<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780</id><updated>2011-07-07T21:01:23.140-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I See Coleman People</title><subtitle type='html'>The Crazy Coleman Clan</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>21</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-3892228024407100338</id><published>2009-11-15T21:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T23:01:56.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happiness in a Little Red Box</title><content type='html'>What could be more exciting than watching a first run blockbuster feature action movie?  Is there anything as wonderful as the special effects of stars flying at you in Star Trek or semi trucks turning in to robots in Transformers.  Is there?  Yes there is..  I can name this awsomeness in  2 word (one if I hyphenate) Red-Box.&lt;br /&gt;Redbox is more than just a DVD rental system.  Redbox is how we can identify and define the intelligence of an entire neighborhood.  All for just a buck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've heard of White Trash, Trailer Trash and in our neighborhood bicycle punks (and scooter thieves).  The new plague of the neighborhood is RBI or Redbox Idiots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The RBI have one common goal and that goal is to annoy anybody who is standing by, driving by or even thinking of renting from the Redbox.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One RBI's name was Jesse.  How do I know this? Because this RBI's old lady was screaming from the minivan "Jesse get Land of the Lost" Jesse turns around and yells back "I'm loooking for it shut up"  Jesse is reading every description of every movie and his old lady again yells "Jesse get Land of the Lost"  He turns around and explains "I don't think it's out yet, I don't see it on the screen, shut up will you".  Jesse continues to read out loud the descriptions and from the van we hear "Jesse get Land of the Lost".  Me and the nine other people who are now behind Jesse in line yell back at Jesse's "lady" SHUT UP.  Finally a RBI in line helps Jesse by explaining to him that just because the movie has a little picture on the side it doesn't mean it is in this particular redbox.  Thank you because Jesse was never going to figure this one out.  I helpfully explain that when I was looking on the internet I saw that they had Land of the Lost down at the Walmart Redbox. I am also so totally lying through my teeth.  Adios Jesse see ya later sucka.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One scary moonless night at the circle K I was standing behind a very odd looking girl who looked like a Joan but maybe she used be John.  You know the type.  She was looking for something in her pockets, then her purse and back to her pockets.  I'm thinking "is she looking for her credit card, money, keys, what.  She had on a really short black spandex mini skirt and some kind of tube top thing.  And she had huge flip flops on like size 15.  That's why I was suspicious of her you know gender.  Size 15 flip flops are a sure givaway.  Anyway she is looking for something and she reaches under her skirt and pulls our 3 redbox movies.  I am not making this up.  She successfully returns her movies and leaves me standing there truly amazed not almost amazed but truly amazed.  So when someone says "you don't know where those movies have been"  Wait don't even go there I mean under there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah ran into a RBI who was trying to return a plastic shoebox full of DVDs at 8:55pm.  He was trying to shove them in as fast as they would go. Of course there were 20 other RBI's behind him waiting to return their DVDs at 8:55 also. Everybody was cheering him on.  He would put one movie in, the crowd become silent and wait until the words "Your DVD Has Been Returned Successfully" appeared then together they would cheer their hero on to the next DVD.  This is why there wasn't anybody watching Westwood play football.  There was more excitement at the WalMart Redbox. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite RBI of all was the guy who was giving his brother a lesson on how to rent at redbox.  After taking no less than 20 minutes to pick the movie it was time to "checkout".  So he is explaining to his bro and it says "add to cart"  he actually looks around behind him, clearly looking for his cart I'm sure. Next it's time to swipe his card.  First he swipes it one way, it doesn't work.  Turns it around (with the strip in his fingers)  No luck. Stands on one foot. Nope His brother is becoming wise to the fact that his hermano is not an expert and grabs the card, crosses himself, while chanting some latin phrase and swipes the card.  It makes a little happy sound, but now it asks for his email account which he puts in his phone number.  Pretty soon his cell phone rings and I can actually hear a voice say "You are an Idiot".  What's worse is that I have stood here behind these guys for like 20 minutes and I could have driven down to RBI heaven better known as Walmart where there are two machines.  I have had it.  I am so driving to Walmart.  I get there and there are 15 RBI's standing by machine A.  I am determined to get a movie so I go around to Machine B and as I round the corner I realize all my efforts are in vain.  I am not renting a movie tonight because I can hear a familiar voice.  "JESSE GET LAND OF THE LOST"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-3892228024407100338?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/3892228024407100338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=3892228024407100338' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/3892228024407100338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/3892228024407100338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2009/11/happiness-in-little-red-box.html' title='Happiness in a Little Red Box'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-872976287865620313</id><published>2009-06-28T23:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-28T23:21:47.558-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just get me to the Temple on Time</title><content type='html'>This week I was determined I was going to the temple.  I dropped John off at Kids club and didn't even walk him in because I was going to the Temple.  The first hurdle  was to get around the crosswalk at the Light Rail station on Sycamore.  With every blink of the Walk Don't Walk sign I kept thinking Getting to the temple, Getting to the temple, Getting to the temple.  As I was repeating the mantra in my mind my car started to ease a little into the crosswalk.  Hey isn't there a Dback afternoon game today?  I wonder if I could get cheap tickets and Joe and I could take the Light Rail.  That would be great.    Getting to the temple STOP dang I almost hit the water for a dollar guy at the corner.  I rolled down my window and said "Sorry mister I have important work to do at the temple".  Now turning on to main street I became interested in the old Wendy's that is now a Burger King.  Wow a Burger King! Hey I wonder if they closed the one over at Westwood plaza, I should go check it out I sure hate it when..... What am I thinking I am going to the Temple.  I flip a U-ee and head once more to the temple.  I have made it to Country club and as I go past Dairy Queen I think "Half Pepsi, Half Diet extra ice" mmmm that sounds so good.  I would really like a drink about right now because I have time and I look over at Dairy Queen and I see  Satan is working the drive through smiling at me standing next to the Hairy armed girl and he is winking at me.  "Come to Dairy Queen,  the drinks are cold,  the ice cream creamy.  My car swerves into the drive thru.  I could really have it all drank before I get to the temple, if I drive slow,but then I will have to go to the restroom so maybe I won't go to the temple today because I am already in line.  I say to myself "Are you four?"  Back on track getting to the temple, getting to the temple.  Driving down 1st avenue fast because nothing is going to keep me from getting to the temple.  The light turns yellow at Macdonald and I run it.  I can actually see the temple at the end of the street now.  A popsicle cart attempts to cross in front of me at Mesa Drive.  Sorry my friend stay on the sidewalk I will not be buying any Paletas from you today because I have got to get to the temple and if you step one foot in front of my car I might kill you in the attempt to get to the temple.  I round the corner (on two wheels) into the parking lot.  I am on a roll.  Sweat pours from my face as I search and see that every space in the parking lot it filled.  This is a sign.  There are no spaces  . I am not suppose to go to the temple today.  I should have stopped at Dairy Queen and could be suckin down my ice cold 1/2 Pepsi right now.  I cross the street to the church behind and park there.  I'm already here I might as well go now.  I slowly walk across the street.  All the excitement to get to the temple now diminished.  What was I thinking? Why was it so important today?  I am thinking this as I walk slowly up the walk.  I walk in the foyer the air is cool and it is quiet and it smells really good today.  I realize that I have missed the 1:30 session and will now have to wait until the 2:00 session. I decide that I am here so I may as well go.  After I have changed and I am waiting in the quiet room for the 2:00 session, I look at the name and information of the person I am going through for.  It is Rachel Andersson from Sweden.  Sweden!  I sit and wait and think about my sweet daughter who is serving a mission in Sweden.  I think about my son serving in England and remember the wonderful experience of coming to the temple with each of them.  I wait for the 2:00 session and count my blessings.  And I am not even finished counting them when it is time to go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-872976287865620313?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/872976287865620313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=872976287865620313' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/872976287865620313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/872976287865620313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2009/06/this-week-i-was-determined-i-was-going.html' title='Just get me to the Temple on Time'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-2372225631067350191</id><published>2009-05-18T17:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T23:24:39.706-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When in doubt just make it up</title><content type='html'>I have been writing to both of my children in England and now Sweden every week.  