tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66350337850824367962012-02-16T08:33:21.138-07:00Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comBlogger1491100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-38086162736700931522009-12-24T23:11:00.001-07:002009-12-24T23:11:00.323-07:00

Wishing you 'peace', from our house to yours.Happy Holidays!

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-32943753917812702452009-12-17T00:34:00.012-07:002011-07-20T14:44:37.349-06:00

Because I took the LSAT last weekend, and because misery loves company, this post will be in exam format. For some questions, more than one of the choices could conceivably answer the question. However, you are to choose the best answer; that is, the response that most accurately and completely answers the question. You should not make assumptions using your commonsense because, let's face it,

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-85836054915995788162009-11-26T01:51:00.006-07:002009-11-26T11:08:08.293-07:00

Lately, I've been working on my gratitude. Not for the obvious stuff - it goes without saying that I'm thankful for my health, my family and friends, their health, and, of course, the material abundance that comes with being born in the land of plenty. But I've been working on being thankful for the 'bad' stuff, too - the car accident, a setback on my new house, the moment to moment heartaches

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-57162099372971412632009-11-08T21:11:00.003-07:002009-11-09T07:55:13.116-07:00

I have eight different versions of the song Amazing Grace on my ipod, sung by artists ranging from Johnny Cash to Anne Murray. I do not view myself as a religious person and, even when I did, the religion of my youth emphasized the complimentary concept of good works rather than God's grace. My point is not to start a religious discourse here but simply to explain that, since it wasn't even in

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-53881754621695463872009-10-19T01:34:00.003-06:002009-10-19T02:03:18.883-06:00

I started having what I refer to as 'friend-crushes' at a relatively young age. They were basically like real crushes only I fantasized about sharing Cabbage Patch Dolls and shoes instead of first kisses and prom nights. I blame these crushes on two things - my intense need to connect with people and my struggles with Sibling Deprivation Disorder. The crushes didn't happen often - sisterless or

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-22151075391126652602009-10-11T17:45:00.005-06:002011-01-03T19:35:35.294-07:00

I'm a hippie. When I mention this to people, I'm usually met with a mixture of doubt and amusement. It's true, I don't hug a lot of trees (nor people, for that matter). And I suppose that on the surface I seem a bit more 'yuppie' than 'hippie'. But in my heart, in my mind, I'm a total flower-child. So, imagine how offended I was when I saw this.I mean, if you can't trust the organic-eating,

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-27218490861513765932009-09-30T23:52:00.012-06:002009-10-05T14:31:50.929-06:00

Many things in life are separated by a very thin line. Right and wrong, for instance. Genius and madness. Love and hate. Bambi and Pulp Fiction. Online dating and 'To Catch a Predator'.And yesterday, I got to thinking...exactly how thin is the line between a fan and a fanatic? In the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that this question occurred to me following an email exchange with a

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-32087327216068207232009-09-28T01:36:00.018-06:002009-11-20T11:24:09.571-07:00

This is a pretty good combination on the soccer field. I mean, the boy on the right (who plays right mid-fielder) can fairly predictably get the ball up to the boy on the left (who plays left forward), who can then almost as predictably make something happen with it. Well, we figured it worked for Peyton and Eli and it could work for us, too. Meet the next generation of soccer superstars...watch

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-38572566368710363542009-09-24T14:26:00.007-06:002009-09-24T15:52:44.875-06:00

I was uploading/downloading/whatever-it-is-called-when-images-move-from-one-location-to-another some pictures from my phone today and remembered one of my favorite summer stories. Excluding the hundreds of files around my desk that are stacked in such a way that they resemble a sophisticated fort, I figured I have nothing better to do but share it (i.e. I'm avoiding work right now).I taught

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-71616560633677913022009-09-14T23:17:00.003-06:002009-09-15T10:11:39.052-06:00

Lately, I'm obsessed with time. The passage of time, the lack of sufficient time, the fact that I'm never on time. It may have to do with my newly emerging wrinkles but, at least in small part, I blame it on my kids starting school last week. Cale is now in middle school which, unless I'm having a major lapse in my understanding of biology, means that I am the mother of a middle schooler. Yes, my

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-68321546803554965212009-08-19T00:54:00.010-06:002009-08-19T18:45:46.579-06:00

In case you live under a rock and haven't heard, Brett Favre has signed with the Minnesota Vikings. Of course, there is no way that I could have missed this tidbit because A) I'm an ESPN junkie (which is every man's dream until they realize the horror that is their wife rushing to the mailbox to beat them to the Sports Illustrated) and B) I received at least two dozen emails from friends near and

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-73313416815983486922009-08-17T03:43:00.011-06:002010-01-16T20:41:56.041-07:00

I'm in a funk. A life funk, a work funk, a blogging funk. I'm sitting here in the middle of the night, pondering life, wading through piles of work, and feeling guilty about not having updated my blog in weeks. While pondering all of this, I looked back to my first post and was reminded that I started this blog over a year ago, just before I left for Africa.I was also reminded that my trip to

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-19093631457154431132009-07-21T09:18:00.016-06:002009-07-21T19:54:37.815-06:00

While recently in New York with Penny, the following were my three favorite things: First, I spent valuable NYC time doing something even more priceless - hanging out in coffee shops and outdoor cafes (and occasionally just lying around our hotel room) reconnecting with the sister I found at twenty.Second, we hit a Deepak Chopra seminar and meditation, which gave me a chance to reconnect with

