back on something called "the scenic route". As long as they don't take to long to go through, I find the scenic route pleasant. But today as we were driving, I was repeatedly annoyed by my sunglasses. They were tinted and made everything that was green look brown.<br /><br />"Mom, I wish I didn't have to wear sunglasses,"<br />"Yeah."<br />"My sunglasses are making those fields look brown."<br />"Joss, those fields <em>are</em> brown."<br />"No they aren't."<br />[Mom takes off sunglasses]. "You're right. They are green."<br /><br />But I looked on the bright side of things, my old sunglasses were tinted brown and made the sky, the land, and the air look like the earth was severely polluted.<br /><br />At least these pink sunglasses were more pleasant.<em> </em>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-31541817945574525242009-06-22T18:21:00.000-07:002009-06-22T18:32:21.444-07:00In my own back yard!<div><div><div><div><div>A few days ago, I saw some splashes of color in my back yard. Since I live in the trees, most of the colors I see are brown and dark green. But I saw other colors, so I took out my camera and took pictures of all these beautiful flowers.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350328621779646818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTzbXBxhiWPAGoc5qmpSQurYK90C_qMFgoaENrjKhqUE5s2GvuSLMfGSbYo3O5NAeWxWufyZLT9y5FTVNWNjhbXtKJSBshXrkLzO_spFYT5AIGa_WLOOLda5Qi0JvVkfjryk7YCl0tXA/s320/2009_0619Diana0017.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350328616677622418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 3px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 5px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBpRmcb5ylU5ps2xPLmXBoR5nF6D6bx7bEprLyauvhUqPidbpIaqebGxTW0Pora2kN6-pct1AgNGmlglRM2_6u5P-b3891shH7y3IDWXfB_PPytALzdwBm5bbAQlYvvd1VT4sWn5pAY8/s320/2009_0619Diana0014.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350328616677622418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBpRmcb5ylU5ps2xPLmXBoR5nF6D6bx7bEprLyauvhUqPidbpIaqebGxTW0Pora2kN6-pct1AgNGmlglRM2_6u5P-b3891shH7y3IDWXfB_PPytALzdwBm5bbAQlYvvd1VT4sWn5pAY8/s320/2009_0619Diana0014.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350328614035644194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYdzF9G1rBvbCQmLymKgbI-XtU36Gy-OCeFZgUZHq0cR-kuU7c7qlo7kx2QZ6IV3haGfUDj5rBgiuGmQz9ouELdnayI-X4IA36lqYCFbBMpJExK3VC4VOYFiss92RRLZncpG3s2keaz0/s320/2009_0619Diana0011.JPG" border="0" /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350328606884212466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUwmvfkTpPT0ARiFzEPfMV0RHloqIQiCiCASYFZVoAECT3GWcKGiuZ7-2ZNUNFIxZJH6RS060s_KhKrZw3K8epqeKqIiQyz5JFQsLu021sIpXoamLjtKK78iSDmk86Ga6qj0zpwxLbu50/s320/2009_0619Diana0010.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350328594962992882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 248px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWK0Oa3EY54BjLTpkOyj9igNXPX5vWVdACPaAhhc7uFRwpTUEuldP1kFXHQDCXyiyGiaTI85I6jomxx2rrzCGk5dtMAKt89s_PKLSeeg0IQYfuVUlEaToFSgQ-4o0vg2tLtPFfEx2JuD0/s320/2009_0619Diana0007.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-57714826004004925722009-06-14T13:27:00.000-07:002009-06-14T13:34:59.754-07:00Random PoemHey everyone who reads my blog, I just wanted to show you a random poem that I wrote for a writing class this past school year.<br /><span><strong><span style="color:#000000;"><br /><span>Emptiness</span></span></strong><span><span><br /></span></span></span><br />The world is full of emptiness<br />Empty hearts full of hate<br />Empty minds plotting deceit<br />Any help that has come has come too late.<br /><br />Then the rain comes<br />After endless toil<br />It washes limb and life<br />Destroying everything with the soil.<br /><br />Finally after forty days and nights<br />We emerge from our home of wood<br />And in this new and empty world<br />There is hope of good.<br /><br /><br />The people’s faith in me was empty<br />They seemed so confident<br />But now in danger they panic<br />Am I really the one you sent?<br /><br />With a mass behind and a mass in front<br />I don’t know what to do!<br />I can’t do this on my own<br />But that’s why my faith is in You.<br /><br />With a simple lift of a staff<br />The waters make a path!