With each letter I try to include a quote from a prophet or apostle or somebody who has better advice than me.  This is suppose to inspire them to do better, and be a better person.  I have searched high and low for great scriptures and quotes.  I would like to share some of the better ones.  Some of them I will have to explain their origin and when they can be used so they make sense.  Oh and by the way I made most of these up so they are NOT inspired in any way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prayer, Fasting, and the Holy Ghost is BETTER than a valium.&lt;br /&gt;(When Elisabeth was freaking out at the MTC before she went to Sweden)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These mashed potatoes are so creamy.--While you where sleeping&lt;br /&gt;(When you can't find anything else to say but you need to be positive)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those who are happy with Otter Pops should never be offered anything better&lt;br /&gt;(When you are thinking of bringing something really yummy home to your kids)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I had any more fun, it wouldn't be fun anymore.&lt;br /&gt;(Time to go)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That child should be slapped first thing every morning.  Because he will surely deserve it by the end of the day.&lt;br /&gt;(What I said about other peoples kids before I had any)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is time to make a new bow.&lt;br /&gt;(When all other options are exhausted and you have to figure something else out)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She/He is as odd as an old shoe--Grandma Chapman&lt;br /&gt;(Somebody really weird)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who made you the big sheriff?--My Mother&lt;br /&gt;(When somebody is really bossy)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well excuuuuuse me for living Eunice&lt;br /&gt;(From the Carol Burnett show of course)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so poor I can't even pay attention - My Mother&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My shower was so small I had to go outside to change my mind - My Mother&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Jack Happy Jack&lt;br /&gt;(What Daren tells me when he knows I am making up a story or song)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have the Power of the Stinky Armpits!  I Rule - John Coleman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feel free to use any of these for the right occasion&lt;br /&gt;P.S  As I was reading the comments MaryJo wrote here favorite Grandma Chapman saying and it is so good it must be included:&lt;br /&gt;Like an oogerbay on your ingerfay - My Mom&lt;br /&gt;(When you can't get rid of someone)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-2372225631067350191?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/2372225631067350191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=2372225631067350191' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/2372225631067350191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/2372225631067350191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2009/05/when-in-doubt-just-make-it-up.html' title='When in doubt just make it up'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-1737136605618209284</id><published>2009-03-17T17:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T09:27:11.158-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Drop the scooter now or the cow buys the farm</title><content type='html'>It's time to come back.  I've been gone but now I am back.  Now that I'm back I seem to have run out of stuff to say.  Faked you out! I never run out of things to say.  When I'm getting low on good stuff, I just make stuff up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First we had an awsome open house for Liz.  Thanks all for coming and for also bringing cookies.  The leftovers were Fab and I am sporting some new arm flab to prove it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjMTGzq7I/AAAAAAAAAQk/pLWUv9hBfYk/s1600-h/DSCN0760.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjMTGzq7I/AAAAAAAAAQk/pLWUv9hBfYk/s320/DSCN0760.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314356623235591090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjLP_voLI/AAAAAAAAAQM/ReykTlv_pbk/s1600-h/DSCN0772.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjLP_voLI/AAAAAAAAAQM/ReykTlv_pbk/s320/DSCN0772.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314356605220790450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjME3wIPI/AAAAAAAAAQc/t6IZpj-jgiE/s1600-h/DSCN0766.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjME3wIPI/AAAAAAAAAQc/t6IZpj-jgiE/s320/DSCN0766.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314356619414348018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjMNoZG6I/AAAAAAAAAQU/wKLeXXyjxDs/s1600-h/DSCN0770.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjMNoZG6I/AAAAAAAAAQU/wKLeXXyjxDs/s320/DSCN0770.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314356621765843874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have two funny things that have happened since I last blogged.  First:   My two favorite valentines presents I got.  Daren and Elisabeth got me Wii Fit.  But in my case it looks like I've stepped on this Wii board and am throwing a fit.  My Yoga tree keeps falling down, instead of saying OHM I yell Timber!  It's not the same.  I just found out that my computer generated super good looking (I think he is, his face is grayed out) stretchy shorts wearing trainer has a pony tail in the back.  I like him anyway he makes me feel good about myself and when I could only do 2 Jacknife ab crunches he said "Your getting stronger I can tell".  I just bet he could.&lt;br /&gt;My other favorite valentine was a card I got from my most favorite 5th grade student in the reading class I work in.  Her name is Karla and when I brought valentines for the kids she was quite upset she didn't have one for me.  After school she brought me one and it is so cute I just had to scan it in so you all could see it.&lt;br /&gt;If you can't see it very well she has scratched out "Lunch Lady" and put in Colman.  She is just the sweetest little girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBhTZUDbNI/AAAAAAAAAP8/TSrt7-JqKho/s1600-h/sc001654b4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBhTZUDbNI/AAAAAAAAAP8/TSrt7-JqKho/s320/sc001654b4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314354546137590994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this is an exciting story.  You know for sure that when I tell a story I NEVER exaggerate or embellish or Helenize the story at all.&lt;br /&gt;Sarah was home sick one day and I was eating a skinny cow ice cream sandwich in the family room.  I saw this high school looking kid with an emo haircut walking up to my driveway.  So I open the door and say "Can I help you with something?"  The kid says "I'm looking for my friend Brandons house".  So I shut the door and then as I am shutting the door I see emo haircut and friends now riding down my street on scooters.  OUR SCOOTERS!      I run outside and yell "Hey you stole our scooters"  I am met with laughs and some hoots as well as hollars.  Now I am mad!  The skinny Cow slips out of my hand, breaking the tender cookie as it hits the ground.  I am so mad now.  I run after the scooter thieves yelling "bring those  back their not yours" (like they didn't know) I am no match against the light speed of the razor scooter sailing down the street.  I abandon the foot chase and rush in the house to grab the keys to jakes truck.  I wanted to get my suburban with the PA system so I could yell at them and scare them but Jakes keys were handy.  I zoom north in pursuit I see them hop the fence over to the golf course.  "Oh no you did- unt I say to myself"  I park the truck, leave the door open, and run through someone's backyard and    HOP THE FENCE     after them.  Oh yes I di ud.  Emo haircut and his two pals look back and imagine their surprise to find not so skinny cow mom running after them.  I yell "where are the scooters" because  they are running not scooting.  Emo haircut #2 yells "we left them in the alley"  I can't stop now because I'm kinda going down the ice blocking hill and I am still running after them.  In the blink of an eye they disappear.  So now I am running randomly on the golf course.  When I get my feet back under me I re-hop the fence and see the scooters in the alley as promised.  I grab all three scooters and put them in the back of the truck.  When I return home victorious as the scooter saver Sarah is just standing there with a mixture of horror and disbelief.  I explain to her that I  have just rescued our scooters from the evil clutches of a band of razor scooter robbers.  Sarah picks up the scooters looks on at the names on the bottom and reads aloud "John Wright, AJ Cummard and James Wright".  They weren't even our scooters.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-1737136605618209284?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/1737136605618209284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=1737136605618209284' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/1737136605618209284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/1737136605618209284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2009/03/drop-scooter-now-or-cow-buys-farm.html' title='Drop the scooter now or the cow buys the farm'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/ScBjMTGzq7I/AAAAAAAAAQk/pLWUv9hBfYk/s72-c/DSCN0760.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-5783517697385663027</id><published>2008-11-11T16:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T05:17:05.363-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So how is that mental illness working out for you?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The last 3 weekends we have spent at swim meets.  Our 15 year old Daughter Sarah is a super fast swimmer.  This year she was exceptionally speedy.  She won a first place for 100 free, 2nd 50 free at the city meet.  