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-35928862374678927312009-07-16T01:32:00.003-06:002009-07-16T03:01:40.164-06:00

I went to New York with Penny again this past weekend. I don't know what came over my usually camera-happy self, but I took only the following four photos:This is us (if I remember correctly, unshowered) in front of a Hello Kitty statue...the explanation for this photo is long and would reveal far too much about our twisted humor.This is a man asleep in a phone booth. It goes without saying that

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-72382932597146914672009-07-07T22:33:00.003-06:002009-07-07T23:30:30.406-06:00

If Thanksgiving doesn't watch its back, 4th of July is going to win out as my favorite holiday. I mean, I'm ambivalent about turkey, yams are some kind of twisted joke, and someone always sticks their fingers in the mashed potatoes rendering them inedible. But the 4th of July has fireworks and Lee Greenwood songs and portabella mushroom sandwiches (or whatever other people cook up on the barbie).

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-25917636494233053592009-06-29T14:36:00.015-06:002009-06-29T15:39:55.427-06:00

Do you remember those old-fashioned, hand-sketched cartoons? The ones where the story unfolded, frame by frame, right before your eyes? You had to read between the lines a bit, draw some logical conclusions for yourself, but in the end, it all became clear. Here is a modern day version, 'snapped' instead of 'sketched', from our house to yours. And, just like in the old days, someone always

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-43941414366890308542009-06-24T00:03:00.004-06:002009-06-24T11:36:29.882-06:00

See the glasses I'm wearing in this picture? They are glasses I've been sporting a lot lately because I'm down to exactly two pair of contact lenses. I can say 'exactly' because I have searched through every purse (where I found one pair!) and glove box (another!) and bathroom drawer (nada!) to try to find any remaining links to clear vision.I hate going to the eye doctor. I mean, most people

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-52286870038759255942009-06-17T23:50:00.025-06:002009-06-18T03:47:15.399-06:00

It's that time of year again...recital season! I know that you are all dying for a play by play of the kids' performances and what kind of person would I be if I didn't oblige?First up, Cale, in a little number titled 'I have a 103 degree fever but I'm going to still play Wake Me Up When September Ends while some dude in a green shirt sings the lyrics, mostly because I have the hots for the girl

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-36873610309306189702009-06-09T19:59:00.003-06:002009-06-09T21:58:16.385-06:00

I spend at least half of my life entertaining hypothetical questions. I love to talk (to the extent anyone will listen), I love to think (to the extent I am able), and thus, I love to play any game that starts with ‘What if…’ or ‘Would you rather…’ or ‘If you were stranded on a desert island…’.This last one has kept me mentally occupied for over a week now. It all started at the Fleetwood Mac

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-48072140703087189062009-06-07T23:47:00.008-06:002009-07-28T17:40:30.280-06:00

Years ago, I swore I'd never let my sons play competitive soccer. It was filled with strange people, I reasoned - people who were nutty and bloodthirsty and too, well, competitive. I wanted my boys to learn to be fair and to learn sportsmanship and to learn that being a good teammate was more important than winning. This is ironic because A) I am nutty, and bloodthirsty and too competitive and B)

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-40797684185338650812009-06-05T00:16:00.010-06:002009-06-05T01:26:52.732-06:00

Some people cry at weddings, some people cry at births...me, I'm a graduation sap. Something about the growth, the potential, the end that also signifies a beginning. Since it's graduation week around these parts, I am a ball of various emotions. I have cheerleaders headed out into the grown-up world, my oldest child headed off to middle school, and my youngest headed toward adorable plaid

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-11750026742628338382009-06-01T06:44:00.007-06:002009-06-01T10:39:28.665-06:00

As part of 2009's 'The Music Gods Must Love Corbie' concert series, .38 Special, Styx, and REO Speedwagon came to town. Here's how you know when the music you listen to is outdated...the following are excerpts from an IM chat with Brent Noble, former high school classmate, age 32 (my age):ME: What you guys doing tomorrow night? Any chance you are REO Speedwagon/38 Special/Styx fans?(Of course,

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-40445692061629754732009-05-29T09:20:00.007-06:002009-05-29T10:43:10.408-06:00

I used to worry about Ryan not having a sister. After all, the boys have each other and seem to bond over sports and hot chicks and the ability to aim their urine at moving targets. And Ryan is definitely all girl. She asks me constantly if it is 'dance class day' and if she can wear her pink dress again and if we can do 'girl stuff' (girl stuff equates to various degrees of 'beauty parlor',

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-80852878908444809092009-05-24T23:11:00.005-06:002009-05-25T00:35:50.846-06:00

In 1607, Shah Jahan, a 15-year-old prince of the royal Mughal household (who would later become the Emperor), fell in love at first sight with the 14-year-old Mumtaz Mahal as she sold beads in a marketplace. He declared to his father his unwavering intention to marry the girl and, five years and two wives later (it was common for royalty to take several wives for political gain), Shah Jahan was

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-84432137624982558142009-05-22T15:53:00.003-06:002009-05-22T16:38:28.851-06:00

Judging by your kind comments and flattering words, I've decided my last blog post was harmful - toxic even - and I am here to right a wrong. Somehow, using slideshows and smiling children as my weapon of choice, I created the appearance that we are 'amazing', that we exude 'boundless energy', that we wear 'nonstop smiles'...even worse, I made us out to be 'so cute'. And I'm here for full

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-83466154352435961322009-05-10T23:15:00.013-06:002009-05-16T14:16:59.607-06:00

Here is what we've been doing while I haven't been blogging: Mostly watching this... And usually watching it in this...(yes that slight overcast would later turn into a tornado warning while we watched Cale's games in exotic Boise, Idaho). Last weekend we had eight collective soccer games between the two boys. This weekend - Mother's Day weekend - we were granted a reprieve with only five.