<br />The ocean is emptied; its floor is clearly shown<br />While Egyptians see God’s wrath<br /><br /><br />The world is now empty<br />The savior has left<br />He was killed by his own people<br />Forgiving us with His last breath<br /><br />In sadness, we make our way to the grave<br />But what can we do when we get there?<br />We crest the hill and gasp<br />The stone is rolled away and we can do nothing but stare<br /><br />Inside are guards dressed in white<br />What do they mean ‘he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">isn</span>’t here’?<br />The tomb is empty<br />And there is nothing to fear.<br /><br />P.S.<br />Is this easy to tell who I'm talking about?<br /><br />That's all for now, <strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#330099;">J</span><span style="color:#000000;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ocelyn</span></span><span style="color:#ff6666;"> </span><span style="color:#000000;">:</span><span style="color:#ff0000;">)</span></strong>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-16726577511914261662009-06-08T19:08:00.000-07:002009-06-08T19:24:13.646-07:00Something to think about: PhonesAs I said in my last post, I have a cold. One of the worst I have had in a while. SO bad, that I am actually doing something I never thought I'd do-I am losing my voice.<br />Although I m getting a little better now, it is still really bad. On Sunday I would start to try to talk in a slightly more normal tone (normal meaning I didn't sound like a caveman) and my voice disappeared. I would try to talk 'high' and my voice just wasn't there.<br />This leads into my thinking point-Phones.<br />Phones are really cool and everything but they OBVIOUSLY have some sound problems. A couple of days ago, when I was still talking like cave-Joss (my voice about ten octaves lower than usual-to give you a glimpse of how that sounds, my voice is lower than most thirteen year old guys I know) the phone rings.<br />I answer the phone.<br />"Hello?"<br />"Hi, is this Catey?"<br />Ok. My older sister Catey, has the highest voice in the world, almost an octave higher than mine. She is a social butter fly and could be labeled as a 'Miss Susy Sunshine'. And with the tone my voice was at that day, I'm surprised that lady didn't ask if it was my dad.<br />Just something new to think about, which brings me to my next point; which is better-phones, or e-mail?<br />I don't have time to get into long drawn-out arguments right now, but maybe next time.<br />I'll be back soon with some more stuff to think about.<br />Jocelyn<br />P.S.<br />I'm sorry if I've shocked you with writing this many posts in-was that only two days? If you end up going into shock and have to go to the hospital, I'm sorry. You can leave a complaint in the 'comment' section.Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-52945977498556833072009-06-05T19:13:00.000-07:002009-06-05T19:45:23.315-07:00VBS!!!!!!!!<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaa6iIHOaDgFZclmSt0SLBS1LYTy-sfWWwjxYQvBq1nb916Wl0kCVZfJ0jrcqlWA0Kwq3tSsjhCPy26pDFqRobJ10Sw7jw-NgOhu9NKnXBvpUX1tMd0IMM6SyA8Q3zf3_Nlk-7m9SLlTA/s1600-h/2009_0603VBSfun0002.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344039843453558658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaa6iIHOaDgFZclmSt0SLBS1LYTy-sfWWwjxYQvBq1nb916Wl0kCVZfJ0jrcqlWA0Kwq3tSsjhCPy26pDFqRobJ10Sw7jw-NgOhu9NKnXBvpUX1tMd0IMM6SyA8Q3zf3_Nlk-7m9SLlTA/s320/2009_0603VBSfun0002.JPG" border="0" /></a> Our lovely costumes for a lovely week!</div><div align="center">(Well, almost lovely-maybe more busy)<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-mhD4WRFp-2wH2kFUns5GmGWiF4npwDxL5zz8f1qCwFD2oSTIfFLJzrQ6itpC6vYKCVMRa968Hkvk9uadwR7RNcgRBb9XUsPNCQvakDConJ4lEhyphenhyphenZfeiFYoOQCXV-PdtVte9eQ-WOxI/s1600-h/2009_0603VBSfun0001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344039834134195410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-mhD4WRFp-2wH2kFUns5GmGWiF4npwDxL5zz8f1qCwFD2oSTIfFLJzrQ6itpC6vYKCVMRa968Hkvk9uadwR7RNcgRBb9XUsPNCQvakDConJ4lEhyphenhyphenZfeiFYoOQCXV-PdtVte9eQ-WOxI/s320/2009_0603VBSfun0001.