The next week she won first for 50 free and second for 100 free at the regional meet.  The next weekend was the state meet where she finished 11th in 50 and 13th in 100.  Sarah is a great swimmer because she is single minded when it comes to swimming.  We choose to call this single minded instead of the clinical term OCD.  During swimming she cannot think about anything but swimming.   This is what makes her a great swimmer.  She sees it in her head long before she ever dives in the water.   This is just not a shameless bragfest about Sarah  (if your mother doesn't brag on you who else will) it is where I saw the subject for my latest blog entry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo1M33s6mI/AAAAAAAAANY/1OhxxecGwmc/s1600-h/CIMG0804.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo1M33s6mI/AAAAAAAAANY/1OhxxecGwmc/s320/CIMG0804.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272084809062869602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;What is this guy holding?  Why did he bring it to the state swim meet?  Where is he going? What will he do there?  What will he see there?  I should have jumped off my concrete bleacher, totally discarded the fact that Daren was glaring at me for staring and asked him all these questions because now I am at a complete loss.  All I can do now is wish for the strength to STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo1eNzazRI/AAAAAAAAANg/v-G4iZU_ADM/s1600-h/CIMG0812.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo1eNzazRI/AAAAAAAAANg/v-G4iZU_ADM/s320/CIMG0812.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272085107008261394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my sister Elaine was little (many many years before I was born) my mother took her to the fabric store to pick out fabric for her easter dress.  This was a big treat for her.  (I am totally lying because going to the fabric store was the worst.  It was worse than Aunt Cora's mothball cookies)  There were so many cute fabrics to pick out.  Florals as far as the eye could see in every combination of pastels.  She however decided that her easter dress should be made out of a fabric with little brown monkeys as the primary theme.  My mom was not "down" with this choice of fabric and told her that she may not have the little brown monkey fabric for her easter dress.  A huge fit followed this announcement and probably a slapping also.  Appropriate  fabric for the dress was purchased but the matter was not laid to rest.  Elaine could think of nothing else but the beauty of the little brown monkey fabric and she could not stop thinking about it.  My mother now sick and tired (she was never just sick or tired she was always sick and tired) of her caterwauling told her STOP THINKING ABOUT LITTLE BROWN MONKEYS, THINK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE! &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo1398EoYI/AAAAAAAAANo/xEp6a3uDgiE/s1600-h/sm_red_crcle_faces.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 162px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo1398EoYI/AAAAAAAAANo/xEp6a3uDgiE/s320/sm_red_crcle_faces.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272085549426188674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I am sure the yardstick was calling her name by now.  Sadly Elaine could not think of anything but little brown monkeys.  Elaine is single minded in her artistic talents.  This is what makes her a great artist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a similar experience with a pair of red patent leather shoes. (When I was little not like last week)  Luckily Aunt Norma came shopping with us so instead  of a slapping I got the red shoes to match my lilac easter dress.  Score!  They were so cute.  I was so cute.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo2W7ALXZI/AAAAAAAAANw/j83FWyZZtG0/s1600-h/7954-496856-p.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 157px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo2W7ALXZI/AAAAAAAAANw/j83FWyZZtG0/s320/7954-496856-p.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272086081214045586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm now thinking that Sarah's extreme single mindedness apple may not have fallen so far from the tree.  Today I saw sister Gileo at church.  She is truly one of my favorite people in our ward.    I always speak to her but today I was in a hurry to get to primary so I zipped down the hall.  With every step I took my mind was screaming.  "Should have talked to sister Gileo,  I always speak to sister Gileo, &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Go back and say hi to sister Gileo!"&lt;/span&gt;  So I turned around and made it back to the chapel and knelt by sister Gileo's wheelchair and looked her in her good eye and said "Sister Gileo, its me Colleen Chapman,  I am so glad you made it today."  She said "Oh there you are I saw you go by a minute ago.  Colleen thanks for speaking to me.  You are one of the people who makes it a point to always talk to me.  I really appreciate you, and love you".  Was this the single minded, OCD, can't think of anything else affliction that has plagued me and my family since the beginning of time?  You bet!  And thank heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's time for me to log off.  I still must touch the microwave 14 times while hopping on one foot singing knick knack patty wak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colleen&lt;br /&gt;p.s.  I have to finish it give a dog a bone.  There! Done!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-5783517697385663027?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/5783517697385663027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=5783517697385663027' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/5783517697385663027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/5783517697385663027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/11/so-how-is-that-mental-illness-working.html' title='So how is that mental illness working out for you?'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SSo1M33s6mI/AAAAAAAAANY/1OhxxecGwmc/s72-c/CIMG0804.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-8540877481681318044</id><published>2008-10-24T22:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T18:38:24.489-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thake a Pithure Lady</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So I have a burning question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to go to DI today and there was a girl there working at the checkout and she had all these little pieces of masking tape on her arm.  I just maybe thought that she was making little tape loops for a later Laurel lesson or something like that.  I was so curious that I said "are you planning to mask something off later?  Whats with the tape on your arm?"  She started to say (I think this is what she was trying to say) " *I sneezed too clubbing up my thug om my ham".  Wow mystery solved she was working at DI because she was sneezing too much had gone out to a club of some kind and now had a speech impediment because a thug did something inappropriate  to her ham.   Had any of the other workers had any problems with any of their hams?  My mind was a flurry.  How could I extract myself from the checkout gracefully without catching this sneezing clubbing thing.   I was now staring boldly and not speaking because I  tried talking and thinking at the same time once and it didn't work out too well so now I can talk or think but not really do both at the same time.  She started picking at one of the pieces of tape and scratching it and what do my wandering eyes should appear but a miniature earing lodged in her arm not her ear.  I WAS ALMOST AMAZED!     She had her arm pierced.  Three little studs lined up like little stars on thars.  "How did you get those in?"  I replied to loudly for the hushed environment of DI. ** "Ab thirst it hurled rail bed"  She told me with real pain in her voice. *** "Dow day art hurling dust hissy"  We were interrupted by the girl working at the next cashier who whispered to her friend "Megan you better cover those studs in your arm before Dave sees them".  So she covers the the studs in her arm with the tape and smiles at me.    She smiles a big toothy grin and peaking from between her teeth is a huge tongue ring.  I start to ask her if it hurts but I resist and pull myself away.   I must get going I need to get to Walmart where I see a guy and all I can think about is a song "Do your ears hang low do they wobble to and fro, can you tie them in a knot can you tie them in a bow.  I didn't have any questions for him.  Too Scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Translations&lt;br /&gt;*     I needed to cover up the studs on my arm&lt;br /&gt;**   At first it hurt really bad&lt;br /&gt;*** Now they aren't hurting they are just itching&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-8540877481681318044?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/8540877481681318044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=8540877481681318044' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/8540877481681318044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/8540877481681318044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/10/thake-pithure-lady.html' title='Thake a Pithure Lady'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-8900498399641786119</id><published>2008-10-19T16:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T16:15:53.059-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where will she go</title><content type='html'>So Elisabeth's papers or electronic information has been sent to a higher level.  Where will she go.  Please make a stateside guess and a foreign guess.  I will make the winner a pie.  And I know I still owe Alysha a pie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-8900498399641786119?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/8900498399641786119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=8900498399641786119' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/8900498399641786119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/8900498399641786119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/10/where-will-she-go.html' title='Where will she go'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-553252813823149632</id><published>2008-10-06T20:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T22:18:05.063-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Simply Remember.....