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-47453877259429242072009-04-27T00:51:00.008-06:002009-04-27T02:32:01.185-06:00

As an only child, I have no clue how it feels to be anything other than 'the one'. I have never worn the hand-me downs of an older sibling, never been forced to put up with the toy-breaking, noise-making antics of a younger one, never had to feel the averageness that goes along with being sandwiched between two siblings loved equally by my parents. But such is the life of my Morgan.And, as if

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-59469850457221739062009-04-21T14:56:00.010-06:002009-05-23T00:54:14.979-06:00

Recently I read an article here that detailed the ten most common dreams and their accompanying meanings. All the usual suspects were present - falling, flying, running naked through your old high school trying to get last-minute credits for graduation - I've had all of these more times than I care to recall.But, much to my dismay, the article mentioned absolutely nothing about sack eating.

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-32944803750325350582009-04-20T01:45:00.010-06:002009-04-20T14:40:06.040-06:00

So, I'm up late working tonight and figured I'd kill two birds with one stone by uploading all of our weekend pictures while I'm at my desk. I planned on a reasonable quantity of photos since our cameras had the pleasure of attending three soccer games, the Salt Lake half-marathon (yay Jenny!), and a rugby road trip. What I didn't plan on, however, was the quality of the photos. Now, I've

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-74295579019872078892009-04-16T10:12:00.013-06:002009-04-16T13:38:03.301-06:00

Recently, I went to California with a couple of girlfriends - Lindsey, who likely needs no introduction here (she's the one who likes to leave comments that include the word 'tits') and Jen, of cheer coaching fame. The trip, slated as a 'watch our former cheerleaders at national competition' trip, was full of adventures and misadventures (i.e. a blown-out tire, a Narcotics Anonymous convention, a

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-16409319211477593502009-04-15T08:23:00.008-06:002009-04-15T13:09:07.951-06:00

Robert coaches Morgan's rec soccer team (as opposed to his competition team - which only adds to this story). He used to coach Cale's team (both rec and comp) but there comes a point where your son's skill level is too advanced (and your desire to strangle him too great), and you realize it's time to step aside.So, It's been a wet soccer season thus far. Actually, it hasn't been any kind of

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-25970434361275962142009-04-13T01:26:00.012-06:002009-04-14T08:12:08.754-06:00

Thankfully the great J.C. decided to rise up from the dead roughly two thousand years ago because 1) it gave us earthlings a reasonable shot at salvation and 2) it provided me with a significant enough holiday to justify a blog post while in the midst of a writing funk. In fact, I'm desperate enough for writing material that, at this point, I'm slightly (and blasphemously) more grateful for

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-15945123597169946332009-04-02T09:26:00.006-06:002009-04-02T10:04:26.456-06:00

The boys' school has an internal mail system where they can write letters to other students. The students use a pre-printed paper with space to draw a picture and draft a note, they then drop it in the 'mailbox' where it receives school 'postage', and the letters are delivered to their designated recipients each day. The below letter is an exchange between Morgan and a 'friend'. I'm fairly

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-45565814564969616612009-03-26T11:51:00.011-06:002009-12-07T21:08:42.528-07:00

In general, I love words. I am a firm believer that the pen is mightier than the sword and I love the power that resides in a well-written passage. That said, I firmly believe the following words should be banned from the English language and that anyone who uses them should be killed. Drastic? Perhaps. Justified? Entirely.- Moist: Literally, the most disturbing word on the planet. Just say it

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-22136864692480222472009-03-23T09:08:00.004-06:002010-01-16T20:45:36.210-07:00

Despite my old age (which was confirmed today when I read that my 54-year-old 'Plan B', Bruce Willis, married a woman two years my junior), I do still have single friends. Hot single friends. Smart single friends. All-around amazing single friends. And these women - these gorgeous, intelligent, incredible women - go to bizarre extremes to meet men (many of whom have faces and personalities that

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-30694478652179697882009-03-16T06:16:00.009-06:002009-03-16T19:27:06.287-06:00

This weekend, somewhere between the towns of La Verkin and Toquerville, I taught Ryan the words to Sheena Easton's Strut. I figured all families have their rites of passage and this was going to be one of ours... He said, "Baby what's wrong with you Why don't you use your imagination? Nations go to war over women like you... It's just a form of appreciation." The best part is that the boys

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-27615524086630034972009-03-05T23:32:00.001-07:002009-03-06T00:12:25.921-07:00

Ryan has a new friend. She said his name is Chuck Barber (not to be confused with Chuck Berry, singer of 'My Ding-A-Ling') and I took her word for it because you just can't make that kind of stuff up. She says she sees him at school. She says she sees him at dance. She says she sees him at home. The boys have known about Chuck Barber for longer than I - Ryan told them about him roughly a month