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Unlike what my mother says, VBS is fun...most of the time.This was what I was thinking when I met my group; <em>Oh my goodness they're sooo cute! Uh-Oh, that girl looks scared. This girl only answers my questions with 'no' and raspberries. This girl is crying because she's scared of some of our Jr. crew leaders. This girl is completely spoiled rotten, she is really pushing it! Why is that Jr. crew leader only holding onto that girl when there are fifteen kids in our room?</em>Other than that, though, I am enjoying VBS a lot. And my kids are sooooo cute! Except for the stinker But I am convinced that while Mother dear says two-year-olds are exhausting, four and five-year-olds are tiring too...especially when you have a cold and three times a day you are doing a workout. (By aworkout I mean worship. The worship team learns the worship songs in advance so that they can teach the kids, and it really is a workout!)</div><br /><br /><div>Getting to know my kids (ahem- not my, uh, <em>real </em>kids) was really fun. And almost all of them simply ooooozed sweetness! (Once again, except for the stinker)</div><br /><br /><div>Hear is a random note: </div><br /><br /><div>As I said, I am on the worship team. Since I work with four and five year olds, it is my job to keep them interested in the songs. (You smile really big, you jump really big, you do facial expressions really big, you dance really big, and you CRASH REALLY BIG!) Yesterday, we had pictures taken with us and our kids (again, NOT our <em>real </em>kids) and I began to feel a strange sensation around my mouth. I knew my smile looked cheesy, but I could not make it un-cheesy! There is such a thing as smiling too much...but not when it hurts...I was just out of real smiles! </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>A couple of days ago, someone asked me if I would be happy when VBS was over...my reply was "I wont be happy when it's over.......but I wont be sad either. I'll just think it was a good thing while it lasted...but now it is DONE!"</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Although I most definitely will not be coming back next week for VBS, I will most definitely be back next year!!!!! </div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-19648240355281794092009-03-23T18:27:00.000-07:002009-03-23T19:40:11.835-07:00Something to think about: Are Parents Really That Great?<div><span style="font-size:100%;">If this is a dull day for you...here is something to think about: Are Parents really <em>that</em> great?</span><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">Sure your parents feed you and dress you and take you places...but they also do bad things. They say things like: someday when you're married...<em>you can ask your husband to give you chocolates...you can ask your husband to give you massages...maybe for a wedding present. </em>Not to mention that when <em>they </em>have bad weeks, we here about it. Whenever people are coming over, the house is suddenly a pigsty. </span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><br /> </div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">But I was willing to put all these things aside and just love my parents for who they are. (note my profile).</span><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">But this morning was the last straw!</span></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">Today I made an undesired trip (sponsored and desired by my parents) to the dentist's office in which they held my mouth open for about twenty minutes, stuck little metal things to my teeth and then tied rubber bands to the said metal things.</span></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">Tonight I couldn't eat most of my dinner in a timely and pleasant fashion because my front four teeth hurt so bad.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><br /> </div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">I just got the braces this morning and I already hate them.</span><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">Which brings me to my next question: are sisters really that great?</span></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">I'll have to ask my older sister why she finished her braces so that I'd have to get mine on!</span></div><div><br /> </div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">P.S.