</title><content type='html'>So things just haven't been all that darn funny lately!    Jake went on a mission and I miss him terribly.  And there have been some other so not funny things.  So I have a little trick when I am down or wishing I was happier I try to go to a happy place.  This is a place where I store (in the vast expanse of my mind) things that make me laugh or smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some of the Highlights in my Happy Box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best Church ever:  The whole armor of God demonstration with JR Wright trying to keep his shoes perched on the tips of his toes while balancing on the podium wearing a paper plate hat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I Love this picture of Daren and John riding the quad.  Dad is doing all the worrying and John is just having a ball.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXJmDtnbI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_tnol7er4Yc/s1600-h/IMG_0683_2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXJmDtnbI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_tnol7er4Yc/s320/IMG_0683_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254248475116019122" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;How did these boys get so handsome?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXJylmg_I/AAAAAAAAAKE/L9PLEc0n5Iw/s1600-h/Coleman0022.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXJylmg_I/AAAAAAAAAKE/L9PLEc0n5Iw/s320/Coleman0022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254248478479385586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Elisabeth and I at the Lame Brook White concert.  The mayor had just proclaimed Holy Mesa Brook White Day when Brook said she had a hairball in her throat and couldn't sing any more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXKKgsaVI/AAAAAAAAAKM/ACwhID-xLvk/s1600-h/CIMG0476.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXKKgsaVI/AAAAAAAAAKM/ACwhID-xLvk/s320/CIMG0476.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254248484901251410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I proudly display my cake I made for Elisabeth's Awsome Office Party&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXKKliLlI/AAAAAAAAAKU/WBGnQbzai_E/s1600-h/CIMG0503.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXKKliLlI/AAAAAAAAAKU/WBGnQbzai_E/s320/CIMG0503.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254248484921552466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Married 25 years and he is still as Hot as the day I stole his pencils from his back pocket during sophomore registration at Westwood&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXKUBMz8I/AAAAAAAAAKc/bJQfFPvRRtI/s1600-h/Coleman0019-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXKUBMz8I/AAAAAAAAAKc/bJQfFPvRRtI/s320/Coleman0019-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254248487453511618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The prophets went 4 wheeling and haven't been seen since&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrVljfSIiI/AAAAAAAAAJc/q2ShnCGpRWw/s1600-h/CIMG0134.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrVljfSIiI/AAAAAAAAAJc/q2ShnCGpRWw/s320/CIMG0134.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254246756439433762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;John had this same smile on his face every time he got to ride the bus to school&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrVliDnkXI/AAAAAAAAAJk/pudhjmgA7sw/s1600-h/CIMG0061.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrVliDnkXI/AAAAAAAAAJk/pudhjmgA7sw/s320/CIMG0061.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254246756054962546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I love camp cause me best friends go there&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrVlo6m7BI/AAAAAAAAAJs/OTmcYFsPRBU/s1600-h/CIMG0429.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrVlo6m7BI/AAAAAAAAAJs/OTmcYFsPRBU/s320/CIMG0429.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254246757896219666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Leslie and Will always make me smile&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrVlzhy4NI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/YP7Y8egj_WI/s1600-h/CIMG0434.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrVlzhy4NI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/YP7Y8egj_WI/s320/CIMG0434.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254246760744935634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOxBk6in-mI/AAAAAAAAAK8/Uy2h5AUZ6UE/s1600-h/CIMG0496_2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOxBk6in-mI/AAAAAAAAAK8/Uy2h5AUZ6UE/s320/CIMG0496_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254646967680105058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to watch Sarah swim!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some other items in my little happy box:&lt;br /&gt;Colleen Coleman Come on Down.  I kissed Bob Barker's cheek and he didn't even smell like an old man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The feeling I had when I finished the Catalina Marathon .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Mom had her temple shoes stolen so on her new pair she wrote "Helen Chapman's shoes Do not steal".  Then she knelt down and everybody could see the bottom her shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daren and I went to Hawaii and we went snorkeling.  I saw this really pretty blue fish on the bottom of the little shallow pool we were in and went down to look at it really really close.  When I surfaced I looked up and I was looking at this man's fin on his foot and I was sitting in his lap.  As I came up he was looking at Daren and his wife and they were all laughing so hard because they had been watching me the whole time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am adding to my happy box every time an email or a letter comes from Jake.  This makes me so happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few months ago we went to dinner and then played in Jayme Bawden's new house this was so fun.  I put this in the happy box too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to laugh with my sisters and Mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved President Monson's message on the Sunday morning session of conference.  He talked about counting your blessings and being happy now instead of putting it off until all is going well.&lt;br /&gt;I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so bad.&lt;br /&gt;Thank you to all for being my friends&lt;br /&gt;Love Colleen&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-553252813823149632?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/553252813823149632/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=553252813823149632' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/553252813823149632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/553252813823149632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-simply-remember.html' title='I Simply Remember.....'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SOrXJmDtnbI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_tnol7er4Yc/s72-c/IMG_0683_2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-8879666607932009611</id><published>2008-09-22T21:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T06:14:32.978-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Blog-worthy picture indeed</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Big Fat Large News&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNh4KwdS90I/AAAAAAAAAI0/HTz0_jqBzf0/s1600-h/CIMG0465.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNh4KwdS90I/AAAAAAAAAI0/HTz0_jqBzf0/s320/CIMG0465.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249077491902117698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah is a Super, Swifty, Special Swimmer of Spectacular Specifications.&lt;br /&gt;She got first in both of her individual event in the first 3 meets of the year.  This is why she is     ATHLETE OF THE WEEK.   Yea for Sarah!!  Sarah's mother is dork however, because she had to go down to the school and take a picture of the marquee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-8879666607932009611?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/8879666607932009611/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=8879666607932009611' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/8879666607932009611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/8879666607932009611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/09/blog-worthy-picture-indeed.html' title='A Blog-worthy picture indeed'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNh4KwdS90I/AAAAAAAAAI0/HTz0_jqBzf0/s72-c/CIMG0465.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-2303141983206132531</id><published>2008-09-06T01:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T22:45:52.226-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'M AN IDIOT AND I HAVE PROOF!</title><content type='html'>I was watching The Office the other day and I often find myself watching from between my fingers because I am so embarrassed by the stupid things Michael Scott says and does.  In one of the episodes he says "I don't understand how someone could be so self unaware.  I've decided that I can relate to Michael Scott in this department.  Sometimes I even amaze myself!.  At what point does the brain go on vacay and there is nobody minding the store upstairs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes we &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;say &lt;/span&gt;really stupid things and it is out before you can put it back in and you are stuck.  Recently someone asked me who my girlie girl doctor was and if I liked him.  I said that I did, but I hadn't been since I had a baby and I knew he wouldn't remember me cause he hadn't seen me in a while.  Feeling like I may have gotten into muddy waters I tried to correct my oops I then said, "I mean I haven't shown my FACE at that office in a while."  Oh forget it, I was just another pretty face to him anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have done some really stupid things also.  One day I was making a cake and I had this mixer that couldn't hold onto it's cord and as I was mixing the cord flopped down into my delicious cherry chip batter.  