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-81473135205217318422009-03-03T15:03:00.003-07:002009-03-03T15:32:47.732-07:00

Last week I read this article about how close we are to 'designer babies' being a reality. Then, today, it was highlighted again here, because an L.A. clinic has begun advertising the services (where else would it begin, right?). It got me thinking about my own kids and the likelihood of whether I would have opted for a 'designer baby' if they had been born a decade from now rather than a

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-36460961823071610762009-03-01T16:17:00.010-07:002009-12-21T12:16:24.607-07:00

Cale, my oldest son (and aspiring criminal - see previous post), plays indoor soccer during the winter months. By the time his team got registered this season, the league for 11-year-old boys was full. The result? They were offered (and ultimately accepted) a spot in the 13-year-old girls league.I'm a fan of Title IX, particularly as it relates to female athletics. I mean, women push out babies

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-36148791667484763412009-02-26T05:12:00.006-07:002009-02-26T11:48:42.544-07:00

The last 48 hours have been shitty. I'd censor myself for those of you who find that word offensive but any adjective I would use in its place would undoubtedly offend you more. You know it is a rough couple of days when the best thing you can think of is a visit to the dentist. A routine visit where they accidentally knock off your permanent retainer and then attempt to do the work of an

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-8969742805125811072009-02-22T22:58:00.031-07:002009-02-23T21:28:17.651-07:00

Today was try to keep up ski with your kids day for the boys' Alta ski program. Robert was cleverly pretending to be sick so I took the boys up myself and prepared for a leisurely day of skiing with small children. See, ordinarily when we ski, we send the kids off to their groups and we ski with our adult friends. Now, I'm no stranger to skiing, but somehow we are surrounded by friends who seem

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-35139722694767248572009-02-17T05:32:00.002-07:002009-02-17T15:15:00.063-07:00

It's been awhile since I've blogged and, as a word of warning (or celebration - you choose), it may be awhile yet again. The explanation has to do with my new mantra, 'less is more'. I came upon this new philosophy entirely by accident, actually. I haven't felt well in recent weeks and this necessitated that my old mantra, 'if a little is good, a lot must be better', be put to the test. See,

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-5958813346111706392009-02-03T00:36:00.009-07:002009-02-10T10:06:10.575-07:00

Some vacations are of the 'once in a lifetime' variety. Sometimes those vacations happen twice in one week. For starters, last week, I headed off to New York with Penny and Marti...well, actually, I headed off with Penny and then Marti joined up with us somewhere between SoHo and the Subway. Now, I've done the math - countless times, in fact - and I figure the odds of one woman finding two

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-30734023538512525022009-01-28T01:27:00.007-07:002009-02-02T23:59:30.109-07:00

I'm up late getting packed for New York (and wondering why I need to take so many pair of shoes that I will be checking a bag for a 6 day trip in the states when I somehow managed 10 days worth of clothing and food in a carry-on to Africa) and thought I would upload all of the pictures from my camera before heading off in a few hours. While doing so, I came across this gem. To the naked eye, it

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-63220534498755905782009-01-25T19:21:00.008-07:002009-02-10T10:33:28.451-07:00

Every now and then I think that true creativity is dead. Mine. Others'. Our nation's. I tire of the same old songs remade and remixed, I tire of the same old movie plots redone under a new title. I run out of worthwhile things to write, I run out of good things to read, and I resort to knitting beige dish-rags instead of deeply hued scarves (this is when my friends know I've hit rock bottom). And

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-1337016924486447262009-01-21T13:36:00.004-07:002009-01-21T14:32:20.639-07:00

As many of you may know, I recently found myself in need of a new car antenna. The damage was my fault, I wanted it replaced correctly, and I figured 'how much can a skinny piece of metal possibly cost?' (it was only the antenna that needed fixing - the antenna motor still worked perfectly, thus, every time I turned on the radio, the broken antenna would raise and lower like a limp...antenna). So

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-64177754105907265282009-01-13T22:35:00.002-07:002009-01-13T22:53:35.490-07:00

When I was young and there were less teams in the NFL, my birthday would always fall during Super Bowl week. For those of you who know my family, you will understand that, relatively speaking, this made my birthday slightly more important than National Puzzle Day (which happens to be the same week), and slightly less important than National Beer Can Appreciation Day (also the same week). In fact,

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-2850785907948996572009-01-12T04:23:00.015-07:002009-01-12T15:19:57.895-07:00

Recently the question was posed to me, 'why don't you ever clean your car?'. It was not posed meanly (though I am aware it seems so in print) but was simply asked in a matter-of-fact 'how bout dem' Sox?' kind of way (minus the 'Curse of the Bambino' emotions and the fact that the Red Sox are the greatest baseball team of all time - which means this was a very bad example, but you get the idea).