</span></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">Flip-side on the story:</span><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">Last night my family threw a big "last night without braces" party. We ordered pizza and had ice cream with pie and caramel. This morning I also had a Jamba juice for lunch.</span><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">But that <em>still</em> doesn't change the fact that I don't like braces.</span><br /><br /></div><p><span style="font-size:100%;">Sincerely (especially the part about hating braces),</span><br /><br /></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Jocelyn</span><br /></span></p><div><br /> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316577024932598018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVD2TvhInPWekY94SlAXnPL7hVkpFLeO2MmQBGNQkYjeydtYS9QkSaNNiE-w-Th0ruaNZK2bCt_83tSwbbcm-DkFvMrX9E100klxJG2WvOY0wdG2mbFGtLosgzWY3dJHO098oW1WZaTgM/s320/2009_03230037.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316577034197920338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 241px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3o8W4xEwp5CSy4LvcBh_TbZih-lzwU381HXUTtbuirwYZK3Z6cT5KnRz0QamlilLOIFtXc3kgr2pnnBLGsF_EugcNrnrSsrPL74AHeP4jojNdGfU6_W536D5beIwXHImmE6tEGGn_vfU/s320/2009_03230043.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><div></div>My before and after pictures...I am not pleased.<br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><em></em>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580776968977398438.post-69246204121292968682009-03-09T19:36:00.000-07:002009-03-09T20:12:13.657-07:00THE BUTTERFLY PAVILION<span style="font-size:100%;">Today I went on a field trip with my homeschool group. We did some interesting things there, like looking at bugs (no, excuse me - <em>insects</em>), petting sea stars (and other things like tarantulas), and saying that the lady who organized our field trip ruled the world. </span><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PExLrTWEfhyAbcrb-8RpEJZLygsg52HIs-qM8kOoi9fOSeZZ1kAtjlOEs2LnWUCM_B_ewfljl6NZ5DUHvSG95eA-YCNKkbrfdc47pXMctGVCZ3qEQTlF8l4k4j7KKUM-ANwg4ZKgUNQ/s1600-h/2009_03090017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PExLrTWEfhyAbcrb-8RpEJZLygsg52HIs-qM8kOoi9fOSeZZ1kAtjlOEs2LnWUCM_B_ewfljl6NZ5DUHvSG95eA-YCNKkbrfdc47pXMctGVCZ3qEQTlF8l4k4j7KKUM-ANwg4ZKgUNQ/s320/2009_03090017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311390343472089698" border="0" /></a><br />But by FAR the most exciting part for me was the butterflies. We went into a large greenhouse-like room where butterflies from the rainforest flew all OVER the place! I felt breathless almost as soon as I walked into the room (mostly because it was so humid). My favorite type was a blue butterfly that looked plain when it closed it's wings, but was a brilliant blue when it opened them. although this butterfly was pretty, it never held still and I couldn't get any pictures of it.<br /><br />But I <em>did</em> get pictures of <em>other</em> butterflies, some of which I would like to show you!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7Q6M318TdPI07_bkz0b5CV67qzcN731IDtFhFwfjoKqayJt5mhvEn6rrmKKf0AbeC0Q30-QraAMPdQk01W7XycA3smB0nFk3AdFsdquMKZb3pBkIUJ4L3ZDmemNGg0Jzy8jsLQjzT3g/s1600-h/2009_03090041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7Q6M318TdPI07_bkz0b5CV67qzcN731IDtFhFwfjoKqayJt5mhvEn6rrmKKf0AbeC0Q30-QraAMPdQk01W7XycA3smB0nFk3AdFsdquMKZb3pBkIUJ4L3ZDmemNGg0Jzy8jsLQjzT3g/s320/2009_03090041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311390358450849282" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4NJF-zjol1ZLn-XDUkZTVbKt1-q3XCtUv58gJXsixzi2ZCf4TpuzPgp5uWPUqj54lqL4a5Vk23h7Jl1yBiB3Qq6qHENVp0ufR-fF9R7T_14pgCnCuwFI9o9C0MYv5d_hLhiftnDb6Grc/s1600-h/2009_03090062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4NJF-zjol1ZLn-XDUkZTVbKt1-q3XCtUv58gJXsixzi2ZCf4TpuzPgp5uWPUqj54lqL4a5Vk23h7Jl1yBiB3Qq6qHENVp0ufR-fF9R7T_14pgCnCuwFI9o9C0MYv5d_hLhiftnDb6Grc/s320/2009_03090062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311390349193736834" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div></div>Jocelberryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02022191564575470280noreply@blogger.com7