Well I did what anybody would do to clean off the cord.  You guessed it I picked up the cord and popped it in my mouth to lick off the cake batter.  IT WAS STILL PLUGGED IN!  Wow what a bad surprise I was knocked back a little bit and was quite stupid for a while afterward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With some of those brain cells gone I was able to perform my next act of idiocity (I totally made up that word)  Many of you know that I love Coach purses.  I like them because they have C's on them like Colleen Coleman.  Well I have some real purses and some fake ones.  (a lot of fake ones).  When one of my real ones got really dirty I decided to wash it in the washing machine like I had done to my tennies.  It turned out so good and since I was on a roll I washed one of my fake ones.  It did not turn out so good.  It turns out that the Chinese fake Coach makers don't guarantee their craftsmanship either.  Well they probably don't anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNXcJeH6aEI/AAAAAAAAAIY/yD48f4e7864/s1600-h/CIMG0443.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNXcJeH6aEI/AAAAAAAAAIY/yD48f4e7864/s320/CIMG0443.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248342996033366082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNXcBdItEVI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/mXximz5z01c/s1600-h/CIMG0442.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNXcBdItEVI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/mXximz5z01c/s320/CIMG0442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248342858329297234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The granddaddy of all the stupid things said was actually a joint project between me and some of my friends.  Last year I went to an orchestra concert at Westwood.  I was sitting on the back row with Daren and 2 friends.  One friend, we will call her Sherrie was sitting to the right of me&lt;br /&gt;Daren was on my left with another friend and we will call her Jeannie sitting next to him.  Jeannie's husband was sitting by her but he doesn't get to be in this story because he chickened out like girl and pretended to get a phone call and ran out.  OK the scene is set.  Between the second to the last and last number Sherrie is looking at the program and on the program is the name Deja Vu as a violin player.  Sherrie then says to me "If your last name was Vu do you really think you would want to name your kid Deja?"  Then she leans over me and Daren and says to Jeannie "Deja Vu this can't be right who would name their kid Deja Vu?"  The lady (oriental looking) in front of Daren turns around and says "I would name a kid Deja Vu because she is my daughter and her name really is Deja."  There are no words after that you can only sit there and hope that someone falls off the stage or accidentally impales them self on their cello bow because there is just no recovery after that.  She than says "are you people teachers here?"  We all mutely shake our heads.  Darrel pretends at this point to get his "phone call" and runs out.  We just hold our breaths and can't even speak.  The concert ends and she huffs out gives one last glare and leaves.  We dissolve into peals of laughter and Sherrie reminds me once again that these things were suppose to only happen to me.  Sorry Sherrie having a friend who is an idiot apparently rubs off on you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK so you can comment and tell your best act of idiocity like a contest.  Good luck!  The winner gets a prize.  (not really) Maybe I will make you a sash to wear or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNXcUMNhRQI/AAAAAAAAAIg/89qKiEsyOI4/s1600-h/CIMG0438.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNXcUMNhRQI/AAAAAAAAAIg/89qKiEsyOI4/s320/CIMG0438.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248343180203607298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elisabeth didn't really park here I just liked the picture and it fit the theme.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-2303141983206132531?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/2303141983206132531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=2303141983206132531' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/2303141983206132531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/2303141983206132531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/09/im-idiot-and-i-have-proof.html' title='I&apos;M AN IDIOT AND I HAVE PROOF!'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SNXcJeH6aEI/AAAAAAAAAIY/yD48f4e7864/s72-c/CIMG0443.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-5484920253330957646</id><published>2008-08-26T11:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T17:24:27.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I usually don't allow any pictures to be taken of me, but this was just too good.  I had to break my own rule so that I could make fun of a person.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;This time Me!&lt;br /&gt;OK so this morning I woke early to iron Sarah's shirt (picture day), make lunches, go walking, and  take picture money to Sarah.&lt;br /&gt;After I walked John to his class I went to Jamba and then I came home.&lt;br /&gt;This is how I looked during all those errands I ran.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SLRIQ7ebEoI/AAAAAAAAAGg/TuvXAuLmMKU/s1600-h/CIMG0435.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SLRIQ7ebEoI/AAAAAAAAAGg/TuvXAuLmMKU/s320/CIMG0435.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238891722219131522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Notice the hair hanging flat to the forehead.&lt;br /&gt;So Elisabeth asks me "Mom what is with your hair are you going to do it today?"  Then she says if you need the  FLAT IRON it's in my room.  Flat Iron really are you kidding me?  Do you see how my hair could get any flatter?  I have the worlds straightest hair!&lt;br /&gt;So I took the hint.&lt;br /&gt;And.............&lt;br /&gt;One blob of mousse, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;a blow dryer, two round brushes, two fingers of texture paste, a&lt;br /&gt;teasing&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;comb&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;and three spritz's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SLRKwcvM8wI/AAAAAAAAAGo/NBgGza8UT2Q/s1600-h/CIMG0437.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SLRKwcvM8wI/AAAAAAAAAGo/NBgGza8UT2Q/s320/CIMG0437.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238894462747079426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;of r&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;oot spray later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I was ready to meet the day.&lt;br /&gt;This all made possible by the great color and cut Jennifer Anderson gave me last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope your day doesn't fall flat&lt;br /&gt;Colleen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-5484920253330957646?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/5484920253330957646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=5484920253330957646' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/5484920253330957646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/5484920253330957646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/08/dont-hate-me-because-im-beautiful.html' title='Don&apos;t Hate Me Because I&apos;m Beautiful'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SLRIQ7ebEoI/AAAAAAAAAGg/TuvXAuLmMKU/s72-c/CIMG0435.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-1977621157996413588</id><published>2008-08-19T18:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T19:25:04.948-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Some pictures of the Nicest Kids in Town</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt8hk5I7oI/AAAAAAAAAGM/i5NgyTtP_E4/s1600-h/CIMG0425.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt8hk5I7oI/AAAAAAAAAGM/i5NgyTtP_E4/s320/CIMG0425.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236415908029197954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;John took lessons from the best teacher in the city&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt6oGAwzsI/AAAAAAAAAF8/C0TMDbyaDYg/s1600-h/CIMG0432.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt6oGAwzsI/AAAAAAAAAF8/C0TMDbyaDYg/s320/CIMG0432.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236413820975500994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Joe is way to cool for 6th grade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt60qU6clI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rO4DWSRRfSM/s1600-h/CIMG0427.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt60qU6clI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rO4DWSRRfSM/s320/CIMG0427.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236414036882125394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Sarah was High Point Winner for Summer City Swimming&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt6b3pRDJI/AAAAAAAAAF0/G0J3-NXRW98/s1600-h/CIMG0433.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt6b3pRDJI/AAAAAAAAAF0/G0J3-NXRW98/s320/CIMG0433.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236413610960424082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;J&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;ohn is the best looking and brightest star of Room 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-1977621157996413588?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/1977621157996413588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=1977621157996413588' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/1977621157996413588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/1977621157996413588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/08/some-pictures-of-nicest-kids-in-town.html' title='Some pictures of the Nicest Kids in Town'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SKt8hk5I7oI/AAAAAAAAAGM/i5NgyTtP_E4/s72-c/CIMG0425.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-1787261742736882303</id><published>2008-08-18T19:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T06:55:00.682-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The First Day of..... my Broken Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Twas the night before school started and summer was done.