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-28160726057301212262009-01-08T20:14:00.004-07:002009-01-08T22:20:05.554-07:00

My mom recently switched to a Blackberry and forced me asked me to accept her as a Blackberry Messenger contact (essentially instant messaging via Blackberry). The following is the first conversation we had on this service and you can imagine my joy that there will undoubtedly be many more. Before deleting the conversation, I copied it and emailed it to myself so that I could expose you all to a

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-31446082110463681412009-01-04T15:43:00.009-07:002010-01-16T20:48:27.090-07:00

The parties are over, the tree is down, and the kids are semi-settled into our usual routine (which often means doing whatever they want provided it doesn't bring mommy to the brink of insanity). This return to 'normal' has given me a few precious moments to reflect and ponder and pretend to have some clue as to what I want for the new year. Below are my poorly thought-out resolutions. I've done

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-72758276787313860012009-01-02T15:10:00.033-07:002009-01-05T12:51:24.581-07:00

I feel like if I post just one more random, illogical, poorly-thrown-together blog post (similar to the last two, only possibly worse), I will be all caught up and ready to start the year off right (whatever 'right' means). I'm sure I'm fooling myself and more chaotic writing is yet to come, but it's a new year and I am humoring myself for now. First off, we took the kids to stay at Little

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-3309311619984709242008-12-29T00:43:00.009-07:002008-12-29T10:08:44.752-07:00

I don't even know where to begin detailing what we've done over the last week (though clearly one can rule out blogging as a possibility) and thus, a large part of me thinks that I just shouldn't bother - you know, just kind of start over with a clean blogging slate. That said, my days have been filled with family, friends, and food (an enormous amount of this last one - I'll get to the details

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-26463487638403317852008-12-21T14:41:00.010-07:002008-12-21T21:32:11.972-07:00

It wouldn't be the holidays without a little craziness and this year has been no exception. This holiday season, my theme seems to be 'why not?' and I am surrendering to all kinds of things I normally fight. First, I let the kids pick out the tree at the first tree lot we visited (embarrassingly, I normally visit several tree lots and scout out the 'perfect' tree). Here it is, selected by the

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-12103561809882564702008-12-14T01:05:00.035-07:002009-01-27T16:04:46.906-07:00

I feel like Katherine Heigl's character in the movie '27 Dresses', except, I don't have dresses - I have daughters. Yep, 27 of them. One is a two year old named Ryan - I believe you've all met her. The other 26 range in age from fifteen to eighteen and I didn't have to actually give birth to any of them (for which my body is eternally grateful). A couple of years ago I took on the occasionally

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-30132671603390293492008-12-12T01:07:00.000-07:002008-12-12T01:07:37.910-07:00

It's official...shame is dead. My proof? The gift card. Okay, it isn't the gift card itself - it is the request of the gift card that allows me to make this claim. See, we buy gifts for a good number of people. My husband's family has yet to join the rest of civilization in the 'name-drawing' phenomenon and somehow, between friends and family (and despite our attendance at plenty of funerals),

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-80941911583972694462008-12-11T08:05:00.000-07:002008-12-11T12:01:41.959-07:00

I lacked perspective when my first son, Cale, was born. I was young...he was young...together, we amounted to very little wisdom. I spent too much of his childhood worried about what people might think of him (and consequently me) if he was impolite or aggressive or (God forbid) didn't share a toy within a millisecond of being asked. I ran a tight ship and there were times I made him apologize

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-31535417989891933502008-12-09T07:15:00.000-07:002008-12-09T07:41:17.311-07:00

I go to the dermatologist once a year for a skin cancer check. I do this because I worked at a tanning salon (okay fine, two) and I spend a lot of time in the sun (yes, the real one as well), and, I'm Irish. Actually, thanks to the poor record-keeping and wayward tendencies of my ancestors, I have no legitimate proof of this last reason, but I figure the reddish hair (adding the 'ish' makes me

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-62803872948111718052008-12-07T23:32:00.010-07:002008-12-08T01:22:19.605-07:00

What is the difference between a teenage slumber party and an adult slumber party? The latter really warrants some supervision. Here we are at Bricia's cabin this weekend - I promised the girls (who can't behave like this and expect to be called ladies) their 15 minutes of shame fame. Things started off pretty respectably...this is the first picture taken of the night...Bricia and Pier acting

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-9999159076535547232008-12-03T21:52:00.004-07:002008-12-03T23:54:35.901-07:00

For the better part of my life, I have been the youngest person in most settings. From 2nd grade on, I was always a year younger than my classmates and then, for better or worse, I chose to start college early, enter the workforce early, marry early, have kids early. These decisions left me always feeling young, bordering on childish, and thus, I detested any reminder of my age. In fact, for many

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-68919276459268864872008-12-02T05:52:00.014-07:002008-12-03T08:27:51.871-07:00

You know how video killed the radio star? Well, I think the invention of the DVR is going to be the death of me. No, it isn't that I waste too much time watching recorded episodes of McDreamy (besides, I'm 'over' him and his gorgeous head of hair - I have plenty of my own hair and I'm now on Team McSteamy). And I do admit that the little remote actually does comes in handy when I watch The

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-68940848015874118212008-11-30T23:34:00.031-07:002008-12-01T12:47:40.109-07:00

What is the payoff for giving your life to a sport? What is one's reward for decades of tireless service to a little-known, little-understood game of skill and strength? Recently, I found out the answer to this question. First though, let me back up a bit... My husband, Robert, plays rugby - more accurately he lives rugby. I knew from the outset that rugby would be the 'other woman' in our

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-5393003889370265122008-11-25T23:36:00.008-07:002008-11-26T14:06:38.851-07:00