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;All the Coleman's were sleeping except for the one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Colleen was up pacing too wired for sleeping,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Just the thought of them gone was enough to start weeping.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This really WAS the way I spent the night before school started.  Really no joke.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I wept as I made their lunches with 2 creamy and 1 chunky (rat hairs and all Janet) peanut butter sandwiches.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I wept as I drove Sarah to A-hour seminary at 6:30 and was still weeping at 7:30 when I went back to take her a lunch and to see if she needed to come home and eat breakfast for the 20 minutes before school started. Sarah looked at me and asked "Mom what's wrong with you?  Why do you keep crying this morning?" "I had such a great summer with you guys and I will, Sniff, Sniff, miss you" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I wept for the first time in earnest as I took the traditional 1st day of school photos of Joe and John in front of the red post.  If you look close you can see tear drops on the lens of the camera.  It's not rain its the evidence of my breaking heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Joe was fine going to school, but who would help John open his applesauce, tell him what the whistle was for, screw the cap on his water bottle, snap his pants and give him that smile and wink that I gave him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I wept as I found a place to park the car.  I did have to stop weeping so I could give the zit faced High School ditcher on the 1st day a dirty look.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The long walk to room 1 was the longest of my life.  I kept my sunglasses on the whole time so I wouldn't embarrass Joe who was not very pleased that I had worn my blue dancing pants (workout shorts) to the school.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The time had come for John to go to 1st grade.  Time for the separation.  We parted.  He went into room 1.  I turned my face away.  I glanced back one more time but he had turned away already more interested in the voices in the room than the feelings of his own mother.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I slowly walked back to my car not even caring the the ditching pockmarked youth was now joined by an equally unattractive female.  It just didn't matter anymore.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I pulled back onto Westwood street.  I was now sobbing full out making little hiccup noises and having to wipe my snotty nose on the back of my shaking hand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It occurred to me that maybe Sarah would need me one last time today so I pulled to the side of the street just under the "No parking 8am to 4pm school day sign.  I had no more been stopped for a minute when I was joined by a motorcycle officer complete with mustache and aviator sunglasses.  "Maam, you can' t park or stop here".  "Th... Than..Thank you"  were the only words that would whisper through my quivering lips.  The officer then said  " I will give you a warning today but tomorrow if you Par...excuse me maam is there a problem you seem to be mighty upset."  I straightend quickly.   "No problem officer after all today is the 1st day of school and these are &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;TEARS OF JOY!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-1787261742736882303?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/1787261742736882303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=1787261742736882303' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/1787261742736882303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/1787261742736882303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/08/one-dark-and-moonless-night-twas-night.html' title='The First Day of..... my Broken Heart'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-7701992924138018308</id><published>2008-07-16T23:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-17T08:41:33.862-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:24px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;Mad-House Mania&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last week the whole Coleman family plus Jake's friend Alysha went &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;to Disneyland. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SH7314lxN3I/AAAAAAAAADo/Hlw5e0WsGeY/s320/CIMG0389_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223885122892281714" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;It was a celebration of our 25th anniversary and 24 years of wedded &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;bliss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SH74p7MLePI/AAAAAAAAADw/0_2O2SvgwFA/s320/CIMG0396.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223886016943454450" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SH76KEDB9fI/AAAAAAAAAD4/OJVAHVHiBgQ/s200/CIMG0410.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223887668588443122" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A new attraction is at California Adventure.  It is called Toy Story Midway Mania.  So very totally fun.  You sit in a little moving booth and while wearing 3-D glasses you play a variety of carnival games.  If you shoot the 3000 pt balloon with a dart a water balloon comes right at you and then there is a mist as the balloon hits you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It may be a brand new ride at C-A but there was something vaguely familiar about this ride.  I was pretty sure I had been on this one before or something like it.  Yeah I'm positive that this ride is not that original I HAVE PLAYED THIS ONE.  Except I'm positive its called &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Coleman Story Mad House Mania&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lights on Lights off - Daren goes through the whole house and turns off the lights.  As fast as you can say Bob's your uncle and Fannies your aunt, someone else sprints to turn them on.  The scoring occurs through how loud on the loud-0-meter Daren  can say TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Musical Chair (just one) The one chair that everybody must sit in to watch TV squeaks and whistles.  If you rock it a certain way it will play a tune.  You are scored on original composition and musical technique.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Find the Fone Fast.  The phone rings and the race is on.  We have one phone with a cord, one with a speaker and 6 cordless phones that live on various little charging stumps.  When the phone rings you circle the speaker phone once, touch the cord phone seven times and run to find a cordless phone.  If you can find one while the phone is still ringing you score 10 points.  If it has to go to answering machine you only get 5 points and if you bang your pinky toe on the corner of the door you get to yell a bad word and lose all your points.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Washing Machine Shimmy:  Our washer is on its last leg!  All it needs is a G-String, a bikini top and a pole and it could hold it's own against any seasoned stripper.  It Shimmies during the wash, shakes during the rinse, and then bumps and grinds for the spin cycle.  This game is scored on the distance the washing machine travels during the spin cycle.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Toilet Trouble is a game of chance.  You use the toilet and make your bet.  You can wear you 3-D glasses for this one if you wish.  "Step right up, how many flushes will you guess. One for the pretty little lady.  What about you young man, will it be 3 or 4".   Insider information on this game:  The longer the player is engaged in the game the more flushes it will take.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cars.  Mom pulls in the carport.  Jake pulls in behind.  Mom needs to leave.  Jake moves his car to the other space in the carport.  Mom leaves.  Elisabeth pulls in behind Jake.  Mom comes back and pulls behind Jake.  The cars are now 3 deep.   Daren comes home and parks in the street.  Jake needs to leave but Mom has lost both sets of keys in a mystery purse.  Everybody stays home now.  Points are earned only by Jake for not calling anybody an idiot or a word that I don't know how to spell.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My Favorite game&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Saturday night Fever.  In this game Daren and Colleen are Studying for  Sunday lessons.  Daren takes Joe to a friends house while Colleen drives a group of kids to the movies.  Elisabeth is out at Emily's and Jake is on a date.  Every driver must go to Walmart.  Every driver must complain about the trashy people at Walmart and the number of crying kids they have brought who should be in bed.   Each driver must also observe 2 fat bottomed ladies in black stretch pants, one grandma type with a tooth missing and a long haired stinky man with gross toenails.  The driver who remembers to pick up milk and Dr. Pepper for Sunday is the winner of the whole game.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So there you have it.  As suspected, life at the Coleman House is one big game. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks for reading&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Colleen &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-7701992924138018308?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/7701992924138018308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=7701992924138018308' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/7701992924138018308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/7701992924138018308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/07/mad-house-mania-last-week-whole-coleman.html' title=''/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SH7314lxN3I/AAAAAAAAADo/Hlw5e0WsGeY/s72-c/CIMG0389_2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-2116030802040416942</id><published>2008-07-02T22:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T22:44:49.195-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 24px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 24px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt; Am Really Sick! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am Really Sick.   I have an actual medical condition.  I am not sure what it is called but I am pretty sure I have it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am sniffing and sneezing and wheezing.  I think I am allergic to to moldy wet towels.  Every towel we own is wet on the floor, the couch, beds, the kitchen table.  I believe this has made me sick.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I get hot flashes.  All of a sudden I am looking for the stinky old man and low and behold it is me that stinketh.  My door is not able to close properly because no one knows how to shut it behind them.  I am suddenly hot and I believe this is bringing on menopause.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have become anti social.  I find myself going into my room and locking the door a lot.  I do this when I want to talk on the phone, put on my shoes, look at my gray hairs, check out the new mole on my nose or  have an uninterrupted thought.  There are people in every room of my house all the time.  I even cleaned my closet to go stand in to be by myself.  I am getting sicker by the day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My hair is falling out.  Every comb, brush, blow dryer,  flat iron, and even my special "afro pick" has been borrowed.  I find that when I now comb my hair I tend to pull the hair out because my fingernails are so long because I HAVE NO NAIL CLIPPERS.  I will be bald by the end of summer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My eyes are failing.  If I have to watch "Camp Rock" one more time I will actually gouge them out myself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a ringing in my ears.  Every person in our family has their own ipod and they play them the same time.  Even when they are turned off I still hear "I kissed a girl and I liked it".   I don't like it.    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm mentally confused.  I planned a trip to Hannah Montana and Waverly Place.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Some people say that by the time summer ends they are "sick of their kids".  I am not sick of my kids no no no, but something in my house is definitely making my sick.  School has now been out for 5 weeks, I wonder what is making me so sick.  I called the doctor and they can't get me in until August 11th.  I wonder if I will still be sick then.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-2116030802040416942?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/2116030802040416942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=2116030802040416942' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/2116030802040416942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/2116030802040416942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-am-really-sick-i-am-really-sick.html' title=''/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-2098207215987890625</id><published>2008-07-02T21:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T22:07:44.727-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxcVmG0cuI/AAAAAAAAADU/1j4DTJmVOoM/s1600-h/CIMG0370.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxcVmG0cuI/AAAAAAAAADU/1j4DTJmVOoM/s320/CIMG0370.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218647594291720930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;T&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;he Coleman Children are so attractive!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;Sarah Lyrical Dancing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxcLlht3OI/AAAAAAAAADM/1I2J7-F1LzE/s1600-h/CIMG0368.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxcLlht3OI/AAAAAAAAADM/1I2J7-F1LzE/s320/CIMG0368.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218647422337408226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Joe and the Wright Kids on the Last Day of School&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxb-96AulI/AAAAAAAAADE/5M0t1LjOsYg/s1600-h/CIMG0344.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxb-96AulI/AAAAAAAAADE/5M0t1LjOsYg/s320/CIMG0344.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218647205543459410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxb-96AulI/AAAAAAAAADE/5M0t1LjOsYg/s1600-h/CIMG0344.JPG"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Elisabeth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Jake Opening the "Call" to London England South&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxbyMdWk6I/AAAAAAAAAC8/D4AAuNZj8mQ/s1600-h/CIMG0323.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxbyMdWk6I/AAAAAAAAAC8/D4AAuNZj8mQ/s320/CIMG0323.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218646986111488930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxbPrpjSgI/AAAAAAAAAC0/idr7B3n2pps/s1600-h/CIMG0298.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxbPrpjSgI/AAAAAAAAAC0/idr7B3n2pps/s320/CIMG0298.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218646393188731394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxbPrpjSgI/AAAAAAAAAC0/idr7B3n2pps/s1600-h/CIMG0298.JPG"&gt;John and Joe at Usery Pass&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-2098207215987890625?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/2098207215987890625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=2098207215987890625' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/2098207215987890625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/2098207215987890625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/07/t-he-coleman-children-are-so-attractive.html' title=''/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SGxcVmG0cuI/AAAAAAAAADU/1j4DTJmVOoM/s72-c/CIMG0370.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-1773244774108097301</id><published>2008-06-22T21:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T22:09:30.399-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SF8uZJ_K4_I/AAAAAAAAABs/Db-0JKAdT2E/s1600-h/CIMG0381.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SF8uZJ_K4_I/AAAAAAAAABs/Db-0JKAdT2E/s200/CIMG0381.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214937903230804978" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SF8rHK_9AKI/AAAAAAAAABk/k2RYXAkHt7c/s1600-h/PHP485998FC7C849.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SF8rHK_9AKI/AAAAAAAAABk/k2RYXAkHt7c/s200/PHP485998FC7C849.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214934295729995938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I've Had a "Ruff" Day at Work&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;I read in the paper last week that Friday was the official "Take your Dog to Work Day."  Really and truly I am not making this up.  This picture is not my dog it came out of the paper.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;How do you know is ready to go to work?  Has he talked to his dog therapist and does he have subconscience desires to be more than a mutt.  Does he want to be a professional canine?  Another question:  Is it legal?  There are child welfare laws.  Wouldn't the ASPCA or PETA want to be involved?  What hours would your dog work?  Would one hour equal seven hours?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Would he wear doggie outfits or come "fido al fresco?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;My most burning question is:  Is this fair that dogs get to work and cats are left at home?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;We used to have 3 cats Rip, Chloe, and Pedro.  Pedro was an undocumented cat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;He was a cat who participated in the Coleman version of "Take your Cat to Work."  Pedro volunteered to work at Daren's Construction yard.  He was a pioneer, he was politically correct and best of all he is gone.  Maybe taking your pet to work will take the place of the previous excuse of "our cat ran away."  Sounds good!  Stuff your pet in a burlap bag and ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;Take Your Pet to Work! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-1773244774108097301?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/1773244774108097301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=1773244774108097301' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/1773244774108097301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/1773244774108097301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/06/ive-had-ruf-day-at-work-i-read-in-paper.html' title=''/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SF8uZJ_K4_I/AAAAAAAAABs/Db-0JKAdT2E/s72-c/CIMG0381.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-18817052456938653</id><published>2008-06-15T21:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T22:38:40.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SFX6f45UvOI/AAAAAAAAABc/othObd0IVGQ/s1600-h/CIMG0335.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SFX6f45UvOI/AAAAAAAAABc/othObd0IVGQ/s200/CIMG0335.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212347569506925794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SFX6LJsW4AI/AAAAAAAAABU/LyI0HcQP8Gc/s1600-h/CIMG0126.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SFX6LJsW4AI/AAAAAAAAABU/LyI0HcQP8Gc/s200/CIMG0126.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212347213238689794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;         &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;So today is Fathers Day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;I have been thinking about my dad.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;I am the youngest of 5 girls and I am pretty sure that when I was born dad knew that he was for sure not getting any boys.  That's why I am named after him.  I am named Colleen after my dad Collins.  I actually didn't like my name too much when I was younger.  I would have rather been named Jennifer, Laura, Lisa or my very favorite Christine.  I did like being named after my dad.  And now being older I appreciate my name because it really does mean so much to me because of my dad.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;From my dad I inherited my large pores, thick ankles, straight hair, and a tendency to be very single minded.  I think now days they call this OCD.  