While my beliefs regarding divine power change from day to day, my sense of gratitude and desire for perspective never do - the prayer below best conveys my thoughts. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.A PrayerLord, help me remember that the jerk who cut me off in traffic last night is a single mother who just worked nine hours and is rushing home to cook dinner, help with homework, do the laundry and

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-31281038516585599912008-11-24T05:48:00.032-07:002008-11-27T22:47:31.298-07:00

So, Lindsey talked Penny and me into going to the Coldplay concert on Saturday. Okay, Penny required absolutely no talking and I required less than I am letting on, but I did have to think about it for a second. I mean, the last concert that I went to that wasn't country or U2 or some combination of Fleetwood Mac/Simon & Garfunkel/Steve Miller Band/Neil Diamond was the UB40 concert at Park West

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-66810844215485920122008-11-22T13:15:00.002-07:002008-11-22T13:21:31.013-07:00

This is the kind of crap going on at our house...meet me at the flagpole Robyn. I know it wasn't you but someone has to pay and I don't stand a chance against Ammon (or you either, really, but it will be fun for the guys to watch - bring mud :).

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-69918297675326754802008-11-20T14:24:00.005-07:002008-11-20T15:10:58.345-07:00

My prediction? Utes by 6 and Robyn is crying so hard she has to skip church the next day.

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-28037222765199889962008-11-19T13:35:00.012-07:002008-11-19T16:36:20.411-07:00

I love music…as in, I really, really, really love music. For instance, I hate the word 'really' and I just used it three times in italics to illustrate the sacrifices I will make on behalf of some good tunes. As we all have done, I've contemplated the 'if I were relegated to a desert island and allowed only one item' question and I have long-since decided that my ipod has a slight edge over water

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-26516682287105208222008-11-13T13:36:00.006-07:002008-11-13T15:10:57.227-07:00

I figured now was as good a time as any to post this, especially since this is a Thursday night football week (I love those - it means even more Tom Cruise-esque couch-jumping and screaming at the TV). What is this you ask? Well, if a picture is worth a thousand words, this JPEG is worth a million. It is proof of my impeccable fantasy football drafting skills. It is a snapshot of my superior

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-47452115383740566152008-11-06T23:51:00.010-07:002008-11-08T08:31:59.998-07:00

A word of warning for any male readers: If all goes according to plan, this post will be slightly sappier than 'sweet' and slightly less nauseating than 'gooey' - proceed at your own risk. We are at an interesting crossroad at our house. Recently, Cale lost both his girlfriend and a tooth, all in the same week. Such is where he finds himself on the merry-go-round of life - one foot in adulthood

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-39438651939545797432008-11-02T20:07:00.011-07:002008-11-02T20:48:13.148-07:00

A milestone year for us. Cale has reached the age where goofy things are cooler than cool things, I have reached the age where I know what battles are worth picking (I let Morgan be an obscure superhero called 'Ben 10', rather than something respectable, because at least it didn't entail a weapon), and Ryan, at the ripe old age of 2, picked her own costume out of a catalogue. The times they are a

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-74906662073121090192008-10-29T23:28:00.042-06:002008-10-30T11:38:50.436-06:00

Dear Jazz Season Ticket Holders, row 10, center court:My friend, Lindsey, recently dealt with a delicate situation via letter and I have come to the conclusion that, if ever a 'delicate' situation existed, it most certainly is ours. You don't know me, at least not personally. I am the wife/mother of the clan who sits in row 11. I saw glimpses of recognition on your face as we arrived at the game

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-59362239306745012292008-10-28T08:11:00.006-06:002008-10-28T15:16:16.515-06:00

So, it's that time of year again - Halloween. Not my favorite holiday (Thanksgiving!), nor the most exciting for my kids (Christmas!), but a top ten nonetheless. Still, this could have been Halloween's breakout year - the year that it cracked my top five - if only it weren't for one thing. The long and short of it is that I am convinced every costume sold in the U.S. is made in a sweat shop by a

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-16631747433076778472008-10-22T23:50:00.012-06:002008-10-23T09:22:36.103-06:00

So today was a nutty day...a day of "nuts", if you will. Let me start by explaining that today was what they refer to as 'Mother's Visiting Day' at my kids' school. I would liken it to 'Bring Your Child To Work Day' (only in reverse), but I must confess to laughing out loud when my friend, Marie, likened it to 'family visiting day at the prison'. Anyhow, before I digress any further, let me get

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-31496591748316500182008-10-21T08:06:00.004-06:002011-03-31T19:03:04.758-06:00

An old friend brought it to my attention the other day that I will be eligible to run for president in 2012. Indeed, I was born a U.S. Citizen, I will be precisely 35 years of age (the minimum requirement), and, barring a sudden move to Australia (which I am heavily considering), I will have lived in the U.S. for the preceding 14 years. This is it folks - all that is required (technically

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-26574248523726513312008-10-20T10:54:00.008-06:002008-10-21T18:45:27.212-06:00

I'm breaking from tradition today (i.e. my usual sarcasm) to make an observation about myself. I am selfish. Truly, utterly, selfish. Not with money or 'things' per se - I can confidently say I am relatively generous in this way. But it occurred to me today that this is really quite deceiving. Despite the difficulty many of you will have at believing this, I truly don't care about 'things' or the

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-42932971832082172762008-10-13T23:38:00.014-06:002008-10-14T09:06:07.043-06:00