Some things I wish that I had inherited from my dad: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt; I wish I had a more mathematical mind.  Dad is able to figure anything out.  Sometimes he thinks about things for days and puts it together in his head and then he will put it on paper and then put it to work.  This is amazing and a true gift.  He was a really great engineer.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;I wish I was as wise as my dad.  Dad didn't force his opinion on me as a young girl or teenager.  When he had something to say to me however he would say, "I need to visit with you in my den young lady".  I knew what he had to say was important and that he had been thinking about this visit long before it happened.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;I wish I had the patience to be really good at something like my dad.  Dad never ever started a hobby that he didn't go whole hearted into.  His photography did not stop at just buying the camera.  He was really good at making movies and making them so enjoyable to watch.  These were complete with titles and credits.  His still photography rivals a professional.  And now his new interest in digital photography and computer scanning is amazing.  Dad is also a very skilled carpenter, music lover and collector, car mechanic, electrician, writer, speech and talk giver, and family historian.  He is NOT a great hair dresser.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;Dad is a great sport and never seems to get his feelings hurt when he catches us making fun of him.  We only laugh at him because we love him.  Five things that make me smile as I remember my dad growing up:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;1.  When a man in our ward rubbed lotion on his arm during church, dad told mom that there was something "off" about that guy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;2.  When he would play music in his shop on his homemade speaker and we would sing together when I would hold boards for him while he used the saw.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;3.  When we went to the cabin and slept in cots under the stars in the front room before the roof was on the cabin.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;4.  When he would come  to Utah when we lived up there and take me grocery shopping and buy Elisabeth animal crackers and then we would have roast for Sunday dinner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;5.  When he would come to a dance or band concert and I would ask him how he liked it and he would say, "I didn't know you were the only girl in the band", because I didn't see any other kids there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;There are tons of things I could say about dad, but I was just thinking about him today.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;Thanks for reading.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'lucida grande';"&gt;Love Colleen (named after Collins)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-18817052456938653?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/18817052456938653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=18817052456938653' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/18817052456938653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/18817052456938653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/06/so-today-is-fathers-day-i-have-been.html' title=''/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SFX6f45UvOI/AAAAAAAAABc/othObd0IVGQ/s72-c/CIMG0335.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-4827536315156940947</id><published>2008-06-06T16:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-06T16:38:55.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HERE COMES SUMMER!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;There are a few things about summer I love.  I love 7 trips to Carson Pool a day.  I love lots of Krazy Sub 1/2 pepsi 1/2 diet pepsi with extra ice.  I love little boys "butch" haircuts.  I love the Corn and Tater party.  I love girls camp.  I love Cub Scout Day Camp, Which by the way is the subject of my post.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;If there some of you who live under a rock and have not ever been to CSDC you have really missed out on the finer things in life.  Day Camp is at South Mountain at the Heard Pueblo.  Which is really cool.  It goes for 3 consecutive days from either 8am-2pm or 3pm-10pm.  Our stake likes the afternoon session.  To keep the boys cool they have sprinklers going everywhere in the trees, on every path.  Even those east mesa moms hair was flattened and they had to wear hats like everyone else.  Also they encourage the boys to bring squirt bottles and throw water balloons, even at the adults.  Yesterday when I went there was some kid that kept hitting me every time I walked out of our campsite.  One balloon even had a rock in it.    I had had enough of that little twerp and when we went to the last rotation in the amphitheater I put a big water balloon down under him and he sat on it.  Ha Ha it totally looked like he wet his pants.  On the way home the boys in my car were so stinky I had to continually smell my armpit for some fresh air.  I'm sure none of them showered when they got home because they did swim in the pool earlier that day.  It was great fun and the best part, I was only invited to go one day.  Really the best part was my Joe Coleman who was by far the nicest kid there.  There are many great things of summer coming up, so I will keep you posted.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;Colleen  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-4827536315156940947?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/4827536315156940947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=4827536315156940947' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/4827536315156940947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/4827536315156940947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/06/here-comes-summer.html' title='HERE COMES SUMMER!'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-7981698664056576299</id><published>2008-05-31T21:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T22:10:43.522-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sarah is Going out with Zac</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SEIvP-RA63I/AAAAAAAAABM/p-W2Htm0CDg/s1600-h/Sar-%26-Zac.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SEIvP-RA63I/AAAAAAAAABM/p-W2Htm0CDg/s320/Sar-%26-Zac.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206776070652619634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh I totally forgot to mention that Sarah went to the 9th grade dance with Zac Efron.  You know the High School musical guy.  He was so great about getting his picture taken too.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-7981698664056576299?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/7981698664056576299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=7981698664056576299' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/7981698664056576299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/7981698664056576299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/05/sarah-is-going-out-with-zac.html' title='Sarah is Going out with Zac'/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/SEIvP-RA63I/AAAAAAAAABM/p-W2Htm0CDg/s72-c/Sar-%26-Zac.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463858836174476780.post-4018712851616414122</id><published>2008-05-31T10:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T11:20:57.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So this is what you've been waiting for. &lt;div&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;Ta Da&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Coleman blog.&lt;/span&gt;  Elisabeth did the artwork on it so I can really take no credit for the way it looks.  By the way Elisabeth it looks way good.  Daren actually was the one who encouraged me to start a blog because I really think he is just sick of my "Colleen like random thoughts" which, by the way bombard me from every direction.  So on that note.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My first entry will be about my PA system I received for mothers day in my car.  You may be asking "Why the heck does she want a PA system in her car?"  Well because it is cool!  And Jen Palmer has one.  It is so great pick Sarah up from dance and instead of honking "which I hate"  it is much better to have your mother speak to you from across the parking lot.  "Hey Sarah, your Foxy Mama is here to pick you up. "  The kids love to ride with me so they can call out to their friends on the way home from school.  Last week they got flipped off by a group of not so friendly neighbor"hood" kids.  I however had the perfect comeback which resulted in another flipping off.  They were apparently opposed to "stick that finger back in your nose where it came from".  The best thing about my PA system is this is how my body will be identified when I am shot for being obnoxious.  When I saw a grandma in an old clunker driving really slow and weaving in front of me, I called out "Hey granny step on it and stay in your lane".  Well "granny" was a gray haired biker dude out with for a spin with the dodge dart.  He did not need a PA system to relay his thoughts.  Yes I will be the dead cool mom with the microphone  in my hand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So until next time.  Thanks for stopping by.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Colleen&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2463858836174476780-4018712851616414122?l=colemansrock.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/feeds/4018712851616414122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2463858836174476780&amp;postID=4018712851616414122' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/4018712851616414122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2463858836174476780/posts/default/4018712851616414122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://colemansrock.blogspot.com/2008/05/so-this-is-what-youve-been-waiting-for.html' title=''/><author><name>Colleen Coleman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10659313515961148776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fq-ZiDJ0KD0/S6rF8Dtc8_I/AAAAAAAAAbo/qTneAdP9Ryo/S220/CIMG0131.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry></feed>