We're back! Oh, you didn't notice we were gone? That's because we just returned from the world's shortest Disneyland trip. I decided we needed to get out of town (too much fresh air and exercise on the soccer field this year...not enough overdosing on ice cream and large commercialized theme parks) so we left Saturday afternoon (about 12 hours after I booked our flights while Robert slept -

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-27366697676769992412008-10-09T15:13:00.005-06:002009-12-21T12:34:07.823-07:00

We've all done it - we've all been on the giving or receiving end of it. Well, maybe not all of us - I do live in Utah and my readers seem like an upstanding lot. Still, for those of you who have given into the urge after a few too many drinks, the morning-after shame is enough to make you swear there won't be a next time...but there always is, isn't there? I'm talking about drunk dialing, my

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-51916669182086722822008-09-30T15:46:00.006-06:002008-09-30T22:59:18.268-06:00

Drum roll, please....After days (and sleepless nights) of working on these lists, I present you with ‘Corbie’s Top Ten(s)’ – of value to no one except myself and even then, only so I can say that I slayed the dragon. Still, it was both painstaking and personal and I had to really dig deep to come up with these. If ever anyone wanted to get to know me on a really substantive level (I don't suggest

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-43300509885944531642008-09-27T21:37:00.004-06:002008-09-28T17:31:55.390-06:00

I need a break from my music (and the four soccer games and one football game I attended today) so I thought I would update everyone about Operation Top Ten(s). First of all, I think a name change is in order. Something along the lines of Operation Someone Should Kick My Arse or Operation I Need A Lobotomy seem appropriate, if not slightly too kind. I mean, I am losing sleep (and now so is my

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-63460657807190273592008-09-25T23:02:00.003-06:002008-09-27T19:36:31.089-06:00

Here I am again - creating another blog post during my self-imposed exile. Oh well, Operation Top Ten can wait - apparently I have a friend who is owed a proper introduction. Truth is, she was ever-so-slightly introduced (though not by name) in the Arizona girls trip post. She was in four photos that you can see if you click here. One is her with a 'milk' moustache, one is me smacking her butt

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-23550232113190740692008-09-24T13:05:00.002-06:002008-09-24T13:13:03.856-06:00

I like lists. All sorts of lists. For no good reason other than my being a head case, I have gone to the trouble of typing and saving and filing lists of all kinds. I have even considered making a list of my lists but somewhere in my mind I know this would signal a diagnosable disorder. The handful of people who have seen these lists are people who I knew wouldn’t laugh or, if they might laugh,

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-28742136495818992822008-09-19T18:39:00.001-06:002008-09-19T19:30:59.525-06:00

As of yesterday, the marathon that I have publicly stated I will run is officially four months away. Seeing how, at this point, I nearly keel over dead after five miles, I decided that it was the perfect day to really get going on my training regimen. So I took the first step...I brought my training watch in from the car. I know - it was a bold move - after all, it has been in there for weeks

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-24188388371504220442008-09-16T09:55:00.007-06:002008-09-16T11:36:20.536-06:00

For those of you sending me emails and wondering where your daily dose of crude Corbie humor has gone, I feel like an explanation is in order (lest you optimistically assume that I have run off with Kevin Bacon). Below you will see a stock market chart that shows the last 5 days activity. For those of you who work in industries that are not tied to these charts, congratulations on choosing a wise

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-40511318077529534032008-09-11T11:40:00.005-06:002008-11-09T09:17:24.968-07:00

So, I had lofty goals of posting something touching or thought-provoking or, at the very least patriotic, on this 7th anniversary of 9/11. But then, like life often does, the morning got away from me - kids needed to get off to school, files needed to go to underwriting, and people needed to close on the purchases of their homes. I feel extremely lucky to live in a country where it is easy, so

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-11293908992241635242008-09-10T10:00:00.006-06:002008-09-10T11:05:54.655-06:00

I have a new job. I don't know how it came to be really. It started with a few fun tie-dye projects with my kids, moved into tie-dyed peace symbol emblazened shirts for the school fair, and now has become a full-blown sidejob. This is Ammon's softball team in their newly dyed shirts - he is second from the right on the front row. I want it known that I offered to make these 'jerseys' in

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-90259808627175821772008-09-07T03:43:00.006-06:002009-12-21T12:13:24.863-07:00

I can't sleep tonight and figured I may as well get some actual work done. You know, that thing I do when I am not blogging or reading or handstanding that allows me to feed my children and purchase shoes (though I hope it always allows me to do both because even thinking about choosing makes my stomach turn). As I am working, I notice I am fantasizing about my fantasy football team and the ass

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-19243101448017650552008-09-03T22:15:00.003-06:002008-09-03T22:15:01.025-06:00

My friend Randi emailed this to me today and it warrants sharing.

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-77577495210020996012008-09-02T23:10:00.004-06:002008-09-03T07:35:36.757-06:00

My husband went to the Kiss concert in Las Vegas this past weekend. No, Kiss is not a new Cirque de Soleil show on the Vegas Strip - I mean the actual 'Shout It Out Loud' rock band. This shocks many people when I tell them. I had several people on the soccer field this weekend say that he struck them as more of a Jack Johnson/John Mayer type (must be the dressing up for work that he does). I even

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-73971125251434974332008-09-02T07:13:00.006-06:002008-09-02T09:06:01.394-06:00

My friend Kirk (see link below) has a blog that is solely devoted to music...I mean, other than the occasional random mocking of me and my love of Chicken in a Biscuit crackers (jerk). At any rate, on his blog, he has a Cover Song Saturday Night routine where he highlights someone stealing another person's song (okay, he doesn't use the word 'stealing'...that was my contribution). So, I

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-78209401403939845602008-08-31T23:30:00.016-06:002008-09-01T07:25:30.754-06:00

I am concert jinxed...I can't go to any venue without getting into some kind of trouble. This time, it was Dwight Yoakam at Deer Valley. Penny called friday to see if I wanted to go to the concert on Saturday (I require huge amounts of advance notice :) and I was thrilled beyond belief because A) I'm not sure Penny knew who Dwight Yoakam was (though she did end up recognizing one of his songs)

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-35479650533559991592008-08-27T10:27:00.004-06:002008-08-27T10:51:10.770-06:00

I confess it. I love little boys more than little girls. I don't mean I love my little boys more than I love Ryan...I just mean that, in general, I like little boys better. Like their adult counterparts, they are less complicated, less manipulative, less all kinds of things that I have never been very good at managing. But I also confess that, once I accepted that my third child was going to

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-43321491875916524052008-08-21T18:01:00.006-06:002008-08-22T10:06:54.467-06:00

So, Marti and I headed off to a yoga retreat in Phoenix this week. It is shocking to me but the last time we went on a trip with just the two of us was when we were still in our teens. It was a road trip to St. George (that location seemed fairly distant at the time) and it started out as an afternoon of laying out. We wanted to get a tan and Salt Lake's weather wasn't cooperating. We decided

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-54160919817998731752008-08-21T00:09:00.006-06:002008-08-21T00:30:14.684-06:00

So I promised Dalyn the win (which equates to 37 million points) if he produced the school picture day photo with his name spelled wrong on his own damn shirt. Turns out, his follow-through is sublime and he sent it to me today (he really doesn't like to lose). The question Marti and I are asking ourselves as we lay here on one hotel bed (yes, the room has two) is, who made the shirt? It could

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-35086871852904774102008-08-13T01:28:00.002-06:002008-08-13T10:40:22.118-06:00

If you have not already been told or otherwise deduced, I am Summer Olympics obsessed. I watch them around the clock - even while sitting at my desk pretending to be obtaining home loans for people - and I have very little patience for interruptions. For instance, I have stocked my house with pre-packaged foods and everyone is left to fend for themselves during this critical period in 2008. I

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-30238309510769459502008-08-12T02:04:00.002-06:002008-08-12T02:10:38.969-06:00

For weeks I have been meaning to let you all in on the mistake I made but I just haven't gotten around to the confessional. Tonight though (or is it this morning?) I am sick as hell and can't sleep a wink. As I toss and turn in bed, I catch a whiff of the mistake again and figure now is as good a time as any to officially un-endorse a product. Do not, let me repeat DO NOT purchase Sure Cooling

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-28215226305910408832008-08-07T11:46:00.003-06:002008-08-07T13:41:13.532-06:00

So, say you and a boyfriend had just broken up (amicably, thankfully) and you dropped by the house you both had owned together to pick up a book you had only half-read before you decided to abandon ship. Inside the book, you find your old boyfriend's new girlfriend's $8 paycheck. In the new woman's defense, she works for tips...no, not those kind you perverts.You then call your friend (me) and

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-33552917382035326192008-08-06T11:28:00.013-06:002010-01-17T14:31:16.902-07:00

Testing...

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-843119345817704822008-08-06T10:47:00.005-06:002008-08-06T10:54:26.400-06:00

Marti, this is for you - sweet revenge for the Zumba posting. Please send me the aforementioned wildflower arrangement that Corbie was expecting you to send her. I am particularly fond of sunflowers, but I'm not picky.Corbie, you look dualing hot in this photo, so I am expecting some flowers from you as well. And please....go eat something, your pencil thin legs make my sausage link legs really

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-10478705190440734902008-08-01T10:55:00.003-06:002008-08-01T11:15:24.640-06:00

Okay, Lindsey...this is for you, by request. The awkward angle that makes my face look fat(ter), the pseudo-headband sunglasses, the camera case around my neck like a tourist...is this repayment enough for posting the pics of you (which are adorable, by the way)? Plus, not only do I look horrible, it serves another purpose that is in your favor...the viewers get to see your amazing photo shop

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-62082361496580195962008-07-31T23:48:00.011-06:002008-08-01T10:27:36.796-06:00

I am away from my desk all day and I come back to...nothing? I'm shocked really. I mean, Lindsey and Ammon had to get enough material out of last night's excursion for at least a month's worth of blog posts. This may be the world's longest post, but, by the end of last night, I was sure I had endured the world's longest concert. This being said, it seems fitting. So, it all began when Robert and

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6635033785082436796.post-25273823538449418152008-07-29T00:21:00.002-06:002008-07-29T00:21:00.788-06:00

So, my husband has a friend named Mike Morgan who I have made all kinds of attempts to steal as my own. In traditional athletic-fashion, we call him 'Morgan' and it would not be an exaggeration to say that my middle son can thank him for his name. Robert met him playing rugby and fell in love with him right away...this is saying a lot as my husband had spent many years being the fastest and best

Corbiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398238202579667140noreply@blogger.com